This choice: Eat first; dirty possession sex later. • Go Back...Chapter #15Eat first; dirty possession sex later. by: Seuzz   You can take Clark back at any time, so you bike over to a burger place and gobble down something fast. The ranger is out jogging with his girlfriend, and you veg out at your home until they get back. But then you bolt into alertness when you see that Clark has found Colonel Lord at his place, waiting for him.
You're tempted to jump in and start running Clark right then and there, but you decide to just watch and tweak him from a distance—you're not sure if the colonel would notice you're taking over in the middle of the conversation, and you don't want to chance it.
The talk that follows is disquieting: It has occurred to Lord that people and not just animals might have been affected by the substance loose in the park, and he does little to disguise his suspicion that Clark himself might have run into the goo, though by the end of the conversation he seems satisfied with Clark's bewildered denials. But he is also interested in Llewellyn's death—you groan inwardly—and is extremely puzzled that wolves would have acquired a malicious interest in the rental manager.
The next morning, you decide, you must turn Diana Lord into one of your spies.
You don't see her though, before you are summoned to the office during fourth period. "Someone from an insurance company to see you, Karter," says the principal. You look at him in surprise. "That excitement at your house," he says. "The dead man? You were a witness, right?" His blatant curiosity puts you on your guard, so you flatter yourself that you don't react when the "insurance man" turns out to be Colonel Lord, in a suit and tie rather a uniform.
He smiles and holds out his hand. "Mr. Karter," he says. "Earl Reynolds, from Continental Insurance. I'm investigating the death of one of our clients, Edgar Llewellyn. Your rental manager?"
"Oh sure." He gestures you to a chair, then takes the one behind the desk.
"Now," he says as he takes out a pen and scratches it across a notepad to get the ink flowing. "You actually called in to report on the incident, right? What did you see, exactly?"
"Not much. Not anything, really. I just heard noises and looked out and found him."
"What kind of noises?"
"Just bumps. I thought dogs were in the trash again."
He reacts as though he's been slapped. "You have dog problems at the park?"
"Well, you know, they get loose and get in stuff."
"Did you see any dogs that morning?"
"I thought I saw some running away, yeah."
"You told the newspaper you thought it was wolves."
You yourself jump a little inwardly. This seems like a perfect opportunity to walk back the "wolf" connection. "Well, I saw what looked like German shepherds or huskies. But by the time the cops came, I decided it seemed like dogs wouldn't have ... I mean, he was in really bad shape, wasn't he?"
"He was chewed up pretty good, yes."
"Right. So, I said wolves because it didn't seem like dogs would have done that sort of thing."
His eyes freeze. "That's the reason you said it was wolves?"
"Yeah, I guess."
He stares at you, then sits back in the chair; you can read him well enough to see that his heart is sinking. "What of these ... wolves ... exactly, did you see?"
This is going perfectly, far better than you could have dared hope. So you make a point of swallowing hard and looking a little green. "Their tails?"
"Their tails?" He sounds slightly incredulous.
"Their butts?"
"Um. Forgive me for being blunt, but— Can you tell the difference between a wolf and a dog?"
You turn pink and hang your head a little. "No."
"Even up close, when looking at their heads and not their ... butts?"
"No." You turn very red. "I mean, I can tell a ... a dachshund from a wolf."
"But a husky or a German shepherd?"
You look really embarrassed, and he sighs heavily through his nose and looks away. "Is there anything else?" you say after an uncomfortably long silence.
He glances back at you with mild repugnance, then sighs again. "Just a few i's to dot and t's to cross. Do you know of anyone who hated Mr. Llewellyn?"
You think a moment, then shrug.
"What does that mean?" he asks.
"It means ..." You shrug again. "He wasn't popular."
"How so?"
"Well, everyone at the park bitched about him."
"Why?"
"Because he was a prick."
He grunts; he seems to be losing interest, but then he looks back at you, and his eyes play over your face and your shoulders and arms. "I don't mean to pry, Mr. Karter. But you seem to be recovering from a black eye."
"I got in a fight with some guys."
"Is that where you got the cuts and scratches on your arms?"
"No, those are from running and falling in some bushes."
"Where?"
"Just around."
"Hmm."
"Hmm what?"
"Just 'hmm.' Just the insurance investigator in me." He smiles. "Thank you, Mr. Karter. I think that'll be all."
You are at the door when he stops you. "Oh, one more question. Where does your mom work?"
"She ... she just lost her job."
"I tried talking to her earlier today, but she wasn't home."
"She might be out looking for a job."
"Do you know when she might be home?"
"Could be any time. Why?"
"I might have some questions for her. Did she see anything?"
"No, she was asleep."
"Of course." He seems to think a moment. "Well, thanks again."
You're still dying to know what he thinks, but you're feeling much better about things. You do, however, make a point of hammering at your mother to stay away from the house.
Should you go ahead and risk turning Diana into one of your catspaws? Or do you take a chance that Lord has been deflected?  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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