Read Online The Edge of Recall by Kristen Heitzmann - Free Book Online
Authors: Kristen Heitzmann
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nothing in his ears, so only the sounds they made came in. One rumbly snore, one nasal whiffle.
He crawled across the floor, pulled up on the pantry door, and slipped inside the narrow-shelved space. He felt with his fingers, the packages, the cans, the flip tops that meant meat or soup or stew. He picked one, not knowing which it would be, and slipped out. Back through the little door, back past the dozing dog. But not to the woods. Not yet.
He pulled open the can and dug his fingers into hash. He licked his lips, licked his fingers, and when he found a trash bin, slipped the can inside. No trace. No trail. He worked his way past the dark backsides of a few more houses and buildings, skirting the ones with lights, squinting at the offense.
He moved past the sleeping church to a small brick building. His hands quivered. He moved around to the side, pressed between the scratchy shrubs and the rough wall. Gripping the grate, smaller even than the dog’s door, he moved it aside. He almost had to dislocate his shoulders to squeeze through, but he made it and dropped to the floor with glee.
The pitch-black cellar smelled of dust and mildew. He breathed it like perfume, moving between the stacks without hesitation. He reached the stairs and climbed, went through the door, trying not to giggle. To the desk. The drawer. He felt for the metal cylinder, small and thin like a finger.
Bracing himself, he pressed one end, and a small, bluish light came out the point. The contents of the food cans could be a surprise, but not this. For this he needed just enough light to choose. He moved over to the first rack, the first floor-to-ceiling row of books. Heart racing, he let the light run over their titles, the numbers and categories on the white labels across their spines. He touched them, fingered them. What should he choose? What would he learn? This time.
CHAPTER
7
With a thrust of her boot, Tessa dug the spade’s edge into the turf between the footers at the labyrinth’s entrance. It felt as though she were disturbing something that had lain for a long time in peace and maybe wanted to stay that way. Then again, it was only dirt and grass and had no feelings one way or the other.
She had spent the last several days in meetings, poring over the plot plan, and generating her own drawings. She liked what she’d heard of the team members over the speaker phone, and the field engineer she’d met. But she had been there three weeks and was only now starting the actual recovery of the labyrinth.
Groaning when her phone rang, she stood the shovel in the ground. If it was Smith calling another meeting she’d scream, but it was her assistant. “Hi, Genie. What’s up?”
“Two things. Wilmette Meyer called—and she does want the fountain after all.”
“I already finished that job, and it wasn’t in the bid since she insisted a fountain wouldn’t look right.”
“Now she thinks maybe you were right. She went back and looked at your original drawings and wants the fountain.”
“I reworked the design to take it out. I’d have to undo things to get it back in.”
“She said you could put it anywhere.”
Well, if symmetry and aesthetics didn’t matter . . . “Send me my designs, and I’ll see what it would take. But I can’t say when I’ll get to it.” Ordinarily she’d snatch it up, but what she would make on the labyrinth project easily covered all her winter expenses, and she didn’t want the distraction. “Not till next spring. And make sure she understands this is a new bid.”
“Will do.”
“What’s the other thing?”
“You missed your appointment with Dr. Brenner. He wants to know if you’re all right.”
Tessa made an exasperated noise. “I meant to call him, but I got wrapped up in things here. Can you ask him to suspend my appointments until I get back? I’ll call to reschedule.”
“Umm . . .”
“What?”
“He wanted to hear from you.”
“Then why didn’t he call my
He crawled across the floor, pulled up on the pantry door, and slipped inside the narrow-shelved space. He felt with his fingers, the packages, the cans, the flip tops that meant meat or soup or stew. He picked one, not knowing which it would be, and slipped out. Back through the little door, back past the dozing dog. But not to the woods. Not yet.
He pulled open the can and dug his fingers into hash. He licked his lips, licked his fingers, and when he found a trash bin, slipped the can inside. No trace. No trail. He worked his way past the dark backsides of a few more houses and buildings, skirting the ones with lights, squinting at the offense.
He moved past the sleeping church to a small brick building. His hands quivered. He moved around to the side, pressed between the scratchy shrubs and the rough wall. Gripping the grate, smaller even than the dog’s door, he moved it aside. He almost had to dislocate his shoulders to squeeze through, but he made it and dropped to the floor with glee.
The pitch-black cellar smelled of dust and mildew. He breathed it like perfume, moving between the stacks without hesitation. He reached the stairs and climbed, went through the door, trying not to giggle. To the desk. The drawer. He felt for the metal cylinder, small and thin like a finger.
Bracing himself, he pressed one end, and a small, bluish light came out the point. The contents of the food cans could be a surprise, but not this. For this he needed just enough light to choose. He moved over to the first rack, the first floor-to-ceiling row of books. Heart racing, he let the light run over their titles, the numbers and categories on the white labels across their spines. He touched them, fingered them. What should he choose? What would he learn? This time.
CHAPTER
7
With a thrust of her boot, Tessa dug the spade’s edge into the turf between the footers at the labyrinth’s entrance. It felt as though she were disturbing something that had lain for a long time in peace and maybe wanted to stay that way. Then again, it was only dirt and grass and had no feelings one way or the other.
She had spent the last several days in meetings, poring over the plot plan, and generating her own drawings. She liked what she’d heard of the team members over the speaker phone, and the field engineer she’d met. But she had been there three weeks and was only now starting the actual recovery of the labyrinth.
Groaning when her phone rang, she stood the shovel in the ground. If it was Smith calling another meeting she’d scream, but it was her assistant. “Hi, Genie. What’s up?”
“Two things. Wilmette Meyer called—and she does want the fountain after all.”
“I already finished that job, and it wasn’t in the bid since she insisted a fountain wouldn’t look right.”
“Now she thinks maybe you were right. She went back and looked at your original drawings and wants the fountain.”
“I reworked the design to take it out. I’d have to undo things to get it back in.”
“She said you could put it anywhere.”
Well, if symmetry and aesthetics didn’t matter . . . “Send me my designs, and I’ll see what it would take. But I can’t say when I’ll get to it.” Ordinarily she’d snatch it up, but what she would make on the labyrinth project easily covered all her winter expenses, and she didn’t want the distraction. “Not till next spring. And make sure she understands this is a new bid.”
“Will do.”
“What’s the other thing?”
“You missed your appointment with Dr. Brenner. He wants to know if you’re all right.”
Tessa made an exasperated noise. “I meant to call him, but I got wrapped up in things here. Can you ask him to suspend my appointments until I get back? I’ll call to reschedule.”
“Umm . . .”
“What?”
“He wanted to hear from you.”
“Then why didn’t he call my
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