Read Online Disintegration by Scott Nicholson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Scott Nicholson
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hookers. What, Jacob never told you?"
"I guess he was ashamed. He's always going on about living up to the Wells name."
"Get that man some help. Get both of you some help. Now I've really got to run. I have some Type O that's just crying out to be HIV-negative."
"Bye, Kim." She hung up and looked at the window again.
The shadow was back. The deck planking squeaked with footsteps. She wondered if Davidson was snooping around. She was about to go to the door when the phone rang.
She looked from the door to the phone. Ivy Terrace was upscale, safe. And she had locked the door. She always locked the door. It was Jake who was careless about such things, like leaving the sliding glass door open on the night of the fire--
She picked up the phone. "Hello?"
The line hissed with empty electronics. Four seconds passed.
"Kim?" she said.
"It's me."
"Jake! I've been worried sick. Where are you?"
"The place I said I'd never go."
"What? You sound terrible. Do you have a cold?"
"I got another present for you."
"I don't want a present. I want you to talk to me."
Jacob's voice grew fainter. "Special delivery."
He added something she couldn't hear because a car with a busted muffler roared through the parking lot outside.
"Jake, we need some counseling. We need to work things out. About the money and about us."
"Mattie," he said.
"Yes, that, too. We need to return her to the dirt. It's something we should do together, no matter how you feel about me."
"My daughter."
"Mine, too."
"I didn't know."
"Jake, are you okay? Please don't tell me you're still drinking. You know what stress does to you."
"The door," he said, and the line went dead.
Was he the one who'd been outside her door? The phone signal had been clear and steady, not fluctuating the way most wireless signals did in the mountains. There was a pay phone in the apartment's laundry room, but whoever was at the door wouldn't have reached it in the interim between her seeing the shadow and answering the phone.
Renee brushed her hair and grabbed her purse. After what Kim had said about Joshua Wells, she planned to go to the Kingsboro police department and check on his criminal record. She'd heard long-time residents mention him once in a while, but she knew little about him other than that he'd moved out of town shortly after his mother's death. Joshua hadn't even shown up at the reading of Warren Wells' will. Of course, Jacob had already been guaranteed the money, so she couldn't blame him.
She opened the door and was reaching for her sunglasses when the package flopped at her feet. It must have been leaning against the door. It was in plain cardboard about the size of a saltines box. She went to the edge of the deck and peered over the side, expecting to see a UPS or FedEx van. The parking lot was nearly empty, the tenants off to day jobs and errands.
She picked up the package. It bore no label. The box was light, and might even have been empty. She carried it inside to the narrow table in the kitchenette, got a butcher knife, and slit the tape between the top two folds of cardboard.
As she peeled the flaps back, the odor of stale charcoal assailed her. Inside was a stained bundle of white cloth. She touched it, and then recognized the lace brocade around the small collar. It was the dress Mattie had worn at her First Communion.
She pulled the dress out, knocking the box to the floor with the motion. The dress was silk, and the bottom half of it had burned away. One sleeve had been torn off, and a black rip ran the length of the abbreviated back. Despite the ruin of the dress, it evoked an image of a beatific Mattie bowing before Father Rose, accepting the round wafer from the priest and putting it between her lips.
"Matilda Suzanne," Renee whispered, pressing the garment to her cheek. "Oh, my baby."
They had picked out the dress together, Mattie insisting on a "grown-up girl's dress," not one of the plain ones with a bow tied in the rear. She'd worn white
"I guess he was ashamed. He's always going on about living up to the Wells name."
"Get that man some help. Get both of you some help. Now I've really got to run. I have some Type O that's just crying out to be HIV-negative."
"Bye, Kim." She hung up and looked at the window again.
The shadow was back. The deck planking squeaked with footsteps. She wondered if Davidson was snooping around. She was about to go to the door when the phone rang.
She looked from the door to the phone. Ivy Terrace was upscale, safe. And she had locked the door. She always locked the door. It was Jake who was careless about such things, like leaving the sliding glass door open on the night of the fire--
She picked up the phone. "Hello?"
The line hissed with empty electronics. Four seconds passed.
"Kim?" she said.
"It's me."
"Jake! I've been worried sick. Where are you?"
"The place I said I'd never go."
"What? You sound terrible. Do you have a cold?"
"I got another present for you."
"I don't want a present. I want you to talk to me."
Jacob's voice grew fainter. "Special delivery."
He added something she couldn't hear because a car with a busted muffler roared through the parking lot outside.
"Jake, we need some counseling. We need to work things out. About the money and about us."
"Mattie," he said.
"Yes, that, too. We need to return her to the dirt. It's something we should do together, no matter how you feel about me."
"My daughter."
"Mine, too."
"I didn't know."
"Jake, are you okay? Please don't tell me you're still drinking. You know what stress does to you."
"The door," he said, and the line went dead.
Was he the one who'd been outside her door? The phone signal had been clear and steady, not fluctuating the way most wireless signals did in the mountains. There was a pay phone in the apartment's laundry room, but whoever was at the door wouldn't have reached it in the interim between her seeing the shadow and answering the phone.
Renee brushed her hair and grabbed her purse. After what Kim had said about Joshua Wells, she planned to go to the Kingsboro police department and check on his criminal record. She'd heard long-time residents mention him once in a while, but she knew little about him other than that he'd moved out of town shortly after his mother's death. Joshua hadn't even shown up at the reading of Warren Wells' will. Of course, Jacob had already been guaranteed the money, so she couldn't blame him.
She opened the door and was reaching for her sunglasses when the package flopped at her feet. It must have been leaning against the door. It was in plain cardboard about the size of a saltines box. She went to the edge of the deck and peered over the side, expecting to see a UPS or FedEx van. The parking lot was nearly empty, the tenants off to day jobs and errands.
She picked up the package. It bore no label. The box was light, and might even have been empty. She carried it inside to the narrow table in the kitchenette, got a butcher knife, and slit the tape between the top two folds of cardboard.
As she peeled the flaps back, the odor of stale charcoal assailed her. Inside was a stained bundle of white cloth. She touched it, and then recognized the lace brocade around the small collar. It was the dress Mattie had worn at her First Communion.
She pulled the dress out, knocking the box to the floor with the motion. The dress was silk, and the bottom half of it had burned away. One sleeve had been torn off, and a black rip ran the length of the abbreviated back. Despite the ruin of the dress, it evoked an image of a beatific Mattie bowing before Father Rose, accepting the round wafer from the priest and putting it between her lips.
"Matilda Suzanne," Renee whispered, pressing the garment to her cheek. "Oh, my baby."
They had picked out the dress together, Mattie insisting on a "grown-up girl's dress," not one of the plain ones with a bow tied in the rear. She'd worn white
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