Stone Rain by Linwood Barclay Read Free Book Online Page B

anymore.”
    “That’s fantastic!” I said. “About the job, not the money thing. When did this happen?”
    “This afternoon. After school. I went by this place, they needed help, they had, like, this sign in the window, I applied, I got it. You want to hear how the interview went? I go, ‘I’d like to inquire about your job?’And they go, ‘You start tomorrow.’” He scowled.
    “Where’s the job?”
    “That place over on Welk? Burger Crisp?”
    “Burger Crisp? What do they serve, burnt burgers?”
    “I know, it’s a fucking stupid name. The ‘Crisp’ is supposed to refer to the fries, but I guess they didn’t want to call it Burger and Crispy Fries, so they called it Burger Crisp. These are the people I’m going to be working for, who can’t even come up with a non-sucking name for their establishment.”
    “Well,” I said, putting on my positive face, “this is clearly a cause for celebration, then.”
    Paul rolled his eyes. “This is my new life, flipping burgers, scraping grease, and I have to wear a frickin’ paper hat over my hair that makes me look like some guy who couldn’t make it into the retard academy. And the woman who runs this place, she’s like Greek or Russian or Turkish or something and looks like if she stood in front of a moving tank she’d total it. And she’s got these two twin daughters who help her run the place, look like they could be playing for the NFL. If they fell over, they wouldn’t be any shorter.”
    “So,” I said, struggling to maintain my cheerfulness, “when do you start?”
    “Tomorrow, after school,” Paul said. “Unless I blow my brains out tonight.” He shook his head, unable to believe something this horrible could happen to him. “When my grades start to go down, it’s not going to be my fault.”
    “Why don’t you go share your news with Angie,” I said. “She just got home.”
    I figured, with so much joy in the house, why not spread it around?
    Paul trudged upstairs, his every step shaking the house right down to the foundation.
    The phone rang. “Hello?” I said.
    “It’s all set up,” Trixie said. “We’ve got a sit-down with Martin Benson to talk some sense into him. Tomorrow. One o’clock.”
     
6
     
    TRIXIE TOLD ME THE LOCATION —Pluto’s, an Oakwood diner that featured neither delisted planets nor Disney characters in its décor—before I could voice my objections. By the time I was able to get the words “Trixie, there’s no way” out of my mouth, she’d hung up. I called back but she didn’t answer, so I left a message: “Trixie, I can’t meet you and this Benson guy. Maybe if you gave me some idea why this has freaked you out so, I could help you with some sort of alternative, but I can’t talk a fellow reporter out of—Oh fuck, just call me back.”
    Paul had come back downstairs and was in the kitchen, looking in the fridge for something to snack on. “I heard you saying to Mom the other day that we swear too much. Like, look in the mirror, Dad.” He found a processed-cheese slice, peeled the cellophane wrapper off, folded it in half, downed it in two bites, walked out.
    Trixie did not call back. Not during dinner, not that entire evening. I left two more messages asking her to call.
    So I had to decide whether she’d gone out and wasn’t there to take my calls, or was ignoring me. She likely had caller ID, so I placed one call using Paul’s cell phone, which he’d left on the table by the front door, and still she didn’t answer, which convinced me that she wasn’t home. I only hoped Paul didn’t hit Redial and find himself connected with a dominatrix.
    After dinner, while we were clearing the table, Sarah said, “So what, exactly, did Trixie want today? You said something at work about journalistic ethics?”
    I shrugged, like it was no big deal, doing my best to cover the fact that Trixie’s actions were very much on my mind. “Oh, there’s some reporter, for the
Suburban
, wants to do a