"Bed time, Caleb!" Bo said as brightly as she could manage.
The boy scowled up at the kitchen clock. "It's not even eight-thirty…"
"Caleb, look at you." She went to him and touched his forehead. His cheeks flushed, and he looked over her shoulder at their guest, obviously embarrassed. The skin was warm, but not abnormally so. "You're sick as a dog. You want to feel better tomorrow, you ought to be in bed."
Caleb knew exactly why she wanted him gone, and he wasn't having any of it. Rather than waste time pleading or doling out idle threats, she licked her thumb and wiped a smudge of something from his cheek.
"All right, all right!" Caleb said, turning his face away. He took one last look at Rainey's hot pink bikini top, then stomped to the back of the house. A moment later, his bedroom door slammed.
"Bet you wish he could stay that age forever."
Scooping up the sweater from the floor, Bo said, "No, I do not."
The kettle whistled. She returned to the kitchen, poured out a cup of instant. The spoon clinked as she stirred it. Bringing it back to the table, Rainey removed towel from her nose. The skin around it had begun to bruise. By tomorrow, she'd likely have shiners in both eyes.
"That smells like drywall," she said.
"How do you know what drywall smells like?" Bo said, setting the black coffee down in front of her. She draped the sweater over the girl's shoulders. This time, Rainey left it.
"My dad's a contractor. Used to be a jack of all trades, until I got famous—"
"Famous for what?"
The question sobered Rainey up. Suddenly she was singing: "Girl, you don't need to rock the right shaaaades, wear expensive clothes, hit the scene readymade. All you gotta do is be reaaal, be reeeal. All you gotta do is be reeeeal!"
Despite the song's nonsense lyrics, the cool, clear voice in which she'd sung it wasn't unpleasant to listen to. Bo might have even used the term soulful. Another plus—it appeared her nose had stopped bleeding.
"Never heard that one," Bo said, taking the towel from her. She rose, crossed the kitchen, and tossed the ruined towel into the sink.
"You mean, you really don't know who I am?" Rainey laughed. "Shit, girl, you really are off the grid!"
"You're Rainey Layne," Caleb said, awe in his voice. Both women turned to see the boy approaching in his bright red pajamas.
"Your kid's got good taste in music," Rainey said, her teeth blood-pinked when she smiled.
"Momma, she's famous," he said, so entranced by their guest he wasn't even aware enough to be embarrassed by his bedclothes. "Like, really famous."
"You didn't recognize me before?"
"I never seen you before. We don't have a TV," he added sullenly, a sad fact Bo had heard him utter at least a hundred times.
"So how is it you come to know about her?" she asked, leaning against the counter.
"Sometimes I listen to the radio when you leave me in the truck." He shrugged. "I like her songs the best."
"The best, huh?" Rainey said. "You see that? Me and Cal, we're kindred spirits."
"His name's Caleb."
"He told me he likes 'Cal.' Don't you, honey?"
Bo rounded on him. Caleb looked at his socks and nodded.
"He tells perfect strangers things he won't tell his mother," Bo muttered to herself.
"He's what? Ten? Eleven?" Rainey asked. "You're lucky he tells you anything."
Smartass little…
"Back to bed now, Caleb."
"Momma, we got a real live celebrity in our house, and you want me to sleep? You gotta be kidding me!"
"Go to bed, Caleb. I'm not gonna tell you again."
"Aw, c'mon, Momma," Rainey grinned. "Let him stay up."
"You're not the one who'll have to deal with his whining when he's stuck on the toilet all night with diarrhea."
Mortified, Caleb turned and bolted to his room.
"And I ain't your Momma so don't you call me that."
"Can't call you Momma, can't call you bitch. Jeez, what can I call you?"
Bo took a menacing step toward her. The girl threw up her hands, palms stained red from her blood.
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Jeez, can't you take a joke?"
"Finish your coffee."
"It tastes like shit. Don't you got any Starbucks or anything?"
Bo shrugged. "Fresh out."
The girl grinned. Like she knew something. "You know, I used to be like you."
"Like me?"
"Uh-huh, yep. I used to be poor. Too proud to ask for help."
