“Let me try!” Beau shouted.

Cleo handed the Frisbee to Beau. “You have to toss it high enough so he can have time to figure out where it’s going.”

Beau tossed it straight up. It came down like a rocket, almost hitting Cleo in the head. Premonition danced at their feet as if to say, Hurry, hurry.

This time Cleo stood behind Beau, her hand on his wrist, showing him how to toss.

It was a perfect throw.

And a perfect catch.

Cleo, Beau, and Premonition played and ran and laughed for ten full minutes before Daniel interrupted them. “Come on, kids. Time to eat.”

The meal was baked potatoes, steak, and iced tea. Cleo managed to slip her meat to Premonition, who sat patiently at her feet under the table.

Then came dessert.

Pumpkin pie.

“It’s cold pumpkin pie,” Beau said. “Made with ice cream.”

Cleo stared at the neatly cut piece of pie in front of her, topped with a baseball-sized glob of whipped topping. That was good, because underneath, the pie was the color of the motel rug and the color of the curtains.

The color of a broken, smashed pumpkin.

She spread the whipped cream over the pie, trying to cover every bit of orange. Then, with the edge of her fork, she sliced a bite-size piece and lifted it to her face. The orange of the pumpkin peeked out from under the white of the whipped topping. She closed her eyes and shoved the forkful in her mouth. She chewed as the pie took on the consistency of orange shag carpeting. She gagged a little, hoping nobody noticed. There was no way the piece of dirty carpet was going down. She jumped to her feet, fork clattering to the patio. She had a brief glimpse of two surprised faces before she turned and ran for the garden, throwing up next to an azalea bush.

As she stood there hunched over, waiting to make sure she was finished, she became aware of someone she assumed was Beau standing not far behind her. “It’s not your cooking,” she said, straightening, her stomach seeming to have settled. “My stomach’s been upset for a couple of days.”

“I guess you weren’t just trying to get out of a visit to our house.”

It wasn’t Beau behind her, but Daniel. He handed her a glass of water. She took a few cautious sips. When her stomach didn’t protest, she drank half the glass.

“I’ll take you to the motel.”

Thinking about the motel brought back the feeling of queasiness. Sweat broke out on her forehead. She wiped at it with a trembling hand. “I should probably rest up for tomorrow.” She looked across the yard to see Beau and Premonition playing together, and again she was struck by how well they got along. Premonition had been full-grown when Cleo got him from the animal shelter. He’d been long past the puppy stage and the all-important time when those strong loyalties were formed, so she’d always assumed he would never be able to really bond with anyone.

Beau and Premonition came running.

“Would you like Premonition to stay the night?” Cleo immediately wished she hadn’t offered. It would have been nice to have Premonition’s presence at the motel.

“Oh, yeah. Like a sleepover!” Beau laughed at his own silliness, then took off, dropping to his knees several yards away and rolling onto his back, with Premonition pouncing on top of him, tail wagging furiously.

“What’d you do that for?” Daniel asked angrily.

“What do you mean? I just thought-”

“I know you’re trying to suck up to us, but don’t use Beau to do it. He gets attached easily. I don’t want him getting hurt.”

She stared at him a long moment, then quickly said, “I’m ready to go.”

“I’m taking Cleo back to the motel,” Daniel shouted to Beau while still glaring at her.

“Get some dog food on your way home,” Beau said, not looking in their direction.

A fresh flicker of irritation crossed Daniel’s features.

Cleo smiled blatantly into that irritation. “He likes the soft kind, preferably beef.”

As they were leaving, Cleo spotted some magazines on an end table. “Can I take one of these?” She picked up the top magazine, not bothering to look through the stack. It didn’t matter what they were about.

“Suit yourself.”

“And a pair of scissors. Do you have a pair of scissors I can borrow?”

Chapter Five

Back in the motel room, Cleo began cutting out pictures, then remembered she didn’t have any glue. She ended up borrowing some from the sleaze at the front desk who smiled at her in a knowing way, as if she now owed him sex for the glue, or at least a performance in his next porno flick.

A short time later she showered, all the while trying not to touch anything, making a mental note to pick up flip-flops. Afterward, she sat cross-legged on the bed, cutting out pictures and gluing them to the yellowed motel stationery she’d found under the Bible in the drawer beside the bed. It was something her shrink had taught her to do whenever she couldn’t relax, when she couldn’t shut off her mind.

And for some inexplicable reason, she was finding herself drawn to pictures of barns.

Cleo didn’t fall asleep until dawn, not until reassuring sunlight began to filter its way around the outer door. When the alarm sounded at eight o’clock, she’d barely managed two fitful hours of sleep. Unfortunately, her inability to sleep was part of an old, familiar pattern, one she’d almost forgotten until the events of the previous day. First there had been the nightmare, then the little problem with Beau’s pumpkin pie, then being unable to sleep when she was exhausted.

It’s this room, she tried to convince herself. It’s not me. It’s this creepy room.

She got out of bed and slipped on her sandals. Without bothering to brush her hair or teeth, still wearing the knee-length gray tank top she’d slept in, she left the room and marched to the lobby, where she rang the bell until her buddy from the day before showed up, a jelly doughnut in his hand and in his teeth.

“I want another room.” He wasn’t the only one with an attitude.

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You got the best room in the place.”

“I want a different room. There’s something wrong with the one I’m in.”

“What? What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s too orange.”

“They’re all orange.” Nevertheless, he checked the keys that hung on the pegboard behind the counter. “Lemme see…that’s storage. That’s storage. Ceiling fell in on that one. That room’s got a standing reservation. That leaves us with number three. It’s got a broken air conditioner. Number eight’s got a broken toilet.”

“What about nine or ten?”

“Remodeling them. Tearing out the wall between the two rooms to make one deluxe suite with a Jacuzzi. How’s that sound?”

“Like I’ll be staying in number six.” She didn’t even want to know about the room with the standing reservation. “Is there anyplace to get something to eat around here?” she asked, resigned to the fact that she wouldn’t be moving anytime soon.

“Gas station two blocks down the street. Got pop and juice. Here.” He shoved a box of doughnuts at her. “Knock yourself out.”

Amidst the jelly and powdered sugar, she found a plain doughnut. She took it. “Thanks.” And went back to room six.

She couldn’t remain there another night. She had to leave. She would tell the chief of police she couldn’t stay.

What excuse could she give? That the motel gave her the creeps? And how could she leave? She’d spent her last dime getting to Egypt, Missouri. Adrian had been right. She shouldn’t have come.

She found herself staring at the barn pictures she’d cut out the previous night. Perhaps it was slightly obsessive-compulsive, but she wanted the pictures out of her sight. And not only out of her sight, but hidden. She finally shoved them between the mattress and box-spring and immediately felt better. Not great, but better.