Dragon Sleep

By M.J. Simon

For creative writer, artist, and librarian Elizabeth Rinehart, the world of make-believe has always been a source of magic, wonder, and comfort. Beth's imaginary world is a pleasant, waking dream. Little does she know her dream has taken on a life of its own in an alternate universe.

When the imaginary world of Elizabeth's disturbed childhood friend, Zachary Blake, an angry boy who grew up to be a serial killer, also starts manifesting itself, the peaceful dream becomes a twisted nightmare. With each murder Zachary commits, the barrier between worlds becomes thinner, and the three worlds threaten to merge into one. It's up to Beth, with the help of her imaginary friends and the man she loves, to stop the murders, contain Zachary's horrific fantasy world, and save her beloved Enchanted Forest, if only she can.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.J. Simon
• Release date: May 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476359441

M.J. Simon

About M.J. Simon: Official Blurb M.J. Simon is the author of five novels: Shadow’s Embrace, Shades of Gray, Dragon Sleep, Passed Away (coming soon); and four children’s books: Pilot the Service Dog, Benjamin Bear’s Christmas, Letters, Numbers and Dinosaurs and The Easter Flight of Sir Jack Rabbit. Dr. Simon has also been published in academic journals for her research in posttraumatic stress disorder and forensic psychology. She holds a doctoral degree in clinical psychology and has practiced for over twenty years in her field. She lives in Lansing, Michigan with her husband, one dog, and three cats. About M.J. Simon: Unofficial Blurb One of the first things you should know about me is that I talk to mice. And rabbits. And cats. And dogs. And chipmunks... Well, you get the picture. I’m also a clinical psychologist who has spent much of my career working in the world of forensics. Interesting juxtaposition. Kind of like tea parties and ax murderers all mixed up into one strangely enchanted pot. So, take a look at the stories and see what you think.

Book preview

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank my husband Brian Wissink for all of his support and words of encouragement throughout this process as well as for taking the photo from which the cover was designed! My friends and family for reading the book in its many revisions and for providing tender loving care all the while. A few of them I will name, but there will be many who, while not named here for the sake of brevity, know who they are.

Among the indefatigable readers: Kathy Thompson, treasured friend, who has walked with me through the manuscript’s first tentative lines to its finished product. My niece, Kimberly Kauffman, for all of her endless listening and incredible patience and encouragement. Dear friend, Dawn Ambrose, for reading and for coming up with the idea to use Brian’s photographs. Joe Stewart for giving me the inspiration for this book. Rich Bailhe for some wonderful suggestions. Katherine VanZwoll, a fellow writer and friend whose tireless readings of draft upon draft and concise feedback have been, and continue to be, truly priceless. Abigail English, a gentle spirit, a wise guide, talented writer and artist, whose friendship I cherish. Dan Waldron, fellow writer, kindred spirit, and kind soul, who read and reported back with invaluable insights. Rene Davidson, wife, mother, and busy professional, as well as a generous reader, who volunteered her reading services without even knowing me. Tom and Doreen Woodward for their donation of time and their valuable suggestions as they read through the manuscript. Jeremy Lounds of Dynamite Inc. for bringing this book to publication and for the vision and ultimate creation of my web site. Dave Jewell, graphic designer and dear friend, for his work, from conception to finished product, in the creation of the book’s cover.

At last, to my animals, from childhood to today, for their patience and their willingness to give and accept love always.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to My Dad and Mom, known affectionately to their friends and others whose lives they touched, as John and Billie Lou. Thank you for always encouraging my imagination and for making my world a truly enchanted place. May Heaven be an enchanted forest where all your dreams come true.

CHAPTER 1

He’d been watching them for over a week. That was part of the fun. The woman, June, lifted the small bag of groceries from the back seat of the blue Buick Century and closed the door with an arthritic hip. William, her husband, hurried down the front steps of the covered porch to help. Well into their eighties, it was plain to see the couple was still very much in love. It would be best for them to die together. Almost too good for them, considering what they had done to him, the hell they had created in his life.

