Read Online The Butterfly Code by Sue Wyshynski - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sue Wyshynski
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I let up on the accelerator.
Relax. It’s only a delivery. I chew my lip. I’m sure Hunter will be happy to get his jacket back.
Only a mile left to the promontory entrance.
I have no idea what to expect.
I haven’t driven this close since the day Dad and I came out here together, before Hunter’s people bought the land to build the Phoenix Research Lab. That was three years ago.
Some memories stick in your mind with vivid clarity. I can still recall every single thing about that afternoon.
Dad was living in New York, and I was at Juilliard. We’d returned to Deep Cove to visit his summerhouse, and to take a vacation ourselves. I hadn’t seen it since those long-ago summers with Ella and Gage. Because of the full-time tenant, we’d stayed away. But now his tenant was moving, and Dad needed to assess the place for any problems before finding someone new.
On our second day in Deep Cove, he announced he wanted to show me something.
We climbed into the Range Rover and headed up this way.
I was joking around. Asking what the big mystery was.
"I’ll tell you when we get there," he replied.
I knew we were headed toward the big country estate on the promontory. I’d heard about the massive home with its open parklands and narrow road in. People claimed it was haunted. The couple who lived there were recluses. Few guests came and went through their gates.
Dad and I turned the final corner toward the vast residence. We were met with the sight of construction vehicles blocking the entranceway. To my surprise, Dad looked dismayed.
He maneuvered the Range Rover into a grassy ditch. We climbed out, slamming our doors, and approached a red-faced man in a hard hat and orange vest. His nametag said mike .
"What’s with all the construction?" Dad asked.
Mike shrugged his rounded, sweating shoulders. "Someone bought the place." A tractor began emitting high-pitched beeps. It lurched in reverse. He jabbed out a ruddy hand. "Watch it, you gotta step back."
"Who bought it?" Dad asked.
"Some fancy research operation."
"Researchers?" Dad’s voice grew wary. "What kind of researchers?"
"Dunno. Money up the wazoo, though."
"I wish I’d been notified when the place went up for sale. Who made the deal?"
"Private handover."
A tense beat followed.
"Who was the purchaser?"
In answer, Mike pointed his thick, grimy index finger at an engraved plaque, still in its plastic wrapping. "That’s all I know."
Dad stepped closer to the sign, and his face blanched.
"What is it?" I said.
"Nothing."
His words didn’t match his grim tone.
I quickly studied the thing myself, trying to determine what had him so upset. A frolicking dog formed the central figure, a Labrador with a bandanna around its neck. Tongue hanging out and smiling in the way dogs do, it chased a bird in the sky. Soaring upward, the bird’s forked tail and sharp pointed wings reminded me of something. Underneath the raised relief, the words Phoenix Research Lab were printed in large letters.
Dad cleared his throat. "Thanks. We’ll be off, then."
"But, Dad," I said. "What—"
"We’ll get out of your way," he told Mike. "Thanks for the heads-up."
"Not a problem. Have a good one."
"You do the same."
In the car, Dad let out a big breath, and then gave me a smile that was surely forced. "How about lunch?"
"Why were you so upset back there?"
"I wasn’t. Surprised, that’s all. Now how about we get on with our vacation. Pizza? Because I’m starved."
As it turned out, the visit was more than a vacation. The lab wasn’t the only place in transition. Rather than finding a new tenant, Dad decided to move back into the summerhouse. Not only that, he took over his tenant’s small tack-and-saddle-supply operation and turned it into Thorne Country Supply.
Today, three years later, it strikes me just how odd it was for Dad to give up his bustling work in the city. He’d claimed a change of pace would be good for him. He’d transferred his whole life
Relax. It’s only a delivery. I chew my lip. I’m sure Hunter will be happy to get his jacket back.
Only a mile left to the promontory entrance.
I have no idea what to expect.
I haven’t driven this close since the day Dad and I came out here together, before Hunter’s people bought the land to build the Phoenix Research Lab. That was three years ago.
Some memories stick in your mind with vivid clarity. I can still recall every single thing about that afternoon.
Dad was living in New York, and I was at Juilliard. We’d returned to Deep Cove to visit his summerhouse, and to take a vacation ourselves. I hadn’t seen it since those long-ago summers with Ella and Gage. Because of the full-time tenant, we’d stayed away. But now his tenant was moving, and Dad needed to assess the place for any problems before finding someone new.
On our second day in Deep Cove, he announced he wanted to show me something.
We climbed into the Range Rover and headed up this way.
I was joking around. Asking what the big mystery was.
"I’ll tell you when we get there," he replied.
I knew we were headed toward the big country estate on the promontory. I’d heard about the massive home with its open parklands and narrow road in. People claimed it was haunted. The couple who lived there were recluses. Few guests came and went through their gates.
Dad and I turned the final corner toward the vast residence. We were met with the sight of construction vehicles blocking the entranceway. To my surprise, Dad looked dismayed.
He maneuvered the Range Rover into a grassy ditch. We climbed out, slamming our doors, and approached a red-faced man in a hard hat and orange vest. His nametag said mike .
"What’s with all the construction?" Dad asked.
Mike shrugged his rounded, sweating shoulders. "Someone bought the place." A tractor began emitting high-pitched beeps. It lurched in reverse. He jabbed out a ruddy hand. "Watch it, you gotta step back."
"Who bought it?" Dad asked.
"Some fancy research operation."
"Researchers?" Dad’s voice grew wary. "What kind of researchers?"
"Dunno. Money up the wazoo, though."
"I wish I’d been notified when the place went up for sale. Who made the deal?"
"Private handover."
A tense beat followed.
"Who was the purchaser?"
In answer, Mike pointed his thick, grimy index finger at an engraved plaque, still in its plastic wrapping. "That’s all I know."
Dad stepped closer to the sign, and his face blanched.
"What is it?" I said.
"Nothing."
His words didn’t match his grim tone.
I quickly studied the thing myself, trying to determine what had him so upset. A frolicking dog formed the central figure, a Labrador with a bandanna around its neck. Tongue hanging out and smiling in the way dogs do, it chased a bird in the sky. Soaring upward, the bird’s forked tail and sharp pointed wings reminded me of something. Underneath the raised relief, the words Phoenix Research Lab were printed in large letters.
Dad cleared his throat. "Thanks. We’ll be off, then."
"But, Dad," I said. "What—"
"We’ll get out of your way," he told Mike. "Thanks for the heads-up."
"Not a problem. Have a good one."
"You do the same."
In the car, Dad let out a big breath, and then gave me a smile that was surely forced. "How about lunch?"
"Why were you so upset back there?"
"I wasn’t. Surprised, that’s all. Now how about we get on with our vacation. Pizza? Because I’m starved."
As it turned out, the visit was more than a vacation. The lab wasn’t the only place in transition. Rather than finding a new tenant, Dad decided to move back into the summerhouse. Not only that, he took over his tenant’s small tack-and-saddle-supply operation and turned it into Thorne Country Supply.
Today, three years later, it strikes me just how odd it was for Dad to give up his bustling work in the city. He’d claimed a change of pace would be good for him. He’d transferred his whole life
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