Spore Page 23

  Todd called the office and requested his detail sergeant.

  “Hear from Hendrix yet?” he asked as he scrutinized the few accident photographs again. Six, total, for a fatal accident: three were of the concrete embankment, one of the crumpled Prius taken from atop the bridge, and two of Mindy, bloody and dead. What the hell? There should be four, five times as many pics. At least. With pertinent details.

  “Yeah,” Sarge said, sounding distracted. “He just called from the hospital. Food poisoning. Guess he finally stopped puking and they’re sending him home with electrolytes or something. Gonna take a couple of days off.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” Todd said as he put the photos away. “But he should have called in for a replacement.”

  “I know, and I’ve already reamed his ass,” Sarge said. “How’s your little rabble rouser?”

  “She’s fine. Talking to the insurance company.”

  “Keep us informed,” Sarge said, then the call went dead.

  Todd resumed reading. Clayton Mechanic Specialists had checked over her car and discovered the failure in her brake line and mis-installed airbags. Again, the file contained far fewer photographs than he expected and virtually no details. They went to court with this? No wonder the state lost.

  What the hell? he thought, squinting at the signature of the grease monkey who’d dismantled Mindy’s car. Ryder Hendrix.

  Deputy Hendrix had mentioned his brother once. Said his name was Rye and he was a gear head who worked on junkers in his backyard and pit crewed for a dirt racer to help make ends meet, just like Deputy Hendrix took on odd jobs and favors.

  He watched Mindy shake hands with two pencil pushers in suits. Wonder what beef the Hendrix boys had with her? It have anything to do with her rich ex and their empty wallets?

  His phone rang. Brad Jorst, the investigator heading the Creeper case.

  “Anderson,” Todd said, closing the folder and setting it aside to reach for a notebook and pen. Maybe we caught a break. Brad never calls to chat.

  “Wanted to give you a heads up,” Brad said, his voice partly obscured by a cacophony of chatter on the other side of the line. “We found that missing spore.”

  “The one who disappeared from a work detail Tuesday?”

  “That’s him,” Brad said, the noise fading away as a screen door creaked then banged closed. He took a deep breath then let it out. “Those two jokers who assaulted your assignment last night? Couple of deputies checked out their residences on a warrant. They found a helluva mess.”

  Todd looked over his shoulder at Mindy, still discussing insurance. “What kind of mess?”

  “Looks like they’d spent a few days torturing the spore. Busting him up, cutting him. They fucked the guy up. Even the weekend M.E. looked green. Gave us the same old bullshit about not specifying C.O.D. until after the autopsy, but we all could tell it was from decapitation. All the blood. But he did say the guy had layers of scar tissue. Layers. Said they probably waited for him to heal, then did something else. Jesus, Todd, his arms were broken in several places and bent around a row of hooks. We couldn’t get them off because they healed that way, all twirled up like a snake. And his legs? Busted then twisted around backward and folded in half, mid thigh.”

  Todd ran a shaking hand over his face. “Fuck me.”

  “Yeah, you and me both. The bones healed that way, Todd. Not just broken, but healed into solid, bent bone. I heard these spore things are tough, but, shit, this is nuts.”

  Mindy gave him a concerned glance, the morning’s scar no longer visible at all.

  Her hair was a mass of glossy dark ringlets, her skin glowing and flawless. The dress she wore clung to her plump curves, begging to be caressed. He wondered what kind of man would ever harm someone like her.

  Todd wanted to pull Mindy to her feet and inform her she was gorgeous, stunning, but instead gave her a thumbs up and turned aside. “Yeah, it’s nuts,” he said to Brad, wishing he’d let the call go to voicemail.

  “So we’re thinking he endured days of this. Getting cut up, bones busted and rearranged, then do it all again. They’d even cut off one hand and his dick, but they’d mostly grown back. What the hell? Not only that, the slice across this throat, the one we think killed him? It had started to seal up, too.”

