Feral Nights Read Online Free PDF

certificates and immunization records are always faked. So we’re intentionally a lot harder to track than humans. Plus Ruby never mentioned any family or being from Kansas. Actually, she didn’t so much talk to people as hang all over Davidson Morris and make catty or flirty or purring noises.
    I rejoin Aimee, tackling the dishes. Avoiding any mention of species or murder, I update her on what happened between me and Yoshi in the manager’s office. “He’s all we’ve got,” I conclude, scraping leftover linguini l’autumno into the trash can. “Not that we still have him, but he might know something that’ll lead us to Ruby.”
    “And if we do find her?” Aimee asks, wielding the sprayer. “What then?”
    I get her meaning. Hand-to-hand, paw-to-claw, the two of us couldn’t hold Ruby long enough for help to arrive. “I’m working on it,” I reply. “When the time comes, I’ll know what to do.” It sounds lame, even to me.
    Aimee opens the steaming, stainless-steel dishwasher, pulls out a rack of newly cleaned wineglasses, and reaches for the polishing cloth. “You know, it’s been almost four months since Ruby disappeared. If we haven’t seen her, the cops haven’t been able to find her, and her brother is looking, too, it’s possible —”
    “She’s dead.” I grit my teeth. “It’d be nice to know that for sure.”
    Aimee begins hand-drying the glassware. “You know how I feel about what happened to Travis,” she says. “I meant it when I said I’d help you, but this whole mission thing suddenly feels more —”
    “Real?” I ask as a busser drops off more dishes.
    “Dangerous,” Aimee replies.

WISHING MY CAR wasn’t so conspicuous, I circle west and point it north on Lamar Boulevard. Minutes later, I spot a high-end grocery store where I grab a cup of hot tea and a slab of barbecue ribs from the dining-on-the-run aisle. I take the meal outside and choose one of the empty tables on the deck overlooking a playscape. The locals may think it’s too cold tonight, but I appreciate the opportunity to sit alone under the stars.
    The meat smells like heaven, though the sauce tastes a tad too sweet. I’m biased against any barbecue not from Kansas City, but the Texans don’t do a half-bad job.
    Pausing to wipe my fingers, I use my phone to key in a Web search and pull up dozens of articles about Sanguini’s. The original chef was murdered last August.
    Weeks later, the manager at the time, Davidson Morris, along with the replacement chef, Bradley Sanguini, and a local high-school vice principal were named prime suspects. Morris and the VP were found dead before they could be arrested. No word on “Sanguini,” which was supposedly only a stage name.
    Earlier this evening, the hostess asked me if I was looking for Davidson Morris’s Ruby. Is it his fault that my sister is missing, in trouble?
    I recognize her in the online photos, but it’s like she’s dolled up for Halloween. Ruby has added a bold white streak to her hair and gone heavy on the makeup. The black eyeliner and lipstick aren’t half as attention-getting, though, as the outfits.
    I don’t need to see that much of my sister’s cleavage. Nobody does.
    At the whoosh of the opening store doors, I glance at three blondes in sorority T-shirts, carrying trays of salads and coffee. Normally, I’d mosey on over and make plans to meet up with at least one of them later. Not tonight.
    I return my attention to the screen. Karl Richards’s name pulls up a handful of links related to his heating-and-air-conditioning business, a couple about the Greater Austin Chamber of Commerce, and one fairly recent obituary.
    I click the latter and start reading.
    It notes that Travis Reid, age sixteen, was “called home by our Heavenly Father on September 13. Reid was a sophomore at Waterloo High School, where he belonged to the Environmental Club and the Spanish Club. He was preceded in death by his grandmother Christina Acosta. Survivors