Night Terrors: Savage Species, Book 1 (3 page)

“Would you be civil?” Emma asked. “For once?”

“She’s the one with the attitude.”

Emma’s whole demeanor changed. Jesse thought of an anchorwoman telling off her co-host before they went on air and then smiling into the cameras. She beamed as the Buick crunched forward to where the short woman stood. “Hi, Ms. Farmer. We’re from
The Shadeland Truth
.”

“You Colleen?” the woman asked.

Emma’s smile didn’t waver. “I’m Emma Cayce, this is Jesse Hargrove, and—”

“Your friend needs a lesson in politeness.”

Jesse glanced back at Colleen, who looked unabashed. He waited for her to make some wisecrack, but she settled for a quiet smirk.

Emma nodded. “Colleen can be abrasive at times.”

“
Hey
,” Colleen said, but Emma was going on. “We’re so grateful you agreed to talk to us, Ms. Farmer.”

“Good publicity,” Linda Farmer said. “I trust you’ll paint us in a positive light?”

Emma’s face tightened almost imperceptibly. “Of course.”

“You can park over there,” Linda said and indicated a row of spaces. “I’ll show you some of the salient features of the park, then you can interview Ron.”

The mustachioed man in the brown shirt and, Jesse now saw, skin-tight brown shorts stepped out of the shack.

Ron the DNR officer said something to Linda, whose face lit up. Jesse marveled at how much mascara and lipstick she wore. Emma and Colleen exchanged a look. They’d noticed Ron’s shorty shorts too.

“We’ll take the Gator,” Linda said.

They parked and followed Linda toward a small green vehicle that reminded Jesse of a golf cart. As they climbed in, Ron pulled away in a white pickup truck with the DNR insignia on the door.

“Is he your special friend?” Colleen asked Linda.

Linda Farmer turned in her seat and stared at Colleen, who for some reason had opted to ride next to her. “Let’s get something straight, Ms. Matthews. I have a college degree, too. In forestry. Four years at WIU, same as you. I probably bring home double what you make at that pissant little newspaper, so you can just drop the patronizing attitude.”

Jesse glanced at Emma, who’d swallowed her lips to hold back laughter.

Colleen met Linda Farmer’s stare for a moment. She said, “I apologize if I offended you.”

Linda nodded curtly and started the Gator.

As they began to roll forward, Colleen said, “Should I call you Professor?”

Chapter Two

Charly barely heard Eric pull into the drive over the screaming on the baby monitor. She’d have gotten to the nursery thirty seconds ago, when Jake began crying, but her hands were slathered in paint thinner.

Her oldest daughter had decided to decorate the foyer wall.

Charly braced herself for Eric’s reaction. If she was lucky, he’d enter through the garage and not use the entryway, which had been splashed with garish swaths of purple and green, Kate’s favorite colors. Using her elbow—one of the few places on her anatomy not smeared with paint or tingling with paint thinner—Charly eased open the front door curtain.

She frowned. It wasn’t Eric’s Escalade at all, but rather a little red sports car she’d seen before but couldn’t immediately place. Then the driver cut the engine, and Charly saw the tall, longhaired brunette climb out.

Great
, Charly thought.
President of the Eric Florence Fan Club
.

Easy
, a voice soothed.
Most women’s basketball coaches have female assistants, right? Would you rather he let you screen the candidates to make sure none of them are attractive?

Charly grinned.
Actually
…

Stop it
, the voice told her.
Meet them on the lawn and put on a good show like always. But first wash your hands. You smell like an old rag someone tossed on the garage floor
.

But…Jake
, Charly thought.
The poor kid’s been cranking for well over a minute now
.

He’s fine. Babies are supposed to cry.

Charly’s smile faded. That sounded way too much like Eric for her liking.

She peered out the window again and discovered her husband and the tall girl standing in the driveway, Eric demonstrating some sort of basketball move on her. Whatever it was, it apparently required him to nestle his crotch against her rear end.