  Brad paused and Todd heard him light a cigarette and take a deep drag despite having quit smoking two years ago. He coughed once, then said, “Shit, we’re not even sure if he’s really dead. For all we know, he might wake up and start dancing on the way to the morgue.”

  Todd watched Mindy ease out of her chair, watched her move as if no one had ever beat her with a crowbar or shredded her through a shattered windshield. She glanced at him and blushed, smiling, as the attorney general himself beckoned her into the next room.

  Todd followed, phone cradled against his ear.

  Brad took another drag then coughed again. “Just wanted you to know what kind of monsters you’re dealing with. We’re thinking this spore was just a warm up, and his real performance is yet to come. Keep an eye on her.”

  They reached the deposition room and Todd settled in beside the door. “Not letting her out of my sight.”

  “I can’t believe you kept all this stuff,” Sean said as he flipped through his mother’s scrapbook. Mare remained silent as she leaned over to examine the old photographs, mementos, and clippings she’d been forbidden to touch. The scent of pine cleaner lay heavy in the air, cloying and thick, as if every surface had been repeatedly scoured smooth. Which they probably had.

  “I really don’t know why you want to see any of it,” Helene said, her hands shaking as she sat across the table from them.

  Sean forced himself to smile at his mother. “We found a copy of an article online. It had your picture in it, said you used to work at the lab.”

  “I did,” she admitted, her eyes downcast. “Was there about seven years.”

  “Mom. I asked you the other day if you’d ever heard about them and you said no. Why would you do that?”

  Helene shrugged. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

  Sean snapped a page over. Of course it matters, Mom. It’s why we’re here.

  “What’d you do? Your job, I mean?” Mare asked, her voice soft. Helene stiffened but said nothing.

  Sean flipped further into the book, past her high school years and her wedding. “You can talk to Mare. It would be good if you talked to her.”

  Helene took a heavy breath and raised her gaze to Sean. “Sure you don’t want something to eat?”

  The wedding passed and photos shifted to blissful newlyweds. “Still not hungry. We ate at home.”

  “I could use a glass of water,” Mare said. “Please?”

  Helene flinched, but did not move. Mare sighed and slouched, her foot tapping beside Sean’s.

  “Goddammit.” He turned a page to baby shower invitations and a photograph of a pink and blue cake. “We’ve been putting up with this crap for a freaking decade. Mare’s not going anywhere, Mom. Why can’t you be polite, at least? Why can’t you let it go?”

  “Some things you can’t let go.” Helene burst to her feet. She scurried to the kitchen as Sean returned his attention to the book. He didn’t remember it being so massive and detailed.

  Helene returned with a glass of iced tea that she set on a crystal coaster in front of Sean. He slid it to Mare who muttered, “Thank you,” to his mother before braving a sip. Helene scowled at her and tsk-tsked.

  Sean pointed at a picture of his father and Paul fishing. “I barely remember Uncle Paul from when I was a kid,” Sean said, watching his mother. “What happened? He and Dad have a falling out?”

  He saw a tremor in Helene’s clasped hands as she jerked her gaze from the iced tea to him. “I guess they did. Your father never really said. Just, one day, they stopped talking.”

  Mar
e returned the glass to the coaster. “Surely you know why your husband stopped talking to his brother.”

  Don’t push her too hard, Sean thought, glancing at his mother. We want her to talk, not start another fight.

  Helene’s voice was quavering and strained. “He never said, and I didn’t ask.”

  Sean flipped a couple of pages deeper into the scrapbook. He reached preschool as a happy little boy with a big grin and bright eyes, and an unexpected pair of Nikes on his feet. “How did I ever get Nikes?”

  Helene grinned and rushed to his side to caress the photo. “Oh, those! I’d gotten a bonus at work. We all did. New government contract. I wanted to get you something nice for school. At first your dad thought it was silly to spend so much on shoes you’d outgrow in a few weeks, but I found those on sale. Air Jordans? I think that’s right. Your father was a big fan of Mr. Jordan and, in the end, he didn’t mind so much. You really loved those shoes. They made you think you could fly.”

  She stroked his hair and sighed. “You were so cute, leaping into the air like you did.”

