“Okay. Let me take a deep breath here. I’m very glad you aren’t listed in the phone book and your phone number’s private. It’s unlikely she could find you where you are, but I want you to be careful, Savich, really careful.”
“You can count on that, Ollie.”
“Okay. How are things going out there with Lily?”
Savich said, “She managed to hurt a guy who tried to kill her on an empty bus a couple of hours ago. Clark Hoyt in the new Eureka field office is checking all the hospitals. No word yet. Lily drew a picture of him and we just heard from a Lieutenant Dobbs at the Eureka Police Department that the guy’s a local hood-for-hire, a freelancer, who would kill his own mom for the right price. Name of Morrie Jones. Everyone’s looking for him. He’s a kid, just turned twenty.”
Savich could see Ollie shaking his head back and forth as he said, “Big troubles on both coasts. Ain’t nothing easy anywhere in this world, is there?”
• Lily slept for three hours-no nightmares, thank God-and awoke to see her brother seated on a big wing chair pulled near her lovely Victorian canopied bed, a gooseneck lamp beaming light over his right shoulder, reading through a sheaf of papers.
He looked up immediately.
“You’re fast. I just opened one eye and you knew I was awake.”
“Sean got both Sherlock and me trained in a matter of days. He yawns or grunts, and we’re ready to move.”
She managed a smile, but truth be told, the day’s events had caught up with her. She’d gone from being euphoric about drawing Remus again, to nearly being murdered, to getting back her paintings. At least she’d had a great Mexican lunch and it hadn’t made her sick to her stomach.
But now, even after a very long sleep, she still felt wrung out. Her side ached something fierce, and her head sat heavy and dull on her shoulders. “No, Dillon, don’t get up. What are you reading?”
“Articles and reports MAX found for me on weird phenomena. I’m trying to find other reported crimes with similarities to the Tuttles’ rampage and the Ghouls.”
“You told me just a little bit about the Tuttles and these Ghoul things, Dillon. Tell me more.”
“There were two of them, two distinct white cones that sometimes came together. You can imagine how the two boys-Tammy and Timmy Tuttle called them ‘Little Bloods’-were reacting. I’ve never seen such terror. I nearly swallowed my own tongue I was so afraid. Then Tammy Tuttle called to the Ghouls, yelled for them to bring their axes and knives, their ‘treats’ were ready for them. The boys wanted out of that circle and Tammy pulled her knife. She was going to nail them to the barn floor, inside that damned circle. That’s when I shot her, and the bullet nearly tore her arm off. Timmy pulled his gun then, but he wasn’t going to shoot me, no, he was aiming at the boys, so I had to kill him clean and quick, no choice. Then one of those white cones was coming at us, and I shot it. Did the bullet hurt it? I have no idea. I pulled the boys out of that circle and then both of the white cones just whooshed out of there. No one outside the barn saw them. So it was just the two boys, me, and Tammy, who had called them.”
“My God, that’s scary.”
“More than you can imagine.”
Lily said, “I wonder, did their victims have to be inside that circle?”
“Good question. Since I was there and saw all of it, I think they did have to have their victims inside the circle. Or maybe it was just a ritual that they themselves had developed over time, a ceremony that gave the Tuttles more of a kick out of what they were doing. However, I didn’t see that the Ghouls had any knives or axes, so why did they say that?” He paused a moment, thinking back. “You know, Tammy had a knife but I didn’t see any axes anywhere.”
“Maybe she was just speaking dramatically.”
Savich thought about the teenage boy, his body mutilated. “Maybe. I don’t think so.”
“What sorts of things has MAX dug up?”
He paused for a moment, then gave a slight shake of his head as he said, “You’d be surprised what’s turned up over the years.”
“Yeah, I bet I would, only you’re not going to tell me anything, are you?”
There was a knock on the door.
Sherlock’s voice. “Quick, Dillon. Open up!”
She was carrying three covered trays, stacked on top of one another. “From Mrs. Blade, downstairs,” she said and handed them to Savich. “Besides doing crossword puzzles, she likes to cook. She insisted that if we couldn’t come down to the dining room, she was sending this up.”
Two huge plates of spaghetti with meatballs, one huge plate without the meatballs for Savich, lots of Parmesan cheese in a big bowl on the side, eight slices of garlic bread, and three large bowls of Caesar salad.
No one said a word for at least seven minutes, just groaned with pleasure and chewed. Finally, Lily sat back, patted her stomach, and sighed. “That garlic bread makes your back teeth sing the Italian anthem. Goodness, that was nearly as good as our Mexican lunch.”
Sherlock wanted to laugh, but her mouth was full of spaghetti. Savich said, “Nah, Lily, give me a salty tortilla and salsa hot enough to burn the rubber off my soles any day. I wonder which one of your in-laws is going to pay us a visit this evening?”
Lily turned a bit pale. “But why would any of them want to see me again?”
Sherlock took the tray off her lap and said matter-of-factly, “Because their pigeon is bent on flying out of the nest. You survived the attack on the city bus this morning. No more attacks since Dillon and I have been with you. Nope, now they’ve got to visit you and try to convince you that Tennyson can’t live without you.”
“A final shot,” Lily said.
“Yes, that’s right,” Sherlock said.
Savich just smiled. “Only thing is, they also know that their little pigeon has two big crows guarding her. We’ll see exactly what tack they take. Ah, look at that dessert Sherlock was hiding from us. Chocolate mousse, one of my favorites.”
Tennyson and his mother showed up an hour later, at precisely eight o’clock.
Charlotte Frasier had come to the hospital only once, stood by Lily’s bed, and told her at least three times that she desperately needed to see dear Dr. Rossetti, a fine doctor, an excellent man who would help her. She was so worried about her dear Lily, everyone was. No one wanted her to try to kill herself again. To which Lily had simply stared at her, not a single word coming to mind after that outrageous speech. This evening, she was beautifully dressed in a dark wine-colored wool suit, a pale pink silk blouse beneath. Her thick black hair, not a hint of white, was cut short and tousled in loose curls and waves around her face. It was a very young style, but it didn’t look ridiculous at all. Her teeth were white and straight, her lipstick blood red. Charlotte looked good; she always had.
As for Tennyson, he paid no attention to either Savich or Sherlock, just marched directly to Lily’s bed, grabbed her hand, and held on tightly.
“Come home with me, Lily. I need you.”
“Hello, Tennyson. Hello, Charlotte. What more could we possibly have to say to each other? Dillon thought you would come by this evening, but I have to admit I’m very surprised.” Lily finally got her hand back and asked, “Oh yes, where is your father? Isn’t he well?”
Savich said easily, “Maybe they don’t think they need him. They’re hopeful they can talk you around by themselves.”
Lily said to her husband, “You can’t.”
Charlotte said in her rich-as-sin Savannah-smooth voice, “Elcott wanted to come tonight, but he had a slight indigestion. Now, listen to me for a moment, Lily. My son loves you very much. Since he’s a man, it’s difficult for him to speak from his heart-that’s a woman sort of thing to do, so I am telling you for him that he really does need you.”
“Actually, Charlotte, Tennyson can speak very eloquently. However, I don’t think his heart has anything to do with it. No, Charlotte, what Tennyson really needs is my Sarah Elliott paintings.”