Read Online Grey Zone by Clea Simon - Free Book Online Page B

But her voice seemed to mean something to her, and the woman froze, then turned and disappeared.
    â€˜Hey!’ Who was that woman, and why did she keep turning up? ‘Wait!’
    But as Dulcie pushed forward, she found herself running into the yellow reflective arm of an emergency worker.
    â€˜Please, miss, step back.’ Another yellow jacket – a cop or something like – was herding three other onlookers back. ‘We need to clear the area.’
    â€˜But I’m looking for someone.’ Being short had some advantages: Dulcie ducked under the outstretched arm.
    â€˜Miss, please!’
    And stopped short. The police hadn’t succeeded in entirely clearing the plaza. One young man was leaning against the building’s steel pillars, head down with either sorrow or sickness. And a knot of down parkas surrounded another emergency worker, his broad gestures doing little to disperse them. None of them seemed to be wearing that particular shade of green. But just beyond, strangely lonely on the patterned stone pavement, she could see a hand. Palm up, fingers curled, it made the only still point in the whole tableau.
    Dulcie gasped. She hadn’t thought – not really – what all the hubbub had meant. She hadn’t realized. And then she did. The stone of the plaza wasn’t patterned. Those two thin stripes, dark against the gray, were too shiny. They were blood.
    Back behind the building, Dulcie sat on the curb, gulping in air. Head down, she reminded herself: breathe . Her imagination was running wild. Blood? It had looked dark, thick. Shouldn’t there have been more? But as she sat there, the horror of what had happened began to sink in. Blood. A body. A member of the university community sprawled on the pavement. Blood.
    It was several minutes before her vision cleared. At least she hadn’t finished her lunch.
    It was cold, sitting on the curb, but Dulcie didn’t quite trust her legs. Instead, she dialed Chris’s number.
    â€˜Chris?’ His voicemail seemed so distant. ‘There’s been an accident.’ No, that was wrong. ‘An incident. Call me?’ She hung up before she could start to cry. Mr Grey, that’s who she needed. But although she could picture the gray cat, she knew she couldn’t summon him. Increasingly, in fact, he had only made his presence felt back at her apartment, when she was on the edge of sleep.
    Sleep. Dulcie knew her nerves were too jangled, but the idea of crawling into bed with the kitten beckoned. Or maybe just a cuddle on the couch, a mug of hot cocoa, and warm, clean socks. Thinking of Esmé, of how her cat could distract her, was comforting. Maybe it was time to unveil the felt mice Lucy had sent, the ones stuffed with home-grown catnip.
    Lucy. Dulcie had a sudden strong urge to call her mother. To tell her everything. But, no. Lucy’s heart was in the right place, and Dulcie knew her mother loved her. But she’d muck this all up with her mongrel mysticism. What Dulcie didn’t need right now was the kind of advice her mother would give, about karma and the circle of life. Likewise, there was no way she was going to gather sage and charcoal now, not to make a circle around the Poche Building. Not to exorcize a spirit who had, she hoped, already gone on to better things.
    Speaking of moving on, Dulcie noticed how the damp of the curb had begun to seep through her jeans. Her nausea had abated. It was time to get going. Home. The kitten. Cocoa. One of the emergency vehicles drove past, no lights, no sirens. Well, there was little need for them now. Still, when her cell phone rang, Dulcie jumped.
    â€˜Hello?’
    â€˜Dulcie, glad I caught you.’ She should have looked at the number. She’d hoped for Chris, or some other friend. For Corkie. Even, she admitted, Lucy. Instead, she had Norm Chelowski, her thesis adviser. ‘Are you on campus?’
    â€˜Well, I was on my way