Read Online Bone Harvest by Mary Logue - Free Book Online Page B

the front of his desk. “That’s what I’ve been thinking, too. Imagining the things he might do makes me sick. We are all so vulnerable. This is a place where people leave their keys in their car in case someone needs to borrow it. Doors are unlocked. People are used to being friendly.”
    “It’s worse than that,” Harold told her. “This man is one of us. He knows our ways. He knows where to get us.”
    “Want to venture a guess who it might be?”
    Harold had been afraid she would ask him that. He had a couple thoughts, but wasn’t sure he was ready to tell her. “Let me think on it. This is serious business. I hate to run my mouth off about people and get them in trouble. It was obviously someone affected by the Schuler murders.”
    “Do you think it’s the killer?”
    Harold puffed out his lips. “More than likely. If he’s still alive, he’d be an old man like me.”
    “Well, if you have any more ideas, let me know, the sooner the better. This guy is on a timetable.”
    “Where will you be tomorrow?”
    “With my daughter. Watching the fireworks. But you can always reach me on my cell phone. If the bluffs don’t interfere.” Claire gave him her number. “Also, any information you can give me on the Schuler murders would be appreciated. I’ll go to the cold cases and pick up the file on that.”
    “I’ll put together articles from the time it happened.”
    “Thanks, Mr. Peabody.”
    “Harold.”
    She stood. “After I’ve talked to the sheriff, I’ll let you know what you can put in the paper.”
    Harold came around his desk to walk her to the door. This was the only false step she had made in their meeting.
    “That won’t be necessary.” The deputy turned to look at him. He continued: “It’s running. The note is running. Consider it a courtesy that I let you know about it before you read it in the paper.”
     
    Meg heard about the chickens from her friend Katlyn, who lived near the Danielses. Katlyn said that everyone said that maybe Rich’s pheasants would be next to be killed. Meg said that Rich had a huge security fence and that no one could get in to hurt his pheasants. When she hung up the phone, she was surprised that she had lied. It was not like her.
    Meg walked over to the refrigerator, opened the freezer, and pulled out a lime Popsicle. Then she went onto the porch and sat on the floor under the fan. The thermometer out back said ninety degrees, but the guy on the radio today had been talking about something called a heat index and he said it would feel like one hundred. Hot enough to make her have to eat her Popsicle fast before it dripped down onto her hand.
    She wondered what it was like for kids who had sisters and brothers. She found it hard sometimes not to have anyone to talk to about all the things that worried her. It was a big responsibility to be an only child. And it only made it worse when her dad died. Now her mother was totally her concern.
    She decided to call Rich. He would understand. Knowing Rich, he might even be able to help.
    He answered the phone. “Haggard’s Pheasants.”
    She said, “Knock, knock.”
    “Who’s there?”
    “Pop.”
    “Pop who?”
    “Popsicle.”
    There was silence for a moment; then he asked, “Did you make that one up, Megsly?”
    “Yup. Just for you.”
    “I’m honored.”
    “Mom’s not home yet.”
    “Another long day?”
    “Yeah, she called and said she’d be home soon. She said I could come home and let myself in and wait for her.” Meg was done with her Popsicle. She stretched out flat on the cool stone floor of the porch. She stared up at the overhead fan, which was a blur above her head.
    “Good.”
    “I heard about the chickens.”
    “News travels fast around here.”
    “What are you doing to protect your pheasants?”
    “Staying put.”
    “But what about tomorrow—the Fourth of July? What about our barbecue and the fireworks?”
    “No one would do anything on a holiday.”
    “Bad guys take days