Past Malice Read Online Free PDF Page A

possible, so I couldn’t really complain. They also seemed to be having a lot of fun.
    Maybe it was just that I felt unable to get into the slumber party atmosphere that they were able to foster. I felt like I was like the mother who hears the kids’ voices fade away and die into suspicious silence every time she goes into the party room to see how everyone is doing. Ugh.
    I sauntered off the porch and across the drive to where they were unloading their gear.
    “Hey, Emma! Good weekend?” Meg said. I could only tell it was Meg Garrity because I could just make out the platinum blonde spikes of her hair over the two big brown grocery bags she was carrying in addition to a bulging duffel bag with a broken zipper. “You had the meeting tonight?”
    I took one of the bags from her and walked her into the back house, which was serving as a bunkhouse for the nextcouple of weeks. “Yep. Not everyone’s convinced of the necessity of our work, but that’s getting smoothed over. And the end…the end was a little more exciting than I think anyone expected.”
    I told her about Perry having been hurt. She frowned.
    “Perry? Is she the older lady with the scary smile and the too-tight clown curls?”
    “No, and a little charity please, if you don’t mind. That’s Fee you’re thinking of. Perry’s younger, a little preppy, brown hair always in the headband. I think you met a couple of times.”
    Meg grimaced as she set down her burdens. “Right. She was the one who said she thought the archaeology would be more interesting. More than just holes in the ground.”
    “That’s the one. Well, Justin told us that she was out checking her mailbox before she was supposed to come in for the meeting and this truck came bearing down on her. At first, I guess she thought the driver was just pulling over to ask for directions—she lives in a big old place way out past the farmstand—but then she realized that the truck was speeding up and not slowing down. She got out of the way just in time, escaped with a broken arm and bruises.”
    “Shit.” Meg stared. “Did she get the plates, see the driver, anything?”
    “No, it was too quick. She only thinks it was a dark-colored pickup. Maybe an SUV, maybe blue.”
    “That’s not much. Must have been a drunk driver?”
    “Yeah, I guess.” I didn’t tell Meg about the discussion of the graffiti and the vandalism at the Tapley House. Without further proof, I had to assume that these were still coincidental. “Everyone else coming in?”
    “Yep, just sorting out the various bags of clean laundry and whose junk food is whose. We stopped by the state liquorstore on the way down—too bad they don’t sell beer, it would save a stop—but we picked up some clear and some brown.” Meg pulled out a large pour-size bottle of gin and another of bourbon and set them on the counter.
    “That should last us the rest of the dig,” I observed. “Not too much partying going on.” Again I felt a pang of disappointment; everything seemed so tame, which was fine, but I couldn’t shake the notion that I was an inhibition.
    “No, not that kind of crew, this time,” Meg agreed. “Everyone’s pretty mellow. It’s nice, for a change.”
    I was surprised to hear her say that. “How’s Neal doing? Everything going okay up at the lab?” Meg and Neal Fenn had been living together since they’d met at the dig on Penitence Point a couple of years ago.
    Meg smirked. “Just ducky. He’s eating his heart out, stuck doing analysis up at Caldwell when the rest of us are digging. Especially when the weather is so nice.”
    “Well, that’s a part of the job too,” I said, not feeling a bit sympathetic. “You don’t just get to dig up the goodies, you have to study them, or people will get the wrong impression. Think we’re just greedy.” I looked at Meg. “But you did encourage him, I hope, tell him he’s on the road to his degree, all the hard picky work will pay off, etc.?”
    “Nope. I