Charly’s lips thinned.

She moved resolutely up the stairs. She poked her head inside the nursery and said, “Just a minute, Jakers, Mommy’s gotta wash her hands before she picks you up.”

Over the light blue crib liner she saw one pink foot peek briefly at her before dropping out of sight. Jake’s screaming intensified.

Charly twisted on the water. Below she could hear the side door opening, muffled voices. She scrubbed her hands, her forearms, and struggled to retrieve the new assistant’s name from her memory. Mallory? Melody? Maleficent?

Melanie
, the voice reminded her.
Melanie Macomber, like that Hemingway story you read in college
.

Charly shut off the water and dried her hands. Across the hall it sounded as if Jake was about to shatter the nursery windows.

“You got good lungs, kiddo,” she said and hurried to the crib. Jake’s blue eyes—her eyes—flitted to her, and her heart ached a little at the tear streaks on his temples, the scarlet hue of his face. Cradling him, she whispered, “Mommy’s sorry, Jakers. Mommy’s sorry.”

He quieted down after a few moments of rocking, so she shut off the baby monitor—who needed a monitor anyway when the kid had a voice like a fire truck siren?—and lugged her six-month-old down the curved staircase. She reached the landing and heard Eric and Melanie talking in the kitchen. When she and Jake came in, Eric said, “Hey, Junior.”

Hasn’t noticed the purple-green horror
, Charly thought. He also didn’t attempt to hold his son, but that was nothing new.

“Aww,” Melanie said to Eric, “he looks just like you.”

The hell he does
, Charly thought.
My blue eyes, my nose. Maybe he has Eric’s chin, but even that’s debatable
.

“He’s even more adorable than you said,” Melanie cooed.

Did he happen to mention his daughters?
Charly nearly asked.

“Oh, Mrs. Florence, you must be so proud.”

Charly suppressed a sneer.
Mrs. Florence. Thanks a lot for aging me, you little tart.

“I am very proud, Melanie. And please call me Charly.”

Eric had his iPhone out, texting someone. Probably a recruit or one of his current players. Charly couldn’t reach him if her life depended on it, but his basketball players…

“Goddamned reception,” Eric muttered. “I get a decent signal out here maybe once a month.”

Melanie smiled at Charly. “Your new house is beautiful.”

“Better than that shack we lived in before,” Eric said without looking up.

“You mean my childhood home,” Charly said.

For the first time, Eric seemed to notice she was in the room. His expression indicated she’d be better off in another part of the house.

“Charly’s sentimental,” Eric explained. “She won’t get rid of anything that belonged to her parents.”

Melanie’s perfectly plucked eyebrows formed an inverted V. “Your folks aren’t living?”

“Would you like something to drink?” Charly shifted Jake to the arm that hadn’t fallen asleep and opened the fridge. “We have Coke, juice, water—”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Florence.”

“Oh,” Charly said, “I forgot to ask. Where’s your car?”

“Had a flat,” Eric said. “Thank God Melanie was still at the gym.”

“Don’t you have a spare?”

Eric shrugged, eyes on his phone. “One of the custodians can change it for me tomorrow.”

Charly turned away so he wouldn’t see her expression.

“You decide about that new zone offense?” Melanie asked.

“Don’t like it,” Eric said. “That skip pass is dangerous.”

“Your daughters are downstairs,” Charly said. “In case you wanted to interact with them.”

Eric and Melanie both turned and watched her. After a long moment, Melanie picked her keys up and said, “I better get going, Flo. Thanks for the hospitality, Mrs. Florence.”

Charly eyed the tall girl a moment. She couldn’t tell whether the tone had been ironic or not, but Melanie Macomber was indeed a stunner. Six feet tall, dark brown hair that reached halfway down her sculpted back, cheeks speckled with just the right number of freckles. The girl’s eyelashes looked like they belonged to some animated princess.

Charly put on what she hoped was a sweet smile. “Please come over for dinner sometime.”