  Sean struggled to keep his voice level and calm. “Dad was a Bulls fan?”

  “Oh, yes, both Casey boys were until…”

  Her voice trailed off and she bustled toward the kitchen again. “I should get you some crumb cake. Made it yesterday, but it’s still good.”

  Sean and Mare shared a glance, but said nothing. He flipped past pictures of a picnic, tickets to a Fleetwood Mac concert, and a wedding invitation for people he’d never heard of before, complete with flattened silk blossoms. He began to wonder how much of his mother’s life had been a secret when he reached the page with the article about Lotus Labs.

  The article had yellowed and faded, but his young and smiling mother stood with Evelyn Fischer and two other office-attired women behind several men in lab coats and a grinning Middle Eastern man.

  Mare leaned over and whispered, “That’s it.”

  Helene returned, plate of crumb cake in hand. She paused, then lurched forward with a stiff smile on her face. “Let’s just forget all that.”

  Sean accepted the cake. “I don’t remember you working there.”

  “Really, it was nothing. Part-time temp work.” She reached forward to turn the page.

  Yeah. Temp work. For seven years. At a job you’re trying not to talk about. He politely took a bite. “It must have been interesting. Science and all that stuff.”

  “Just accounting, some bookkeeping. I didn’t even know what they did.”

  “Really?” Mare leaned back and contemplated Helene. “The article mentioned stem cell research.” Before Helene could reply, she grimaced and pushed away the glass of tea. “The government had them doing experiments on embryos, didn’t they, back before it was regulated? How could you work for such a place?”

  Helene snatched up the glass, pinching it between her fingertips and thumb as if it was sticky. “It was a research facility. To help people.”

  “Right, it’s always helpful to fiddle with stem cells in a secret government lab.” Mare turned to Sean. “No wonder she doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  Helene stomped to the kitchen and dumped the tea before tossing the glass into the trash. “I told you, Rosemary, they were researching ways to help people. They tested fungi, not embryos.”

  “What kind of fungus did they work with?” Sean sighed as Helene scoured her hands with three splurts of soap and a scrubby pad under steaming water. You can’t even bear to touch anything Mare’s used. You need help, Ma. Serious help.

  “I have no idea. Something from Egypt, I think that’s where the invoices came from. I don’t really remember, just that they lost the big contract and went bankrupt.” She dried her hands and returned to the dining room. “I don’t know anything and none of this is my fault. I was a bookkeeping clerk, not a mycologist. We just did our jobs, not pester the mycologists with questions that were none of our business. Clerks weren’t allowed in the lab.”

  “Was Evelyn a clerk too? Were you close?”

  She leaned forward to yank the scrapbook out of Sean’s grip. “I don’t remember what she did. I barely remember her at all, other than she was hit by a snowplow and died.”

  So why did you get upset when I mentioned she walked out of the tree farm? Sean moistened his lips. “She came back, Ma, as a spore. Remember? Then someone killed her. Why would anyone kill Evelyn?”

  Helene scowled. “How should I know?” She slapped the book closed and turned to walk away. “I’ve told you all I know. Now that that’s settled, I don’t feel well and I’m going to lie down. Please leave.”

  Cradling the scrapbook to her chest, she disappeared down the hall.

  Mare jumped as the bedroom door slammed. “I guess we’ve been dismissed.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Driving up the interstate with Todd that afternoon, Mindy watched mushy cornfields blur past. Her mind was still reeling from meeting the attorney general and Todd’s sister, the ball-busting lawyer. Both had been incredibly nice and taken gobs of notes about Jeff, their marriage, and the recent threats, and both kept insisting they weren’t afraid of narcissistic shits and would stop him in his tracks. With a great lawyer and the state on her side, maybe things would turn out all right after all. Maybe, for once, Jeff’s cheating wouldn’t allow him to win.

  She grinned. Maybe he’ll even go to jail! “Was a pretty good interview, don’t you think? I did all right?”

  “You were great,” Todd said, going around a minivan which had slowed to a snail’s pace on the interstate as they approached. “The insurance investigator seemed especially pleased.”

