coming. He turned toward the sole break in the low stone, walked to
the posts, and looked downhill toward Toby had almost reached that long
rectangular buildg. He skidded to a halt, glanced back at his
laggardly father, and waved. He tossed the Frisbee straight into the
air. On edge, the disc knifed high, then curved toward the zenith and
caught a current of wind. Like a spacecraft from another world, it
whirled across the somber sky. Much higher than the greatest altitude
reached by the frisbee, under the pendulous clouds, a lone bird circled
above the boy, like a hawk maintaining surveillance of potential prey,
though it was likely a crow rather than a hawk. Circling and
circling.
A puzzle piece in the shape Of a black crow. Gliding on rising
thermals. Silent as a talker in a dream, patient and mysterious.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
After sending Jack to discover what Toby was doing among the
gravestones, Heather returned to the spare bedroom where she had been
working with her computers.
She watched from the window as Jack climbed the hill to the cemetery.
He stood with the boy for a minute, then knelt beside him. From a
distance, everything seemed all right, no sign of trouble. Evidently,
she'd been worried for no good reason. A lot of that going around
lately. She sat in her office chair, sighed at her excessive maternal
concern, and turned her attention to the computers.
For a while she searched the hard disc of each machine, ran tests, and
made sure the programs were in place and that nothing had crashed
during the move.
Later, she grew thirsty, and before going to the kitchen to get a
Pepsi, she stepped to the window to check on Jack and Toby. They were
almost out of her line of view, near the stables, tossing the Frisbee
back and forth. Judging by the heavy sky and by how icy cold the
window was when she touched it, snow would begin to fall soon. She was
eager for it.
Maybe the change of weather would bring a change in her mood, as well,
and help her finally shed the city jitters that plagued her. It ought
to be hard to cling to all the old paranoia-soaked expectations of life
in Los Angeles when they were living in a white wonderland, trkling and
pristine, like a sequined scene on a Christmas card.
In the kitchen, as she opened a can of Pepsi and poured it into a
glass, she heard a heavy engine approaching. Thinking it might be Paul
Youngblood paying an unexpected visit, she took the tablet from the top
of the refrigerator and put it on the counter, so she would be less
likely to forget to give it to him before he went home. - By the time
she went down the hall, opened the door, and stepped onto the front
porch, the vehicle pulled to a stop in front of the garage doors.
It wasn't Paul's white Bronco, it was a similar, metallic-blue wagon,
as large as the Bronco, larger than their own Explorer, but of yet
another model, with which she wasn't familiar. She wondered if anyone
in those parts ever drove cars. But of course she had seen plenty of
cars in town and at the supermarket.