It was a modest home, hedges meticulously trimmed and window boxes overflowing with flowers. Set in a quiet, mature neighborhood of starter homes, the streets lined with huge old oaks and maples. He wondered how the old couple would face their final moments.

Zachary put the car in drive and edged slowly out onto the narrow street, moving past the house without looking at it. He stayed away for two hours, driving around, stopping at the Applebee’s on the corner of Larch and Colonial, about sixty miles away, for a cup of strong black coffee and a piece of blueberry pie. He wore a suit today, white shirt, button down collar, navy blue jacket and pants, penny loafers polished to a high shine, his face buried in the Wall Street Journal. Before two p.m. June and William Sanderson would be dead.

* * *

Bill wanted to show her the progress on his latest project. June followed him down the narrow stairs to the basement where florescent lights hummed and the blade of the circular saw glowed dimly. This was his cave, she thought affectionately, and he loved it here as much as she loved the little room upstairs where she read books and played solitaire on the computer her son and daughter-in-law had bought her for her 80th birthday, now six years ago. She felt grateful they were both still healthy enough to enjoy these simple pleasures.

The bookcase was coming along nicely. The largest and most ambitious piece Bill had attempted, it was spectacular, with its tiered moldings and cherry wood edges. Someday, when she and Bill were gone, it would be passed down to their grandson Jordan and, later, to his children. It felt good to know, that long after they passed away, she and Bill would be a part of lives to come.

It’s beautiful, she said, caressing the smooth wood surface with the tip of a gnarled finger.

He beamed. I think it might just be one of my best. His hand joined hers on the wood and he laid his palm flat against the surface.

You’ve done a lot today. It looks nearly finished, June said, marveling at the way the thing had taken shape once he began assembling the separate pieces.

It’s that way every time, he mused. I seem to turn some invisible corner and once that happens, the process glides along by itself.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled him down to her stooped five foot two inch frame and kissed his bristly cheek. Even after all these years, she thrilled a little when he didn’t shave. At eighty-eight, he maintained the rugged handsomeness that had attracted her to him at the tender age of 17. He cupped her chin in his hand. Upstairs, the doorbell rang.

* * *

Scarlett meandered along the edge of the brook, pausing now and then to clean between her toes, chewing out the little pebbles that caught there in the tufts of white fluffy fur. She was in no hurry to get home, though she loved it in her cozy burrow. The day was simply too glorious to stay inside. Daintily, she dipped a fuzzy forepaw into the cold shallow water and brought it to her face, where she scrubbed the bridge of her nose and rubbed her heavy-lidded brown eyes.

Scarlett, hello, came a gurgling welcome.

She turned and looked upstream toward the sound of her friend’s voice. Thomas Tealeaf, a frog, was floating lazily toward her along the shallow surface of the water, letting the current carry him over shiny rocks and moss-covered riverbed.

Thomas, she called as he joined her on the shore. It’s good to see you. You are enjoying the cool springs?

Nothing like it, he said, giving her a wide, watery smile. Are you ready for the party tomorrow?

I am ready, yes, she said, twitching her long ears against the bee that had begun buzzing around them.

Do you need help with food or anything? He asked.

I think I have things under control. The date did sort of sneak up on me though. I can’t believe it’s already late August.

It is wonderful of you to give us a sending off, Thomas said. Soon, Fielding and I and all the rest will be hibernating and then it will be six long months before we see one another again.

The winter is long when you miss someone, she said, coming close and bending low to nuzzle him with a pink nose. You’re lucky you get to sleep through it.

Thomas blushed and his bulgy green eyes filled with tears. He sniffed and lowered his eyes, bashful, as she bumped him again with her furry head. I always get emotional this time of year.

