Read Online Adam and Evil by Gillian Roberts - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Gillian Roberts
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Sarah.”
He was shaking his head before I had finished the question. “No, no,” he said. “Relax. Not yours. Ours. We know the woman.”
All right, then. Not Sarah. No reason for me to feel anything but impersonal sympathy. But my pulse did not agree. What had happened to the woman? Who’d sounded like a monster? I had to find him.
And Sarah, too, of course.
I couldn’t go upstairs, but I figured that if Adam were on that off-limits turf, they’d know it and have him safely somewhere. So I went downstairs, to the circulating library, usually my idea of heaven—thousands of novels mine for the asking. But today real-life stories had taken precedence over made-up ones.
Neither Adam nor Sarah was in there. Nor were they in the music room.
Finally I found Sarah on the ground floor, in the relatively peaceful children’s section, where a happy accident of floor plan had protected the youngest readers from hearing the ruckus above. The alarm must have been located at the other end of the building, because nobody seemed aware that anything might be seriously out of the ordinary.
The table in front of Sarah was covered with books. “I’m writing about an artist—an illustrator,” she said. “Like a hundred years ago. A woman illustrator. That’s what I want to be, too. The librarian said if I called ahead next time, she’d have lots more to show me. And then I thought I’d go to the print room and see what maybe it looked like—I think I’d like mine to be an American lady.”
Sarah had been snagged. Hooked. “You have a bit more time,” I said.
“My mom’s picking me up at five, so I have a lot of time. I’m staying later.”
Joy surged and flared in me—so I poured emotional ice water on it. Wouldn’t do to get reinvolved in teaching-lust. I was about to amputate that part of me. It was dead and gangrenous and I no longer cared about it. Still and all, the thought of Sarah’s enthusiasm made my walk back upstairs less hopeless.
But there was still the heavy knowledge that Adam was missing.
I stood on the second-floor landing near the statue of the reader, looking down at William Pepper’s head, watching for who might ascend those stairs after I had. I’d heard sirens while I was with Sarah. Medical personnel, probably.
A man walked up the first half of the stairs, approaching Dr. Pepper’s statue. I knew that back.
I felt a voyeuristic thrill secretly observing him. But the thrill was accompanied by the chilly realization that his presence meant that woman hadn’t really needed medical attention. Whatever had happened to her had been fatal. And not necessarily of her own making.
If he was here, there was suspicion of a murder in the library, where it seemed especially sickening and grotesque— not only a crime against humanity, but a crime against what civilization hopes for.
In short, insane.
I told myself Adam had nothing to do with this, that it was likely that he’d left the building before anything began. He was mixed up, but a mixed-up good kid, not a killer.
Mackenzie reached the landing with the statue and walked to the side to climb the remaining stairs, facing me.
I waved.
He stopped in midstride and did a classic double take, once again demonstrating that he didn’t listen to me anymore. I’d told him where I’d be.
His rating plummeted into the danger zone.
“I don’t believe this,” he said. “Why are you here? What is it with you and crime scenes?”
“I told you my seniors—”
He fanned me off. Once upon a time he’d listened. Really listened, with such intensity it was sensual, like a stroke on thesoul, and a prime component of his charm. Now it was obvious that the honeymoon was over and we hadn’t ever married.
“The body’s upstairs,” I said.
He nodded. “Not goin’ anywhere, either. You been here the whole time?”
“Out here? No. I was back there.” I waved in the general direction of all the collections, not wanting to say where
He was shaking his head before I had finished the question. “No, no,” he said. “Relax. Not yours. Ours. We know the woman.”
All right, then. Not Sarah. No reason for me to feel anything but impersonal sympathy. But my pulse did not agree. What had happened to the woman? Who’d sounded like a monster? I had to find him.
And Sarah, too, of course.
I couldn’t go upstairs, but I figured that if Adam were on that off-limits turf, they’d know it and have him safely somewhere. So I went downstairs, to the circulating library, usually my idea of heaven—thousands of novels mine for the asking. But today real-life stories had taken precedence over made-up ones.
Neither Adam nor Sarah was in there. Nor were they in the music room.
Finally I found Sarah on the ground floor, in the relatively peaceful children’s section, where a happy accident of floor plan had protected the youngest readers from hearing the ruckus above. The alarm must have been located at the other end of the building, because nobody seemed aware that anything might be seriously out of the ordinary.
The table in front of Sarah was covered with books. “I’m writing about an artist—an illustrator,” she said. “Like a hundred years ago. A woman illustrator. That’s what I want to be, too. The librarian said if I called ahead next time, she’d have lots more to show me. And then I thought I’d go to the print room and see what maybe it looked like—I think I’d like mine to be an American lady.”
Sarah had been snagged. Hooked. “You have a bit more time,” I said.
“My mom’s picking me up at five, so I have a lot of time. I’m staying later.”
Joy surged and flared in me—so I poured emotional ice water on it. Wouldn’t do to get reinvolved in teaching-lust. I was about to amputate that part of me. It was dead and gangrenous and I no longer cared about it. Still and all, the thought of Sarah’s enthusiasm made my walk back upstairs less hopeless.
But there was still the heavy knowledge that Adam was missing.
I stood on the second-floor landing near the statue of the reader, looking down at William Pepper’s head, watching for who might ascend those stairs after I had. I’d heard sirens while I was with Sarah. Medical personnel, probably.
A man walked up the first half of the stairs, approaching Dr. Pepper’s statue. I knew that back.
I felt a voyeuristic thrill secretly observing him. But the thrill was accompanied by the chilly realization that his presence meant that woman hadn’t really needed medical attention. Whatever had happened to her had been fatal. And not necessarily of her own making.
If he was here, there was suspicion of a murder in the library, where it seemed especially sickening and grotesque— not only a crime against humanity, but a crime against what civilization hopes for.
In short, insane.
I told myself Adam had nothing to do with this, that it was likely that he’d left the building before anything began. He was mixed up, but a mixed-up good kid, not a killer.
Mackenzie reached the landing with the statue and walked to the side to climb the remaining stairs, facing me.
I waved.
He stopped in midstride and did a classic double take, once again demonstrating that he didn’t listen to me anymore. I’d told him where I’d be.
His rating plummeted into the danger zone.
“I don’t believe this,” he said. “Why are you here? What is it with you and crime scenes?”
“I told you my seniors—”
He fanned me off. Once upon a time he’d listened. Really listened, with such intensity it was sensual, like a stroke on thesoul, and a prime component of his charm. Now it was obvious that the honeymoon was over and we hadn’t ever married.
“The body’s upstairs,” I said.
He nodded. “Not goin’ anywhere, either. You been here the whole time?”
“Out here? No. I was back there.” I waved in the general direction of all the collections, not wanting to say where
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