Doubleback: A Novel by Libby Fischer Hellmann Read Free Book Online Page A

overcast day?”
    “I suppose.”
    “I’ll also bring in a dolly to get some shots moving around all those pipes and tanks.”
    “What about a steady-cam?”
    “We’ll be okay without it. Nothing really shakes that much, except the rail car, and that’ll be somewhat contained. But that plant manager wouldn’t be my first choice for an interview. I’d rather go with your new boyfriend.”
    I shuddered. “Unfortunately, he’s the right guy. The plant manager, I mean. Why don’t we give him a shot, and if it doesn’t work out, we’ll use Hanover.” Our meals came, and I took a bite of my sandwich. It was surprisingly good. “There’s a chance we won’t have to use either of them. We’re going to interview the CEO of Voss-Peterson. Maybe he can give us enough for a voice-over.”
    “Doubtful.” Mac dug into his pork chops. I generally don’t eat pork, but the aroma from whatever seasonings they used was seductive. I looked over longingly. He slid his plate closer to his side of the table. I sighed and went back to my sandwich.
    We were back in the van heading north on back roads rather than Interstate 55 when we passed a field with a barbed-wire fence. A sign on the fence said “Restricted Area—No Unauthorized Personnel.”
    “That’s weird,” I said.
    “What?”
    “The sign. You don’t see that kind of thing in farm country.”
    Mac slowed so he could take a look, but a berm at the edge of the field obstructed our view.
    “What do you think is back there?” I asked.
    “Who knows?”
    “Maybe it’s some top-secret agricultural facility,” I said. “Maybe Voss-Peterson has a super-secret program where they’re cloning animals.”
    “In central Illinois?”
    The fence stretched about half a mile, a long distance even for the countryside. Beyond it was nothing for another half-mile except a field of trees and prairie grass. “With my luck, they’re probably cloning Fred Hanovers.”
    That got a smile from Mac.
    We were just turning onto the interstate when the opening bars of “Honky Tonk Woman” rang out. Thanks to Rachel, I have personalized ring tones for everyone who calls my cell. Rachel claimed the Stones tune, based on her adoration of Keith Richards. I fished the phone out of my bag.
    “Hi, sweetie.”
    “Hi, Mom. I wanted to tell you I’m going to Iowa for the Fourth of July.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “I’m driving with Becky. We’re gonna spend the weekend there.”
    “Where will you stay?”
    “At Becky’s apartment.”
    “We must have a bad connection. For a minute I thought you said ‘apartment.’ You mean ‘dorm room,’ right?”
    “Mother, you are so retro. Everyone lives in an apartment now.”
    “You’re not everyone. And since the condom incident—”
    “I told you it wasn’t me. It was Mary.”
    A stony silence ensued. Then, “It’s okay, Mom.” Rachel’s voice was suddenly honey. “I know how much you’re gonna miss me next year. By the way, Luke called. He said to tell you he’s coming this weekend. So, you see, it’ll all work out. You guys can have some ‘private time.’”
    I wondered if she could sense me blushing.
    “And, oh... I almost forgot. The woman whose kid was kidnapped called too.”
    I straightened up. “Christine Messenger?”
    “She wanted you to call her right away. She said it was important.”

chapter 7
    A stack of storm clouds battled the setting sun as Georgia drove to Christine Messenger’s house Thursday evening. Despite the weather, neighborhood kids were still outside pedaling furiously on tricycles, bikes, and toy cars. Two girls glided down the sidewalk on skates. Carefree shouts echoed up and down the street. The cheerful scene tugged at her, but she pushed it away. It was all an illusion. Lurking beneath the surface of the suburbs were demons every bit as dangerous as those in the back alleys of Chicago.
    Ellie Foreman was waiting outside the Messenger house, waving away mosquitoes. She looked worried.