macabre.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.”
Kramer fluttered the pages a bit. “This particular report deals with a book called
So that’s it, she thought.
I’m not in trouble, after all.
Just in trouble with Riley.
“He’s my dad,” she admitted, feeling a mix of pride and embarrassment.
“Henry mentions that in his report.”
Thanks, Hen.
“We don’t have many real authors living here in Mulehead Bend. In fact, your father is the only one I’m aware of. Do you suppose he might be willing to come in sometime and talk to the class?”
“He might. He’s kind of busy, but...”
“I’m sure he is. We wouldn’t want to impose on him, but I think that the class might enjoy hearing what he has to say. I’ve never read any of his books myself. They’re not exactly my cup of tea.”
“A lot of people feel that way,” Lane said.
“I’ve seen his books on the stands, though. And I’ve seen any number of students with them.”
“They need more parental supervision.”
Kramer laughed softly.
He may be a teacher, Lane thought, but he’s sure a neat guy.
“I understand that the novels are pretty nasty.”
“You were misinformed. They’re
“I’ll bet you’ve disobeyed, though, haven’t you?”
Lane grinned. “I’ve read ‘em all.”
“Under the bedcovers, I presume.”
“Some of the time.”
“Well, I’d really appreciate it if you would talk to him. If he could find the time to come in, I think the kids would get quite a charge out of it. He might want to tell them about how he became a writer, why he chose to specialize in ‘extremely nasty’ novels, that kind of thing.”
“I’ll check with him about it.”
“Fine. I won’t keep you any longer now. But let me know, okay?”
“Sure.” She picked up her books. As she scooted off the seat, she saw him glance at her legs and look away quickly.
At least somebody appreciates the dress, she thought.
Too bad he has to be a teacher.
Heading toward the door, she was hit again by the knowledge that Riley might be waiting for her.
What if I ask Mr. Kramer to walk me out to the parking lot?
No way, she told herself. He might get the wrong idea. Unless I explain about Riley. And that might get Riley in hot water, and then I’d
“See you tomorrow,” she called over her shoulder.
“Have a nice evening, Lane.”
She stepped into the hallway. Leaning against the lockers on the other side was Jim. He lifted a hand in greeting.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you told me to get lost,” he said, coming toward her. “I don’t know what got into me this morning, I’m really sorry.”
“You should be.”
“You can wash my mouth out with soap, if that’d help any.”
“That’s an idea.” She took hold of his hand. “Next time, I just might.”
“Am I forgiven, then?”
“I guess so. This time.”
Together they walked down the hall.
So much for dumping him, she thought. Guess I wasn’t ready for it, after all.
Though she was a little disappointed in herself, she mostly felt relieved.
“I was afraid I’d really blown it,” Jim said. “All day I kept thinking about it, and how much I’d miss you. I really love you, Lane. I don’t know what I would’ve done if... well, anyway. We’re okay again, right?”
“Yeah. We’re okay.”
He squeezed her hand.
In the parking lot Lane spotted Riley Benson sitting on the hood of her Mustang. They were still some distance away, and Jim hadn’t noticed him yet.
But Riley saw them, scurried down and swaggered off.
Ten
She was water skiing on the river at night. She didn’t want to be there. She was frightened.
She wanted to stop but didn’t dare. The thing in the water would get her before the boat had time to swing around and pick her up.
She didn’t know what it was in the water. But something. Something awful.
The boat sped faster and faster, as if it wanted to help her escape. She skimmed over the smooth black surface, clinging to the handle of the tow line, whimpering with terror.
Somehow, she knew that the boat wasn’t quick enough. The thing in the water was gaining on her.
If they were closer to shore! If the boat took her near enough to a dock, she might let go of the line and her speed might take her gliding to safety.
But she couldn’t see the shore.
On both sides there was only darkness.
That’s impossible, she thought. The river’s no more than a quarter mile wide.
Sick with dread, she thought, We’re not on the Colorado anymore.
Clutching the wooden handle with her right hand, she raised her left and waved for the boat to head ashore.
Wherever that might be.
It kept its straight course.
Look at me! her mind shrieked. Damn it, pay attention!
She suddenly realized that she didn’t know who was steering the boat.
Then she saw that it was drawing away from her.
As if the tow line were stretching.
Slowly, the running lights faded with distance, until they vanished entirely. Even the sound of the outboards died away.
There was silence except for the hiss of her skis.
The tow rope led into darkness.
She was alone.
Except for the thing under the river.
