“I believe I will stay here for several hours,” Gabe announced.
“On that note, I should probably get Beth…er, Sesame to my place so she can settle in before either one of us catches whatever the hell that is,” Kellen said.
“It was nice knowing you,” Riley said as Kellen and his sister left the room.
“I’ll meet you guys out front and tag along,” Nick said.
Great. He was already choosing Sesame over her. This sucked.
She heard Nick push his chair back from the table, then felt strong arms picking her up.
“I saw your nose twitching,” Nick said as he headed for the doorway.
She closed her eyes and pressed her face into his chest. “Must be allergies.”
“Allergies and flu poisoning. Not you trying to poke around in a traumatized woman’s head?”
“I’m too dizzy to make up a plausible excuse. I just wanted to make sure she was telling the truth. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Leave Sesame alone, Thorn. I don’t want you digging around in her brain without her permission.”
“But she’s lying,” Riley said weakly. “I’m just trying to protect you.”
Nick jostled her higher as he started up the stairs. “I repeat. Leave her alone. You worry about protecting yourself, and I’ll handle her.”
“What about Gabe?” she asked pitifully.
“I’ll rent a forklift and dump him on the couch,” he said, kicking their bedroom door open. He deposited her onto the bed and leaned over her. “Now, you’re going to stay in this house until I say it’s okay for you to leave.”
The entire room was spinning.
“You can’t ground me. I’m a grown-up.”
“We’ll fight about this later.”
Riley was too miserable to argue.
13
3:55 p.m., Friday, October 25
Constance Weber’s house hadn’t changed since Nick had last been there several years prior. Neither had the woman herself.
She answered the door of the white ranch house in a charcoal sweater set, sensible loafers, and a frown that showcased the lines on her face. Her silvery hair was scraped back in its customary bun. Nick liked to think her grumpy demeanor could be blamed on the number of hairpins stuck in her scalp.
By his calculations, Constance—never Connie—was in her early sixties. But she’d always seemed as though she was trying to pass for older. As if she felt it was her duty as a “good Christian,” the highest compliment she was known to give to others, to view life on Earth as purgatory.
She eschewed makeup, explaining that it was for “whores and liars.” The only jewelry she wore was her plain gold wedding band and a cross on a chain. Her wardrobe was made up entirely of grays and beiges because she felt that black was too dramatic and colors were for women desperate for attention.
In other words, the woman was not exactly a bucket o’ fun.
“Hello, Kellen,” Constance said before fixing Nick with her piercing stare. “Nicholas.”
“Mrs. Weber. You’re looking lovely as always,” he said.
She sniffed. “Only the cheapest of sinners put stock in their appearance.”
“Mom, we’ve got some news,” Kellen said. “Can we come in?”