Well, you’re allowed to cry a little at the party, but only a little. We’re going to be having too much fun for sad faces to prevail. Just wait and see.

Scarlett pictured her cozy burrow filled with his friends and hers, mice and squirrels, chipmunks, toads, other frogs like himself, Mistress Chubbs the cat, and of course, rabbits. Even the hummingbirds, Eustace and Godiva would be there, before heading to Mexico for the winter season.

* * *

One more snuggle and she hopped away in the direction of her burrow. Thomas watched after her and wondered again at the mystery that surrounded his good friend. Scarlett was an enchanted rabbit. At two feet tall and a solid forty pounds, she was vastly larger than any of the other rabbits in the forest.

Scarlett’s dreams and prophetic visions had saved the day many times over. She could sometimes read minds, but being a very polite rabbit, never did so unless it was an emergency. Thomas didn’t know how she had come to be or what her greater purpose was in The Enchanted Forest. He only knew he loved her.

* * *

Elizabeth sketched a rough outline of the giant rabbit that was currently taking up most of the space in her head. Dagny Ann, the scruffy white poodle mix and Beth’s constant companion, lay curled in the little bed at the base of the easel. Lena watched unobserved from the doorway.

Beth worked quickly and in an absorbed way that Lena appreciated. Her daughter, she decided, looked her most beautiful at moments like this, her dark eyes serene, her lips parted, a faint blush visible beneath the olive skin of her high cheekbones.

Pushing a hand through her short dark hair, Beth shifted on the stool. She couldn’t draw the rabbit fast enough, her mother knew. It was often like this. The animals, the forest floor, the trees, and streams, hummed with life beneath the stroke of her pencil.

Finishing the outline, she sketched in the barest of details before looking up to see her mother in the doorway. Hi Mom, she said as she laid the pencil in the groove of the easel and stood, easing back.

Hi yourself, Lena said, smiling. Dagny, roused from sleep, ran to her, tail wagging. Lena bent slowly and scratched the little dog’s head. You’ve been in here for hours. I thought you might like a break.

Have I? Beth squinted at her watch. Wow, I had no idea. It’s almost 5:00 pm.

You never do, Lena replied, smiling as she wheeled deeper into the room. May I see what you’ve done today?

Beth stepped away from the canvas. Her mother studied the drawing in progress. Of all her daughter’s creations, Scarlett was Lena’s favorite. The rabbit had such kind, wise eyes, and soft, thick gray-brown fur that tufted out at the knees and between the big bunny toes. The burrow, a dark cavernous space behind the animal, promised something enchanted within its circuitous depths. Beth had drawn a little frog at the feet of the rabbit to show the exaggerated size of the gentle beast.

Of all your characters, I love Scarlett the best, Lena said as Beth bent to kiss her cheek.

Lena turned her wheelchair deftly to the right, making her way to the table beneath a series of long windows at the back of the studio. Let’s see what else you’ve done today.

Oh, Bethie, she exclaimed, clapping her hands together like a delighted child. They’re spectacular, every one of them. I can’t wait to see what happens at the party.

Dagny leapt onto Lena’s lap and stood, planting two tiny front paws on the older woman’s sunken chest. Her whole body wriggling, she looked intently into Lena’s eyes and dove in to lick her face. Lena laughed and wrapped thin arms around the dog, hugging her close. You’re such a little love and you’ve been so good to let your mommy ignore you all afternoon.

No more, I’m sure. Her bladder is probably ready to burst and she needs to run a bit before dinner. Do you want to go to the park with us?

No, I think I’ll stay here and get dinner ready. You girls will be hungry when you get home.

You’re sure, mom? Summer won’t last much longer and it looks beautiful out there now.

Lena shook her head and smiled up at her pretty daughter. You go on. I’ll have time yet before the snow flies.

It’s really no trouble to get you into the van, especially now that we have the lift. I feel like I’ve hardly seen you today.

