High Country- Pigeon 12 by Nevada Barr Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nevada Barr
beside herself. Good indicators of health and sanity.
Diane took over. Anna let her. While she asked Nicky the standard EMT questions and the pale, clearly shaken girl answered, "I'm fine, I'm good," in an unvarying monotone, Anna looked around the room. Nothing was amiss. Clothes were hung neatly in closets or folded away in drawers. Shoes were in regimental lines, books and magazines squared up in tidy stacks, cosmetics tucked in plastic carry-all baskets. Having left the place not two hours earlier looking like a pigsty populated by a herd of teenage clothes horses, Anna found the pristine order unsettling.
"The place looks nice," she said guardedly.
Nicky shot her a frightened look and clamped her lips shut so tightly their childish plumpness was reduced to a thin line of white. Until Diane, with her badge, gun and uniform, was gone, Nicky wasn't talking. Maybe not even then.
Blissfully unaware of the currents of unease, the ranger satisfied herself that Nicky was in good health and left. Moving for the first time since Anna had returned, Nicky sprang from the bed with an energy startling after so prolonged a stillness. She closed the door behind the ranger. She didn't slam it as if angry, but closed it softly and firmly as if attempting to muffle the click of the latch lest some evil being hear and come to investigate.
Anna sat on her bed and kicked off her shoes. "What gives?" she asked.
To Anna's annoyance Nicky flopped down on the bed next to her and began to cry. Uncomfortable with weeping women, even when it was she herself doing the weeping, Anna sat rigid with her shoe in her hand. The nonsense nursery rhyme "diddle diddle dumpling, my son John . . . one shoe off and one shoe on," rattled through her head.
She removed her other shoe to quell the rhyme. Since Nicky was still sobbing and gulping on the mattress next to her, Anna patted her head as if she were a dog and muttered, "It's okay, it's okay," wondering what "it" was and sincerely doubting it was okay.
Minutes passed. Rather than subsiding, the crying grew more breathy, more shrill. Nicky was working herself into a fit.
"Stop it," Anna commanded. "My nerves are getting frayed." Nicky cried harder. "Stop it now," Anna ordered and gave the girl a whack on the shoulder, not enough to hurt her, just enough to get her attention.
Nicky flinched and cried out as if Anna had struck her with a tire iron.
"Shit," Anna hissed. With great gentleness, she moved the prostrate girl's long hair, exposing Nicky's neck. A bruise, so new it had yet to lose its angry red color, was forming there. The shape and placement indicated the heel of a hand and a thumb. On the front of the shoulder Anna knew she would find the corresponding finger marks.
In the brief time she'd been gone, an hour and fifteen minutes at most, someone had come into the room and forcibly held Nicky facedown.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Anna muttered. "That does it. Sit up. There you go." She helped Nicky up and saw that her feet were planted firmly on the floor, lest she flop over in defeat again. "Look at me now. Here. Let me." Using the tail of the girl's shirt, Anna dried her face, then pushed her hair back over her shoulders. "Three deep breaths. No more weeping and wailing tonight. The son-of-a-bitch doesn't deserve it. What's needed here is a lust for revenge."
Nicky smiled at that.
"Good girl." For no reason except that it felt right, Anna got a brush from the dresser and started brushing Nicky's straight brown hair, gently working out the tangles. The sobs subsided to an occasional outbreak.
Having set aside the brush, Anna again tucked Nicky's hair behind her ears so she could see her face, and said: "Do you want a drink of water, blow your nose?"
Nicky nodded. Anna fetched a box of Kleenex and a plastic bottle of the newly fashionable Yosemite Water that stood half empty on a night stand.
"Can I go wash my
Diane took over. Anna let her. While she asked Nicky the standard EMT questions and the pale, clearly shaken girl answered, "I'm fine, I'm good," in an unvarying monotone, Anna looked around the room. Nothing was amiss. Clothes were hung neatly in closets or folded away in drawers. Shoes were in regimental lines, books and magazines squared up in tidy stacks, cosmetics tucked in plastic carry-all baskets. Having left the place not two hours earlier looking like a pigsty populated by a herd of teenage clothes horses, Anna found the pristine order unsettling.
"The place looks nice," she said guardedly.
Nicky shot her a frightened look and clamped her lips shut so tightly their childish plumpness was reduced to a thin line of white. Until Diane, with her badge, gun and uniform, was gone, Nicky wasn't talking. Maybe not even then.
Blissfully unaware of the currents of unease, the ranger satisfied herself that Nicky was in good health and left. Moving for the first time since Anna had returned, Nicky sprang from the bed with an energy startling after so prolonged a stillness. She closed the door behind the ranger. She didn't slam it as if angry, but closed it softly and firmly as if attempting to muffle the click of the latch lest some evil being hear and come to investigate.
Anna sat on her bed and kicked off her shoes. "What gives?" she asked.
To Anna's annoyance Nicky flopped down on the bed next to her and began to cry. Uncomfortable with weeping women, even when it was she herself doing the weeping, Anna sat rigid with her shoe in her hand. The nonsense nursery rhyme "diddle diddle dumpling, my son John . . . one shoe off and one shoe on," rattled through her head.
She removed her other shoe to quell the rhyme. Since Nicky was still sobbing and gulping on the mattress next to her, Anna patted her head as if she were a dog and muttered, "It's okay, it's okay," wondering what "it" was and sincerely doubting it was okay.
Minutes passed. Rather than subsiding, the crying grew more breathy, more shrill. Nicky was working herself into a fit.
"Stop it," Anna commanded. "My nerves are getting frayed." Nicky cried harder. "Stop it now," Anna ordered and gave the girl a whack on the shoulder, not enough to hurt her, just enough to get her attention.
Nicky flinched and cried out as if Anna had struck her with a tire iron.
"Shit," Anna hissed. With great gentleness, she moved the prostrate girl's long hair, exposing Nicky's neck. A bruise, so new it had yet to lose its angry red color, was forming there. The shape and placement indicated the heel of a hand and a thumb. On the front of the shoulder Anna knew she would find the corresponding finger marks.
In the brief time she'd been gone, an hour and fifteen minutes at most, someone had come into the room and forcibly held Nicky facedown.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Anna muttered. "That does it. Sit up. There you go." She helped Nicky up and saw that her feet were planted firmly on the floor, lest she flop over in defeat again. "Look at me now. Here. Let me." Using the tail of the girl's shirt, Anna dried her face, then pushed her hair back over her shoulders. "Three deep breaths. No more weeping and wailing tonight. The son-of-a-bitch doesn't deserve it. What's needed here is a lust for revenge."
Nicky smiled at that.
"Good girl." For no reason except that it felt right, Anna got a brush from the dresser and started brushing Nicky's straight brown hair, gently working out the tangles. The sobs subsided to an occasional outbreak.
Having set aside the brush, Anna again tucked Nicky's hair behind her ears so she could see her face, and said: "Do you want a drink of water, blow your nose?"
Nicky nodded. Anna fetched a box of Kleenex and a plastic bottle of the newly fashionable Yosemite Water that stood half empty on a night stand.
"Can I go wash my
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