Read Online Findings by Mary Anna Evans - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Anna Evans
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The red smear on Joe’s cheek contrasted with the near-black of his sleek hair and the clear green of his eyes. His moccasins were soaked. Faye suspected he’d have to make himself a new pair.
Lanky Joe had to stoop over to get his mouth close to the stocky lawman’s ear. Clearly he didn’t want someone to hear what he was saying. Maybe that someone was her.
Faye knew she was sitting in a puddle of blood, but she felt like her brain could use a little boost in its blood flow. The hum in her ears was drowning out all ambient noise, and black dots swam in her field of vision.
The sheriff squinted in her direction. “Why hasn’t someone gotten that woman out of there? Look at her. Merciful God.”
He gave Joe a short nod, then jerked his head in the direction of one of his deputies. As Faye watched, Joe boarded a little aluminum johnboat belonging to the sheriff’s department and piloted it expertly, pulling alongside her and holding out a hand. Faye gathered her wits well enough to scramble out of Wally’s blood and into the boat. By moving carefully, she was able to accomplish this without disturbing the crime scene much at all.
“The sheriff said I could take you home. He said he’d make sure your skiff was cleaned up. We can swap it for this one tomorrow.”
Home. Faye could already feel the sand of Joyeuse Island under her feet. She could see her elegant home, rising high on its sturdy foundation, an above-ground basement, and two floors of cavernous living space, crowned with a magnificent cupola and surrounded by a forest of Grecian columns. Trying to restore this grand old ruin would be a lifelong project, but that was okay with Faye. She could hear the footsteps of six generations of her ancestors echoing through its halls. She wanted to go home.
Joe opened the throttle, and they left all that blood behind.
***
Faye’s finances had improved in recent years, so she’d been able to add a number of modern conveniences to Joyeuse. A few solar panels enabled her to run some electric lights and a small appliance or two, though not necessarily at the same time. Gas-powered appliances—refrigerator, range, and oven—gave her a near-normal kitchen. A diesel generator filled in the gaps in her newly modern lifestyle.
Still, beyond patching a few leaks, she’d never had to update the old house’s original plumbing. A rooftop cistern installed before the Civil War brought running water to her modern bathroom, sun-warmed and with ample pressure, any time she wanted it. And, tonight, she wanted it. Faye needed, more than anything else, to be clean.
Peeling off her clothes, stiff with drying blood, she shrank from the notion of tossing them on the bathroom floor or into the hamper. She vastly preferred the notion of burning them. Pushing open a casement window, she threw the ruined shirt and pants out of the house.
Naked and barefoot, she padded back to the shower, stopping only when something small and damp stuck to her foot. She stooped to pick up the folded paper and noticed, with a sigh, that it was bloody, too.
What on earth had she tucked in her pocket? In her headlong rush to purge her life of Wally’s blood, she was tempted to simply pitch it, until she recognized the stationery. The scrap of paper was torn from a piece of university letterhead. Graduate students like Faye could hardly afford to overlook correspondence from the entity that held their futures in its figurative hands. She uncrumpled the paper, wondering what the university wanted from her now.
How odd that she couldn’t remember opening any mail from the university in weeks. It had been longer than that since she visited the campus. She looked at the paper again, and she thought she saw the outlines of four bloody fingers. Could Wally have slipped this into her pocket?
Spreading the sticky paper out in the sink, she saw that it wasn’t a letter, just a hand-scrawled note. No, not even a note. Just eight characters: RARE
Lanky Joe had to stoop over to get his mouth close to the stocky lawman’s ear. Clearly he didn’t want someone to hear what he was saying. Maybe that someone was her.
Faye knew she was sitting in a puddle of blood, but she felt like her brain could use a little boost in its blood flow. The hum in her ears was drowning out all ambient noise, and black dots swam in her field of vision.
The sheriff squinted in her direction. “Why hasn’t someone gotten that woman out of there? Look at her. Merciful God.”
He gave Joe a short nod, then jerked his head in the direction of one of his deputies. As Faye watched, Joe boarded a little aluminum johnboat belonging to the sheriff’s department and piloted it expertly, pulling alongside her and holding out a hand. Faye gathered her wits well enough to scramble out of Wally’s blood and into the boat. By moving carefully, she was able to accomplish this without disturbing the crime scene much at all.
“The sheriff said I could take you home. He said he’d make sure your skiff was cleaned up. We can swap it for this one tomorrow.”
Home. Faye could already feel the sand of Joyeuse Island under her feet. She could see her elegant home, rising high on its sturdy foundation, an above-ground basement, and two floors of cavernous living space, crowned with a magnificent cupola and surrounded by a forest of Grecian columns. Trying to restore this grand old ruin would be a lifelong project, but that was okay with Faye. She could hear the footsteps of six generations of her ancestors echoing through its halls. She wanted to go home.
Joe opened the throttle, and they left all that blood behind.
***
Faye’s finances had improved in recent years, so she’d been able to add a number of modern conveniences to Joyeuse. A few solar panels enabled her to run some electric lights and a small appliance or two, though not necessarily at the same time. Gas-powered appliances—refrigerator, range, and oven—gave her a near-normal kitchen. A diesel generator filled in the gaps in her newly modern lifestyle.
Still, beyond patching a few leaks, she’d never had to update the old house’s original plumbing. A rooftop cistern installed before the Civil War brought running water to her modern bathroom, sun-warmed and with ample pressure, any time she wanted it. And, tonight, she wanted it. Faye needed, more than anything else, to be clean.
Peeling off her clothes, stiff with drying blood, she shrank from the notion of tossing them on the bathroom floor or into the hamper. She vastly preferred the notion of burning them. Pushing open a casement window, she threw the ruined shirt and pants out of the house.
Naked and barefoot, she padded back to the shower, stopping only when something small and damp stuck to her foot. She stooped to pick up the folded paper and noticed, with a sigh, that it was bloody, too.
What on earth had she tucked in her pocket? In her headlong rush to purge her life of Wally’s blood, she was tempted to simply pitch it, until she recognized the stationery. The scrap of paper was torn from a piece of university letterhead. Graduate students like Faye could hardly afford to overlook correspondence from the entity that held their futures in its figurative hands. She uncrumpled the paper, wondering what the university wanted from her now.
How odd that she couldn’t remember opening any mail from the university in weeks. It had been longer than that since she visited the campus. She looked at the paper again, and she thought she saw the outlines of four bloody fingers. Could Wally have slipped this into her pocket?
Spreading the sticky paper out in the sink, she saw that it wasn’t a letter, just a hand-scrawled note. No, not even a note. Just eight characters: RARE
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