"Who's help do you think I need?"
"Cal's a smart kid. But you keep him on a leash. I bet you don't let him out of your sight." She nodded, narrowing her eyes. "There's a name for chicks like you where I live. We call them helicopter Mommas."
"How old are you?"
"Old enough to know your kid's gonna rebel if you don't start treating him like a person instead of a pet. He get bullied a lot in school?"
"He's homeschooled."
"Then I guess that's a yes." Rainey grinned again, her teeth back to their chemically whitest, having swallowed most of the blood.
"I think it's time for you to leave." Bo stood and took away Rainey's coffee, only a few sips taken.
"I thought you said I was too drunk to drive."
"Looks like you've sobered up some. I'll give your car a nudge off that tree if—"
"Darius got me thinking," Rainey said. Her eyes had a gleeful twinkle in them Bo didn't like. "When I was a little older than him, I was already emancipated."
"Emancipated?"
"Good God almighty, I was free at last!" Rainey cried, waving her hands in the air dramatically. "My daddy used to take all of my royalties. Used 'em to gamble. Drink. All kinds of bad shit. I didn't like that too much. So my agent told me I should get emancipated. Because he was treating me like a slave."
Rainey smiled wanly.
"My agent was savage as fuck. Of course, she was taking fifteen percent herself. Now I run my own company. I make my own music—not for the record companies, not for the producers, and sure as hell not for my daddy. You can't trust anyone in this world. Not your parents. Not your friends." She started looking around her feet as she continued the thought in sing-song. "The only people you can trust are animals—where's Hottie?"
"Excuse me?"
"Hottie—my dog." She stood. Her eyes went unfocused, and she grasped the chair to stop herself from falling over.
"You named your dog 'Hottie'?"
The girl crouched to look under the table. "Short for Hotlanta," Rainey said absently, as if it explained everything. "Hottie?" Whistling. "Hottie-baby, where are you, you bad wittle girl?"
"You didn't have her when I brought you up to the house."
"Bullshit," Rainey said, peering drunkenly around the kitchen counter. "I don't go anywhere without my dog."
"What possible reason would I have to lie?"
Rainey looked up from her search with a look of narrow-eyed suspicion. "You probably kidnapped him. Kidnapped him and killed him and ate him, you sick bitch."
Bo felt the rage throb behind her eyes. She struggled to control it. "Your bodyguard was right. You are unstable."
"Darius would never say that, Darius loves me."
"He said it right in front of you."
"Bullshit."
"Get. Out. Of my. House," she said, as calm and forceful as she could manage with her nerves jangling.
Rainey snapped her head toward Bo, spittle flying from her lips as she screamed, "I'm not going anywhere without my dog!"
Bo slapped her across the face. Hard enough for the blood to flow again.
The girl stared at her with wide, fully sobered eyes. Brought a hand to her already flushing cheek. "Oh, no you did not."
"You're goddamn right, I did," Bo snarled. "And I'll do again if you don't shut your filthy whore mouth."
"Bitch," Rainey cooed. She blinked, awaiting the next blow. "Fucker." Stepping closer. Cocking her he
ad. "Cunt."
Bo slapped her again, hard enough for the girl's head to snap back, a slash of blood droplets streaking the yellow counter. Rainey turned, fire in her eyes, red streaming down her face from both nostrils.
She struck out.
Bo caught her wrist and jerked it down.
The other hand came up in a fist. Bo caught it an inch from her face and fought the girl's sudden burst of crazed terror strength to shove it down to her side.
"Let me go, you crazy cunt!"
"Momma…?"
"Go back to bed, Caleb!"
Caleb's door slammed behind her.
Twisting Rainey's skinny, freckled arms behind her back, she shoved her toward the door. Kicked it open, then booted her butt outside.
Rainey went sprawling in the dirt. She crawled around on all fours until she faced the house. Rainey spat blood on Bo's boot. Laughed maniacally.
"You got a strange idea of funny," Bo said.
"I will fucking destroy you," the girl growled through gritted, blood-stained teeth. Tears pattered into the dirt between her hands. "You just flushed your whole fucking life down the toilet, you crazy bitch."
