Kathy Reichs - Seizure

“We need to inspect all the low places,” Hi’s face had reddened with excitement. “Cellars, basements, crypts, anything underground.”

“Can’t we check from the shoreline?” I asked, a bit dubious.

Hi shook his head. “The Battery seawall blocks off the caves. You can’t see anything without scuba gear.”

I snapped my fingers. “I’ve got it.”

Now it was my turn to run home. Twenty steps to the door, straight up the stairs to my bedroom, a bit of pocket rifling, then a dash back down. The roundtrip took less than two minutes.

“Impressive,” Hi said. “But I was carrying hardware.”

“I know how we can get into some downtown basements.” I held out a crumpled flyer. “Anyone up for a ghost tour?”

THE SPIRITS WOULD have to wait.

Kit axed my proposal the moment I presented it.

“Not a chance,” he said. “You’re still on probation. That means no Wednesday-night trips downtown. Period.”

No matter how much I argued, he wouldn’t budge.

A flurry of texts followed. The other parents were on the same page. We’d have to go another time.

I tried not to sulk. I needed to get back on Kit’s good side. So, Tory the Obedient Daughter spent the afternoon cleaning out her closet, then joined Kit on the couch for some evening network TV.

Yippee.

After circling three times, Coop flopped on his mat. Satisfied that Kit and I were settled, he got down to some serious napping.

I didn’t mention my recent activities. The yacht club. The museum. The pirates of Chuck Town. The last thing I wanted was Kit shining a light on my day-to-day. Each attempt at small talk received a vague, innocuous reply. Eventually he lost interest.

Above all, I didn’t mention Anne Bonny. Until a certain stolen document was returned, I was at risk. Both curators could ID me. The less people thought about pirate treasure, the better.

And there was another reason for my evasiveness: Kit would think I was nuts. Or worse, childish.

Frankly, I might have agreed with him. Buried treasure was the most ridiculous solution imaginable for our problem. But we had nothing else.

A ridiculous plan was better than none.

“ Bones okay?” Kit slouched, feet propped on the coffee table.

“That’s fine.”

We watched in silence, side by side, occasionally chuckling at some of the jokes. I relaxed. Spending time with Kit wasn’t so bad. I vowed to do it more often.

But then he decided to chat.

“I talked to a guy in Minnesota today.”

“About?”

“A job with the Forest Service. Near Lake Winnibigoshish. Could be fun.”

“Winni-what?”

“In the Chippewa National Forest.” Kit sat forward. “It’s gorgeous, all lakes and woodlands. Tons to do. Kayaking. Hiking. Ice fishing and sledding. You could ski every day.”

“I don’t know how to ski, Kit.”

“You could take lessons. Or ski cross-country; that’s more popular there anyway. We could live in Cohasset, which isn’t that much—”

“Enough!”

Coop’s head popped up.

Kit flinched.

“God, you just don’t get it!” I knew I was losing it. Couldn’t help myself. “I don’t want to move anywhere . I want to stay here!”

“I have to find work, Tory.” Kit spoke carefully. “I don’t want the institute to close any more than you do, but it’s not up to me. And I have to take care of you.”

“Bang-up job so far.”

Unfair. Didn’t care. The words flew out.

“You move me down here, I finally get settled, and then, boom , it’s all over? Just like that? And I’m supposed to just nod and accept it?”

“I’m trying to find something you’ll like.”

“That’s crap! Thirty seconds ago you were hard-selling the Great White North. Ice fishing? What a joke.”

“What am I supposed to do?” he shot back. “You tell me.”

“Fix it! Make it so we can stay!”

Kit’s mouth opened, heated words at the ready. But they didn’t come. Instead, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and rubbed his face. When he finally spoke, the anger was gone.

“I wish I could, Tory. I really do. But some things are beyond my control.”

“That’s not good enough!”

“No. It’s not. I feel terrible about the prospect of uprooting you again, so soon after …” Kit trailed off. Nine months in, yet he was still uncomfortable speaking about my mother. Then, finally, “I don’t know what else to say.”

Coop came over and shoved his snout in my lap. Watery blue eyes met mine. Called me out.

“I know it’s not your fault,” I said. “It’s just …”

The words wouldn’t form. I was being selfish and immature, acting like a spoiled child. How could I blame him? But I was still too angry to apologize.

“I’m taking Coop for a walk.”

I crossed the room and grabbed the leash from its peg. Kit didn’t try to stop me.

“Be careful. It’s late.”

Coop scampered to the door, eager at the prospect of a nighttime jaunt. I carried the leash and let him run free.

Outside, the moon was a bright lunar spotlight. A breeze tousled my hair. The air felt warm and moist, but not unpleasantly so.

Walking in the dark, a feeling of shame overwhelmed me. Once again, I’d wrongly blasted Kit. My father. The person who wanted the best for me, and loved me above all others. Why did I use him as a punching bag? What good did it do?

Coop ran ahead down the beach, chasing crabs and the occasional night bird.

My pocket beeped and vibrated. Incoming text.

I almost ignored it, certain Kit was sending a heartfelt request for forgiveness. The last thing I wanted was more guilt.

But curiosity got the best of me.

Digging out my iPhone, I tapped the screen.

Jason Taylor.

Great.

I pulled up the message.

Jason apologized for abandoning me at the yacht club. He’d just heard, felt terrible. Blah blah blah. Could I please write him back?

Delete.

The last thing I wanted to deal with right then. And for some reason, his message pissed me off. Where had Jason been? Five minutes after hitting the dock, he was gone. So much for showing me around.

And why the apology? Jason hadn’t caused the Tripod attack. He owed me nothing. It wasn’t his job to defend my honor.

His attitude annoyed me. I could take care of myself.

“Why does everything happen at once?” I asked the Big Dipper overhead.

Coop glanced up from a pile of reeds, trotted over, and licked my hand.

“Thanks, boy.” I stroked his back. “You’re the number one man in my life.”

I felt Coop tense. His head whipped toward the townhouses.

“Something wrong?” I whispered.

Coop stepped forward, braced his legs, and growled. Hackles up, his eyes focused on something in the darkness.

It occurred to me that I was alone at night, on a dark beach, in the middle of nowhere.

I froze, listening.

The swish of shifting sand. The snap of flapping nylon.

My eyes strained. A shadow took shape, denser than the surrounding blackness.

It loomed directly between me and my home.

“CHILL OUT, COOP!”

Tension drained from me. I knew that voice.

Shelton approached, careful to let the wolfdog recognize him. Though still a puppy, at sixty pounds Coop could do serious damage.

“Easy, boy.” I scratched doggy ears. “He’s one of us.”