Page 63 of Mean Streak

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“What kind of work did you do up there?”

Norman’s eyes narrowed. “What’s it to you? In fact, what’s with all the questions about our family?”

“Just making friendly conversation.”

“Well, make it about something else.”

Will said, “

What we need is a change of subject.” He snapped his fingers. “I know. Let’s talk about you.”

The feral gleam in the younger Floyd’s eye put him on guard, but he kept his tone neutral. “What about me?”

“How come you keep so to yourself?”

“I like my privacy.”

“You like your privacy,” Will repeated, as though pondering the reply. “You a homo?”

Norman snickered then laughed behind his fist. Will gave his brother a self-congratulatory wink.

He let their levity run its course, then said, “No, Will, I’m straight. Sorry. I hate to disappoint you.”

It took a few seconds for Will to process the implication. When he did, he lunged off the sofa and came lumbering toward him. Norman stuck out his booted foot and planted it directly in his brother’s path. Will tripped over it and fell face first onto the filthy rug. He came up hurling curses. Norman physically restrained him.

“Calm down, Will. He’s just egging you on. And you asked for it, after all.”

Will’s stream of profanity continued as he tried to wrestle free of his more level-headed brother. Pauline came in to see what the commotion was about, but after taking in what must be a familiar scene, she slunk back into the kitchen unnoticed.

While Norman was still trying to talk Will out of ripping his fucking head off, the door behind him opened. Emory glanced toward the wrangling brothers, but another problem superseded them. Low but insistently, she said, “I need to talk to you.”

Keeping his eye on the Floyds, he backed into the bedroom and shut the door, then dragged a straight chair over to it and secured it beneath the doorknob. He didn’t need to ask about Lisa. Emory’s demeanor spoke volumes.

She said, “This isn’t a miscarriage.”

He glanced toward the bed, where Lisa lay, crying softly. Emory had stripped the surgical gloves from her hands. She was holding them inside out, but he saw that the fingers of them were stained dark. “Then what’s the matter with her?”

“She’s in labor.”

Chapter 15

Jeff read the name of the caller on his cell phone and considered not answering. Speaking to Alice directly wasn’t the best of ideas. But then, everyone knew her to be a friend to him and Emory as a couple. Naturally she would be worried and calling him for information and to offer every means of support.

He clicked on. “Hi.”

“Jeff, what the hell is going on?”

“Emory is missing.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. It’s already gone viral on social media.”

“Shit. The clinic staff?”

“The clinic per se hasn’t issued a statement. But individual staff members have been telegraphing it. Some of Emory’s friends, too, who say you began yesterday calling around looking for her.”

He swore under his breath. “I knew that sooner or later there would be a social media blitz, but naively I hoped to have more time before the onslaught.”

“I’ve been out of my mind with worry. Talk to me.”


Tags: Sandra Brown Mystery