Read Online Yesternight by Cat Winters - Free Book Online Page A

in a long time.”
    â€œHow long?”
    â€œVery long.”
    â€œWhat is her name?”
    Janie sunk her teeth into her lower lip. “Eleanor.”
    â€œAnd . . . is Eleanor older than you?”
    She swiveled to her left in her chair and pointed her knees toward the entrance to the classroom.
    â€œJanie?” I swallowed. “Is Eleanor still alive?”
    I could only see a sliver of Janie’s profile, but I witnessed the downward turn of her mouth, the pursing of her slender red eyebrows.
    â€œOh . . . I’m sorry,” I said in a voice a hair above a whisper, assuming the sibling to be deceased.
    â€œI don’t know if she’s still alive,” said Janie, swallowing. “She’d be an older woman now.”
    I leaned forward in my chair. “I’m sorry; I think I might have heard you wrong. Did you just say that your sister would be an older woman?”
    â€œProbably fifty-three or so.”
    I drew a short breath and strove not to laugh. “Fifty-three?”
    â€œShe would have—” Janie blinked and whipped her head my way with her mouth wide open, as though catching me in the act of eavesdropping on a private conversation. “May I return to my desk now?”
    â€œYes.” I froze, startled by her shift in character. “We’re done with the examination. But, Janie, if you—”
    The child shot off her chair and tore around the corner, back to the classroom.

     CHAPTER 6
    I examined two more seven-year-olds that afternoon: a sullen boy with the mental age of four and the little brunette whom I’d mistaken for Janie the day before. Not surprisingly, no one matched the mathematical acrobatics of Janie O’Daire.
    â€œMost of the children I tested today seem to be operating within average IQ ranges,” I said to Miss Simpkin when we conferred at her desk after the children went home. “The pupil I’m most concerned about is Dale Gage. His IQ is fifty, which is more typical of a child of four, not seven.”
    Miss Simpkin tutted over poor Dale, and we discussed the need for him to be placed on the list of students who would benefit from a class or school designed for subnormal children in the region. Unlike the previous afternoon, Miss Simpkin did not pull a cigarette out of her desk drawer, but she chewed on the end of a pencil as though hungering for a smoke. I discussed the color-blind boy and the girl with a lisp, both of whom demonstrated average mental abilities for their ages and grades, despite their particular impediments. Flames sputtered in the stove next to the desk, and a freshafternoon rainstorm jackhammered the roof and tossed about the pine branches outside the window.
    â€œAnd what about Janie?” asked Miss Simpkin. She bit down on the pencil with a discernible crunch .
    â€œAh, yes, Janie.” I ran my index finger across the line on my records containing Janie’s responses, quite certain that Miss Simpkin saw straight through my attempt to pretend I didn’t immediately remember her niece’s results. “I have to ask”—I glanced up at her—“who is Mr. Rook?”
    She drew the pencil out of her mouth. “Mr. Rook?”
    â€œYes. Janie, as you probably know, demonstrated an astounding knack for mathematics. When I asked where she learned such impressive skills, she said a Mr. Rook had been the teacher who helped her discover her talent for numbers.”
    Miss Simpkin shuddered. “That, Miss Lind, is a prime example of Janie’s disquieting behavior. I am the only person who has ever been Janie’s schoolteacher.”
    â€œHow interesting . . .” I crossed my legs. “Janie described the man as having a cleft chin and a distinctive pocket watch. Is there anyone she knows who meets those descriptions?”
    â€œNo one I can think of. There is no Mr. Rook in Gordon Bay. Even the name alone gives me the willies.