Death, feather, wood. Jeep, Jeep, Jeep. They’re in the Jeep. My Jeep. Jeep.
“Go about your day,” he said. “Do what you must do. Tonight you will understand.”
Then he was gone…
…Jeep…
A voice from my dreams? A voice from my nightmares? My imagination?
…Jeep Jeep Jeep…
I turned my face into the stir of wind and blinked hard. Why was I standing here? I had walked out to the Jeep to…
…Death, feather, wood…
I’d blacked out again. How much time had I lost? I glanced at my phone. Seconds, if that.
Had I lost something else? No, I was sure I’d found something, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.
I waited for my racing heart to settle, the sweat on my forehead, the back of my neck drying, cooling, as I sifted my brain for information, for hints of something important. I knew it was important.
A jay screeched. Another scolded in reply. The breeze shushed through the shore pines trailing the clean, green water scents of the lake.
It was a beautiful day. But those missing seconds were vital.
My phone vibrated. A text from Ryder popped up. It consisted of one word:Tonight.
I smiled. That must have been what I was thinking about. That was the mystery I was trying to unravel. He’d made reservations for us and wanted me in civilian clothes: casual but nice. But I wanted to do something a little more than nice.
Maybe I’d buy a dress. Picturing the shock on his face when he saw me actually wearing a dress made me laugh.
I sent him back a smiley face with a halo, then got in the Jeep and headed out to Mrs. Yates’s place.
Chapter Twelve
There were a lot of penguins.A. Lot. All of them made out of concrete, all of them spread out across Mrs. Yates’s yard like an entire waddle had decided to nest here.
Someone had spent most of the night pulling off this little prank.
News spreads quickly in our little town. I was not the only person who had come by to get a gander at the penguin debacle.
Half the town were either driving by, parking in front of mailboxes and driveways, or marching over to take pictures.
“Back it up, back it up now!” Myra yelled.
Myra cut through the crowd from the west, having shown up at exactly the right place and exactly the right moment to get this sudden surge of people in order before they stormed Mrs. Yates’s fence.
I started toward Myra. We met at the gate.
“My,” I said.
“Delaney. Where’s Shoe?”
“Working the tip line.”
“Because that’s more important than this.” She glanced at the crowd doing a risk assessment.
“He’s on Secret Santa,” I said.