  Mindy laughed. “He was just shocked I remembered so many details about what happened when we bought the car, but it was just a few weeks ago to me.” She tilted her head as she heard his stomach grumble. They hadn’t had a chance to eat lunch and she was hungry, too. I’d really love to cook tonight, she thought around a happy sigh. Cook something intricate and special. A celebration supper.

  “I think it’s great how you’re standing up to your ex and taking control of your life,” he said. “If you don’t, who will?”

  That’s true, she thought, letting the concept stew in her mind as the miles rolled away behind them. And no one’s here to tell me I can’t, or I’m not good enough. Not anymore. “My whole life I’ve done what other people have told me to do,” she explained, watching him. “This independence is… Strange.”

  “Okay,” he said, “right now, of all the things in all the world, what do you want to do?”

  Can’t believe I’m considering this but he’s such a nice guy. I have to thank him somehow. “I think I want to cook for you,” she said softly as he turned to gawk at her and nearly steered the SUV onto the gravel beside the highway.

  “What? Me?”

  “Or you and Hailey and your mom, if that’d be better.” She took a breath and moistened her lips. “Sean and Mare like my cooking all right, but you seem like a guy who appreciates a well cooked meal.”

  Despite his scowl, she pressed on. “It’d be nice to cook for someone who could recognize the difference between pesto and verde, for example. To them it’s all yummy, but still just a green sauce. I bet you know how different they are. I noticed you have both in your kitchen cupboards.”

  He mumbled for a moment, his eyes rooted on the road ahead. “Pesto and verde? Yeah, sure, one’s Mexican, one’s Italian, but—“

  “What’s your favorite food?” she interrupted. “Of all of the meals you’ve ever had, what ranks at the top?”

  “Um, I had some amazing chicken something once, years ago. I don’t remember what it was called, but it was really lemony, and had these weird salty pea things that just…” He pulled one hand off the wheel, brought his fingertips together and snapped them wide apart. “Pow!”

  “Capers,” she said, nodding
. “With pasta and a light sauce?”

  He grinned and glanced at her. “Yes! You know the stuff?”

  Definitely chicken piccata. She grinned back. “I do, yes.”

  “It was amazing,” he said. “I could have eaten myself into a coma over that sauce.”

  She felt heat brighten her cheeks and flow down her throat. You asked, so don’t chicken out now. “Can we stop at the grocery store on the way back and see if I can cook it as well as you remember?”

  Both hands white-knuckled on the wheel, he stared ahead as they barreled down the interstate. “Okay,” he said, glancing at her. “It’s going to get me in a lot of trouble, but okay.”

  The house was still standing when Sean and Mare returned. Two zombie hunters sat on a car hood, drinking beer and eating tacos from a greasy fast food bag while they read GhoulBane back issues. Sean gave them a tired wave and they nodded back. The deputy spoke into his radio mic, but made no other indication he’d noticed their arrival. Otherwise, the yard was deserted.

  Sean sighed and walked to the front steps. The lawn looked muddy, ratty, and overgrown. “I really need to mow.”

  “Maybe it’ll be dry enough tomorrow?”

  I doubt it. They climbed the steps and Sean unlocked the door. “I saw online this morning they’ve found spore slime near Memphis.”

  “Jesus,” Mare said, shaking her head as she entered the house. “So far, so fast.”

  “It’s been raining a lot. Rivers are swollen. It’s going to spread quickly.”

  Mare tossed her purse onto the couch on her way to the kitchen. “Do you think they’re picketing Elvis’s house now?”

  “Heh. Probably.” Intending to resume inking spreads, he started toward the studio but paused, a cold sweat trickling down his spine. The bathroom door stood open and a grimy pair of jeans lay wadded on the floor just inside.

  Paul was here. But we’d locked the doors. Fuck.

  “Mare!” he called out, turning to rush to the kitchen.

  She dropped the ice cube tray she was emptying and pressed a startled hand over her heart. “What? What’s wrong?”