Melanie nodded noncommittally, gave Eric a smile and went out.

When the front door closed, Eric said, “Feeling threatened?”

Charly opened the fridge and lifted out the ground beef. “Speaking of feeling threatened, Sam Bledsoe called.”

Eric grunted. “Bet you liked that.”

Jake seized a handful of her hair, yanked. Teeth bared, she gently pried open his iron grip. “He’ll be here any minute to check on the construction next door. He said you could talk to him then.”

“Nice of him to fit me in.”

“Please be nice, Eric.”

“You’re nice enough for both of us.”

Footsteps sounded from below, their daughters tromping up the basement stairs. Kate appeared first, followed by Olivia. Olivia went straight to the computer desk, presumably to draw circles on her notebook, but Kate just stood at Charly’s side.

“Does Dad know about the wall yet?” she whispered.

“What wall?” Eric asked.

Charly winced, drew Kate closer.

“I drew a purple walrus,” Kate said.

Eric watched her from the kitchen table. “Purple walrus.”

“I made his tusks green.”

Eric looked at Charly for an explanation. Beyond her husband, Charly saw Olivia’s four-year-old face pinch with worry.

“Most of it’s already come off,” Charly said. “She used acrylics, so there are only a few places where I had to use thinner.”

“Wait a minute. She did what?”

“She’s already apologized,” Charly said. “I took away her dolls, and she’ll have to load the dishwasher—”

Eric’s face reddened. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

Against her leg, Charly felt Kate flinch.

“It’s
fine
,” Charly said. “She knows she made a mistake—”

“Then why does she keep screwing up?” Eric said, rising. “Christ, Kate, you think your teachers are gonna put up with this kind of crap?”

Charly squeezed her daughter. “You and Olivia go back downstairs, honey. We’ll eat in a little while.”

Kate darted away and escaped through the basement door, but Olivia moved very slowly, her large brown eyes—Eric’s eyes—never leaving her father.

Eric was shaking his head and pacing about the kitchen.
You asshole
, Charly thought.
How about you try loving them, too?

“You plan on doing that when she gets in school?” Eric said, his voice echoing through the kitchen. “Shielding her whenever she misbehaves?”

“Her teachers won’t overreact the way you do.”

“Then they aren’t doing their job.”

“It’s kindergarten, Eric, not the Marines.”

“Keep coddling her, see where it—”

The doorbell sounded. Eric got that look in his eyes, the one he reserved for referees who made calls against his team. “Good,” he said. “About time he showed up.”

“Please don’t be rude to him.”

“Oh no,” Eric said, moving through the kitchen doorway. “We wouldn’t want to hurt your boyfriend’s feelings.”

Charly hugged Jake, whose wails were starting to make her teeth chatter, and said, “Mommy’s gotta put you down for a minute, honey.” She walked him over and deposited him in the pink swing they’d used for all three kids; Eric had wanted a new one, claiming the color might turn his son into a homosexual. As she laid him down, Jake frowned as though about to scream, but when the circus animal mobile began twirling to the cheerful music, he relaxed and grinned up in delight.

“…hope you do a better job next door than you did on this place,” she heard Eric saying.

“What can I help you with?” Sam said. His voice sounded pleasant enough, but when she rounded the corner and saw him, she could see the strain around his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and his light blue work shirt was badly wrinkled. Still, she thought, it brought out the deep blue in his eyes. He was a good five inches shorter than Eric, but she liked his build. Compact. Arms hard from manual labor.
Bet he’s not afraid to change a tire
, she thought.

Standing there with only a few feet between them, she was able to contrast her husband to this man more clearly than ever. Eric with his gel-shiny black hair, Sam’s hair dark brown and probably finger-combed in the mirror of his pickup truck. Eric wore the red-and-white WIU women’s basketball T-shirt and light gray shorts; Sam had on a button-down blue polo and the same dark blue jeans she’d always seen him in. She doubted he owned anything else.