Bo chuckled.
"What the fuck are you laughing at?"
She was thinking how funny it was that the girl had just about said the same thing Roy had last said to her without even knowing it.
"You can't touch me," Bo said, shaking her head. "You came to my house. Twice. Driving drunk. You crashed into my tree."
"It's not your tree!"
Bo gave her a patient smile. "You threatened me," she said, "and my son. I did what I had to do to defend myself from your crazy ass."
"Bitch, I am gonna call—" She spat blood. "—social services. They'll take Cal away, and you'll never see him aga—"
Bo's boot to the side of her head stopped her yapping.
"You don't get to threaten my boy," she told the unconscious girl sprawled in the dirt. "You don't get to ever do that."
4 – Wreck
BO STOOD BY the door for several minutes, only now realizing how well and truly screwed she was. If the girl was as popular as Caleb seemed to think, someone would be looking for her come morning. Their altercation earlier in the day outside of Dan Goose's was probably all over the sleazy tabloid shows. Thankfully, the news vans hadn't been anywhere in sight, but she recalled that at least a few of the younger protestors had been holding cell phones—and cell phones had video cameras. It was how they swyped and snapplechatted and however the hell else kids communicated these days.
Darius would come looking. Might even bring the Sheriff, if he was smart.
"Goddammit…"
She grabbed Rainey by the wrists and dragged her through the dirt, and over the splintered threshold.
Bo righted the chair and sat her up in it. Got a loop of yellow nylon rope from the broom closet, and tied the girl's hands and feet to the wooden legs. Tested the knots for strength. Not an ounce of give.
Satisfied, Bo stood and guzzled the lukewarm cup of coffee. She'd need energy for the next part.
A loud buzz startled her as she set the mug back down on the edge of the table. It tipped, and Bo watched it shatter in ceramic splinters on the floor.
That buzz again, rattling the penny jar.
Rainey's cell phone.
Bo peered at the screen. A little green image of an old telephone handset below a picture of Darius with his hand up to hide himself from the photographer.
The smart thing to do would be to smash that dang thing with a hammer.
Maybe. Or maybe the smarter thing would be to see if Caleb knew how to use it—since he seemed to be full of surprises—and could send out her cheeps or instantgrams to make it look like she'd just run off somewhere, gone on some kind of a walkabout in the woods.
Seemed like something a girl concerned with the environment might feasibly do to Bo. Particularly a girl who collected "spirit animals," and seemed to enjoy her herbal medicines.
The cell phone buzzed. Making the flame in the oil lamp flicker.
No. It'd be too difficult to keep up the pretense. Her fans—those supposed millions she'd bragged about—would want photos. Updates. They'd want to know what she was eating, and every little idiot thought that popped up in her silly little transparent world.
Buzzzzzz.
A plan started to formulate.
Sometimes it disturbed Bo how quickly these things came to her. It wasn't like she went looking for trouble. Trouble just seemed to find her. And when it did, Bo gave trouble a run for its money.
Just like when Roy "went missing."
Buzz—
The phone stopped rattling mid-ring.
Voicemail, she thought.
She stuffed a cloth in Rainey's mouth and sealed it with duct tape. The girl breathed raggedly through her nose, making bubbles of snot and blood. She draped the sweater over her head for good measure.
Bo padded lightly across the living room to Caleb's door. Drew the lock ever so gently. She had no delusion the boy was sleeping, could only hope he wouldn’t try to leave his room while she was outside, or he'd pitch a fit.
Then she headed back out into the dark.
The phone rattled once more behind her, and was silent.
A sliver of moon illuminated the canopy of jagged black pines. Sky so clear she could see the entire universe.
Bo climbed into the truck, pulled the door shut gently—not that it would matter when the engine started—and turned the key. The truck's roar made her heart pound in her throat.
Bo waited for a flashlight beam to illuminate Caleb's window. A minute passed on the dashboard clock. Two. She supposed he could have just gone to the window without his flashlight, but his bed was on the other side of the room. He'd have to risk stepping over his toys in the dark, and Caleb was more careful than that.
Almost too careful.
