Sanctuary by Meg Cabot Read Free Book Online Page A

him, since there were already two squad cars parked outside the Thompkins house. As I pulled into our driveway, Dr. Thompkins was just opening the door to let in the officers who stood there, their hats in their hands. Neither of them turned around as Rob, with a wave to me, took off down the street, having successfully escorted me practically to my door.
    My entire family had their faces pressed to the glass of the living room windows when I walked in. Well, everybody except for Douglas, who was probably hiding in his room (flashing lights are not among his favorite things: They tend to remind him of the several ambulance trips he has taken in his lifetime).
    “Oh, Jess,” my mom said, when she saw me. The dining room table was clear. Everyone except for Claire had left. “Thank God you’re home. I was getting worried.”
    “I’m fine,” I said.
    “Where does this Joanne live, anyway?” my mom wanted to know. “You were gone for hours.”
    But I could tell she wasn’t really interested in my answer. All of her attention was focused on the Hoadley—I mean, Thompkins—house across the street.
    “Those poor people,” she murmured. “I hope it isn’t bad news.”
    “Ma,” Mike said, in a sarcastic voice. “Two sheriff cars are parked in their driveway. You think they’re there with good news?”
    “Don’t call me Ma,” my mother said. Then she seemed to realize what everybody was doing. She looked shocked. “Get away from the windows! It’s shameful, spying on those poor people like this.”
    “We aren’t spying, Antonia,” Great-aunt Rose said. “We are merely looking out the window. There’s no law against that.”
    “Mrs. Mastriani is right,” Claire said primly, getting up off the couch. “It’s wrong to peep through other people’s windows.”
    Claire obviously had no clue that Mike had been spying on her through her windows with a telescope for years.
    I could have told them, I guess. I mean about Nate. But the way it was, I had barely been able to make it home with my dinner intact. I wasn’t all that eager to risk losing it again. Instead, I said, “I’m going to bed,” and I started up the stairs to my room. Only my mother said good night, and she sounded pretty distracted.
    Upstairs, I saw that Douglas’s bedroom light was still on. I thumped on his door instead of just barging in, like I used to do. Douglas has gotten a lot better since starting his job in the comic book store. I figured I’d reward him by letting him have some privacy for a change. Mr. Goodhart says this is called positive reinforcement.
    “Come in, Jess,” Douglas said. He knew it was me by my thump. My mom taps all timidly, my dad knocks Shave-and-a-Haircut, and Mike never visits Douglas, if he can help it. So Douglas always knows when it’s me.
    “Hey,” I said. Douglas was lying on his bed, reading, as usual. Tonight it was the latest installment of
Superman
. “What time did everybody leave?”
    “About an hour ago,” he said. “Mr. and Mrs. Abramowitz had a big fight over where they’re going to go for Christmas break, Aspen or Antigua.”
    “Must be nice,” I said. The Abramowitzes are way rich.
    “Yeah. Skip contributed by having an asthma attack. Between that and Aunt Rose, it was an evening to remember.”
    “Huh,” I said.
    He must have seen by my face that something was wrong, since he went, “What?”
    I shook my head. For a minute, I’d been picturing Nate Thompkins, as I’d last seen him, lifeless in that cornfield. “Oh,” I said. “Nothing.”
    “Not nothing,” Douglas said. “Tell me.”
    I told him. I didn’t want to. All right, I did. But I shouldn’t have. Douglas has never been what you’d call well. I mean, he was always the one the other kids picked on in school, at the park, wherever. You know the kind. The one they call Spaz and Tard and Reject. I had spent much of my young adulthood pounding on the faces of people who’d dared to make fun of my older