Read Online Truly, Madly by Heather Webber - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Heather Webber
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set Grendel down, but his claws came out and latched into the fabric of my blazer. Brief panic that perhaps Butch had stayed for a sleepover dissipated as I peeked into my bedroom. The bed was empty.
I flipped on the overhead light and looked around and blinked in surprise at what was on my dresser—a plastic cage.
Grendel retracted his claws and jumped to the floor, his tail in the air. Obviously, he wasn't a fan of Marisol's newest gift.
There was no note or instructions attached to the colorful cage. Two bags sat alongside it—food and treats. Hamster food and treats.
I made kissy noises. A tiny black and white hamster stood inside a wire wheel, his front paws in the air. One eye stared at me intently. The other had been stitched closed.
Grendel performed figure eights around my feet as I opened the cage's door and let the hamster sniff my fingers. A little bowl of food sat in the corner of the cage, and a tunnel led up to a bottle of water. A little plastic box lay nestled in pine shavings. After a second the hamster went back to running on the wheel, his little legs pumping.
I closed the door to the cage and sat on the bed. Grendel immediately hopped into my lap.
''What are we going to do with a one-eyed hamster?'' I asked him.
He looked at me like he knew exactly what to do with a bothersome rodent—if he wasn't so scared of it.
Tomorrow, I'd call Marisol and get the scoop. Until then, I figured I'd better get some sleep.
In the living room, I locked the doors and was about to switch off the lamp when I saw the files I had brought home from work on the coffee table.
They looked as though they'd been riffled through.
Dovie's handiwork, no doubt.
I flipped through a few of the files, fighting back a yawn. There wasn't anything here that couldn't wait till tomorrow morning. I dropped the files back onto the table, and a swatch of bold orange caught my attention.
It was Michael Lafferty's file.
Separating it from the rest, I looked it over, analyzing it this time. All his answers seemed so normal. Just your average everyday good old boy from next door.
Unfortunately, I knew looks could be deceiving.
SEVEN
The Greenbush Line was a light-rail MBTA commuter train that ran to and from the South Shore and Boston. I preferred the commuter boat, though it took a bit longer—longer only because I had to drive into Hingham. When I was in a hurry, I took the train.
Like today.
I overslept and was dangerously close to being late for my first appointment of the day, a follow-up with a woman named Mary Keegan. I needed to get in town fast. So, I phoned Raphael and had him meet me at South Station instead of the dock.
Suzannah was highly capable of holding Valentine, Inc., steady when no one was there; she'd been doing it for years, ever since she walked in looking for love and left with a job. Two years later, she was entrusted with our family secret after questioning my father about why he had been coloring on people's files. She'd been working for my father for nearly five years and was practically part of my family. What's one more person to add to the dysfunction? However, as far as I could see, Suz was the sanest of us all.
And she certainly wouldn't rat me out to my dad if I was late. Even still . . .
My father trusted me, me of the barista, dog-walking, day-care fame—to run his beloved company. Leading me to believe that he saw potential I didn't see in myself.
I didn't want to fail. The company needed to thrive under my leadership, even if it was for two weeks only. I didn't want to let my father down. Again. I'd let him down enough when I lost my ability to read auras.
Dropping my head against the seat, I wished the train would hurry up already. I was too agitated to attempt math problems, even easy ones. Instead I started a mental to-do list. Number one was getting to work on time (it would be a miracle). If my first client hadn't yet arrived, I'd call Marisol to make sure she didn't have any
I flipped on the overhead light and looked around and blinked in surprise at what was on my dresser—a plastic cage.
Grendel retracted his claws and jumped to the floor, his tail in the air. Obviously, he wasn't a fan of Marisol's newest gift.
There was no note or instructions attached to the colorful cage. Two bags sat alongside it—food and treats. Hamster food and treats.
I made kissy noises. A tiny black and white hamster stood inside a wire wheel, his front paws in the air. One eye stared at me intently. The other had been stitched closed.
Grendel performed figure eights around my feet as I opened the cage's door and let the hamster sniff my fingers. A little bowl of food sat in the corner of the cage, and a tunnel led up to a bottle of water. A little plastic box lay nestled in pine shavings. After a second the hamster went back to running on the wheel, his little legs pumping.
I closed the door to the cage and sat on the bed. Grendel immediately hopped into my lap.
''What are we going to do with a one-eyed hamster?'' I asked him.
He looked at me like he knew exactly what to do with a bothersome rodent—if he wasn't so scared of it.
Tomorrow, I'd call Marisol and get the scoop. Until then, I figured I'd better get some sleep.
In the living room, I locked the doors and was about to switch off the lamp when I saw the files I had brought home from work on the coffee table.
They looked as though they'd been riffled through.
Dovie's handiwork, no doubt.
I flipped through a few of the files, fighting back a yawn. There wasn't anything here that couldn't wait till tomorrow morning. I dropped the files back onto the table, and a swatch of bold orange caught my attention.
It was Michael Lafferty's file.
Separating it from the rest, I looked it over, analyzing it this time. All his answers seemed so normal. Just your average everyday good old boy from next door.
Unfortunately, I knew looks could be deceiving.
SEVEN
The Greenbush Line was a light-rail MBTA commuter train that ran to and from the South Shore and Boston. I preferred the commuter boat, though it took a bit longer—longer only because I had to drive into Hingham. When I was in a hurry, I took the train.
Like today.
I overslept and was dangerously close to being late for my first appointment of the day, a follow-up with a woman named Mary Keegan. I needed to get in town fast. So, I phoned Raphael and had him meet me at South Station instead of the dock.
Suzannah was highly capable of holding Valentine, Inc., steady when no one was there; she'd been doing it for years, ever since she walked in looking for love and left with a job. Two years later, she was entrusted with our family secret after questioning my father about why he had been coloring on people's files. She'd been working for my father for nearly five years and was practically part of my family. What's one more person to add to the dysfunction? However, as far as I could see, Suz was the sanest of us all.
And she certainly wouldn't rat me out to my dad if I was late. Even still . . .
My father trusted me, me of the barista, dog-walking, day-care fame—to run his beloved company. Leading me to believe that he saw potential I didn't see in myself.
I didn't want to fail. The company needed to thrive under my leadership, even if it was for two weeks only. I didn't want to let my father down. Again. I'd let him down enough when I lost my ability to read auras.
Dropping my head against the seat, I wished the train would hurry up already. I was too agitated to attempt math problems, even easy ones. Instead I started a mental to-do list. Number one was getting to work on time (it would be a miracle). If my first client hadn't yet arrived, I'd call Marisol to make sure she didn't have any
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