Wild Goose Chase Read Online Free PDF

looked off-kilter until I realized the quilt had borders on only three sides. A work in progress.
    “Claire?” I called out. I looked back at Myra. She had picked up the tray and the lunch. I was glad to see the lid was intact on the cottage cheese. I hadn’t meant to ruin Claire’s lunch. “Where is she?”
    “She’s not here. As you can see.”
    “I’m going to wait for her to come back.”
    I took another step into the room, heading for a chair. A strange smell lingered in the air, metallic and earthy. It caught in my throat and swirled around, making me catch my breath and hold it. The smell was familiar; I remembered the butcher shop next to Grandpa’s hardware store. It had been closed for years, why was I thinking of it now?
    Suddenly Myra was right behind me. I felt her breath in my hair and I turned around and glared, trying to get her to back off. She was looking past me, over my head; her nostrils flared. I took several steps forward to see what she was looking at.
    Past the far side of the bed, Claire lay on the floor, almost under the table. She was on her back, her eyes open but unseeing. From the waist up, she looked untouched. But she was in a puddle of blood. Her pink polyester slacks were red. The upper part of her right thigh was visible through a gash in the fabric. I could see the muscle showing on either side of a deep cut.
    Next to her hand was a bright yellow-handled rotary cutter.
    I was surprised how obvious it was that she was dead. The blood was fresh, still bright red in spots, but Claire looked so icy cold, I was sure no life remained.
    I heard Myra gasp behind me and felt the air rush out of my body in response. We stood at the foot of the bed, unable to move or stop staring. My backpack slipped off my shoulder and clunked to the floor, landing on the rucked-up bedspread. I worried for a second about damage to the laptop, then, without warning, I felt the gorge rise in my throat and pushed past Myra to the bathroom.
    I retched and retched, my body shaking with the effort of throwing up food that wasn’t there. When I was finally finished, I felt bruised and battered. I lay my head down on the closed toilet lid, welcoming the cool porcelain on my cheek. The smell of bleach irritated my nose.
    A small noise came from the doorway of the bathroom. Myra leaned against the jamb, a feline keening sound emanating from her. I pushed myself up and pulled her into the bathroom. Myra was docile. I steered her toward the edge of the bathtub and sat her down. Her shoes tracked blood onto the clean white floor. She must have tried to revive Claire.
    “Myra, sit down. I’m going to call the police.”
    She didn’t answer, dropping her head into her bloody hands.
    I reached for the phone on my belt and dialed 911. Myra had slipped onto the floor and was leaning up against the tub, her skin the color of the porcelain, her black hair in sharp contrast against the rim. I was reminded of Snow White lying, poisoned, waiting for her prince. Too bad no prince was on his way today.
    “I think she’s dead,” I said to the woman who answered the phone. Saying the words out loud, I felt the enormity of the situation. The 911 operator coaxed the details from me and promised help was on the way.
    “Myra, let’s get out of here. We can wait in the hallway.”
    “I told her to be more careful,” Myra said. “She insisted she could sit on the bed and cut from there. I told her.” Myra’s eyes were fixed as though she could see through the tile wall into the bedroom where Claire lay dead. She reminded me of my neighbor’s dog that sat at the gate for weeks after he died, sure that its master would come up the walk any minute.
    I took a deep breath, regretting it immediately as the smell of blood caught in my throat again. Shuddering, I choked it down. I perched reluctantly on the edge of the toilet and patted Myra’s shoulders. She didn’t move, her body stiff under my touch.
    I knew nothing about