Nervous is more like it, Bo thought.
She backed the truck down the drive. Passed Rainey's Escalade, the door still open, the airbag still inflated.
At the giant oak tree, she turned the truck around and backed up until she was a few feet from the rear end of the SUV. She got out, grabbed the tow chain from behind the seat. Hooked it to the tow hitch of both vehicles.
Reaching through the driver door, under the blood-encrusted airbag, and threw the Escalade into Neutral with her sleeve pulled up over her hand, thanking God the girl drove standard shift. Blood had spilled on both front seats.
She shut the door, hand in sleeve.
Back in the truck, she took a moment to go over the finer details of her plan, such as it was. "You got this, Bo." She twisted her grip on the wheel methodically, psyching herself up. "You got this."
Easing her foot down on the gas, the truck zipped forward the length of the chain, then stopped with a jerk. The front wheels spun. Metal squealed against bark. Bo considered dropping it into reverse and back, worrying the bumper off the tree the way a terrier shook a rat, but then the wheels caught, and the truck lurched ahead, tearing the Escalade off the tree with a shriek of metal.
She took the drive to Tackle Box Road slowly, worried the Escalade would come out of the ruts and veer off into the underbrush, breaking the tow chain or snapping off either of the trailer hitches. At that point, the whole plan would be shot. The accident had to have happened far enough away no one would suspect the girl had been driving back out to the Lowery homestead.
Bo knew the perfect place, if she could make it there without getting caught by some hunter out spotlighting for deer, or half-lit teenagers on their way home from a pit party. Few vehicles came out this way after dinner. Wasn't much to look at once the sun went down, and only a few people actually lived out Bo's way.
At Tackle Box Road, where the trees opened up to field, no sign of civilization marred the black stillness of night. Bo rolled down the window and sat a moment, letting the chirp of crickets and frogsong soothe her jittery nerves. She breathed in fresh pine and the cool crisp
air. Her heartrate normalized.
She swung the truck left onto the gravel road. Heading north toward Fort Garrison. The likeliest place for Rainey and Darius to be staying was the Snowcrest Lodge out at the ski hill just north of town, the swankiest hotel for miles. It meant she would have driven through town on her way here, and anyone could have seen her.
A vehicle like hers wouldn't be easy to ignore, particularly in a town where most vehicles outside of four-wheelers and snowmobiles were manufactured prior to Y2K. And in all likelihood she'd been blaring music with the windows open, making her even more visible.
In the passenger seat, Rainey's phone buzzed.
Darius again. Getting worried.
Bo turned the cell phone off, taking the straight road out to the windy section, where drunk drivers often drove off into the ditch, or the straight shelf of limestone rock cut closer to town. She looked in the rearview, the stark lines of her face lit red from the taillights reflecting off the Escalade's shiny chrome. She looked hellish. Eyes haggard. Hair frazzled. Lips turned down in a strained rictus.
She had to remember however bad she looked, Rainey Layne looked a hundred times worse. And if anyone caught her, they would take Caleb away, just like Rainey said. They'd lock her up at Hiland Mountain Correctional, and if it was true about Rainey's fame she'd be lucky if she saw him again before his eighteenth birthday.
Headlights overtook the next rise, about a mile north. Scintillas of light so small they could easily be mistaken for stars if they hadn't been below the trees. Bo's heart hammered her ribcage like a desperate fist against prison bars.
Her initial instinct was to jerk the wheel a hard right, swinging both vehicles into the ditch. She knew this road by rote. A good five foot drop to the forest floor, the Escalade would have rolled. Possibly taken her truck with it, or at least torn the hitch off the back.
Instead, she took a deep, calming breath, flicked off the running lights, and drove thirty or forty feet in the dark until the road began to curve around a large black monolith Roy used to call, for reasons she never quite knew, Plymouth's Rock. There, she pulled up into the dirt patch scenic lookout. During the day tourists would have a good view of the ski hills beyond the valley town of Fort Garrison, and the higher peaks of some of the mountains in the Yukon Ranges. At night—at least on this night—it was stars as far as the eye could see.
Every Part of the Animal Page 4