Well, that’s what you get when you spend the day in an enchanted forest. You’ll see me when you get home and you can tell me all about the story then.

Beth shrugged, planted her hands on her narrow hips and shook her head as she looked down at her mother. Leaning in, she kissed Lena’s cheek.

CHAPTER 2

Quinn could feel the late afternoon sun easing the kinks out of his neck and shoulders as he biked the path that wound between the thin sliver of beach and the edge of the park. Crunching numbers always made him uptight and he’d been at it way too long. Even if he hadn’t felt it in his neck and back, the low throbbing behind his eyes was a sure sign his concentration had crossed the line into addictive obsession. He’d always prided himself on being able to roll with the punches, take things in stride. Today, he wondered where the easy-going guy with the shiny motorcycle and carefree ways had gone, leaving in his place a keyed up accountant with a nervous tick and a constant scowl.

Smiling at the exaggerated description, he felt a little more of the tension leave his body. The restaurant was going to be a success. The loan was one he could handle and in a few years, when the costs were absorbed and profits began rolling in, he could pay the whole thing off in one lump sum.

The dog came out of nowhere. Or maybe he’d been daydreaming instead of watching the road. Either way, he was forced to swerve sharply to miss the little mop-haired mutt. The front tire bit into the soft sand at the edge of the pavement and skidded out, landing him hard on his butt on the ground. The bicycle clattered and fell on its side a little way away.

He tried to stand, but the sharp pain in his tailbone made him think twice about any sudden moves. Lying back on the sand, Quinn closed his eyes, taking silent stock of his injuries. No broken bones. Just bruised ones and an ego to match. Why did there always seem to be witnesses in situations like this?

A cold nose touched his, followed by a slobbering tongue. The little bugger had the audacity to return to the scene of the crime. He lay still while the animal climbed onto his chest and snuffled his forehead.

Oh my God. I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Did you hit your head?

Cautiously, he opened one eye and looked up at the shadow of a woman, backlit by the sun, scooping the small dog off of his chest and plunking it down on the ground beside her. He couldn’t see much, but the outline was interesting. Jaw length hair curling at the ends, framed a tiny face. The throat was slender and the arms in the sleeveless top small boned and shapely. Small, capable hands pushed him back as he moved to sit up.

No, please, you mustn’t move. You may have broken something. I’ll call 911.

Don’t you dare. I’m fine. I fell off my bike, not out of an airplane. Shoving at her hands and rolling away from the insistent nose and the tiny paw that had placed itself on his opposite shoulder, Quinn sat up.

Are you sure you’re all right? You hit the ground pretty hard.

I think I’ll live. Is that your mutt I’m going to drown in the lake?

Come here, Dagny, she said, pulling the wriggling white pooch into her arms. Hugging the dog to her chest, she looked at him with wide round eyes. I am sorry. She slipped her collar and went barreling off after a bird. Thank you for swerving.

No thanks necessary. It was pure instinct. He heard his own crabby tone and grimaced, knowing it was more embarrassment and a sore behind than any genuine anger at the woman or her gone astray dog.

Scrambling to her feet, she hooked the dog named Dagny under one arm and brushed off the back of her jeans with the other. Well then, we’ll just get out of your way. I’ll pay for any damages to your bicycle. I work at the library in town. You can find me there most days. She turned and began walking swiftly up the grassy hill that led into the park.

Don’t run away, he said, his tone softening as he watched the retreating form. In addition to other parts of my body, my pride’s a little bruised. I wouldn’t really drown your dog, Scout’s honor.

Well, I’m glad you’re okay and I am sorry to have caused an accident, she said, turning back to him, but keeping the few feet distance she’d gained. And I mean it about your bike. Just let me know what I owe you and where to send the check. We have an answering machine at the library. You can just leave the figure on that. I’ll get it.

He pulled himself up and closed the distance between them. My traitorous bike is fine too, I’m sure. He was watching her, his curiosity peaked. She was slender and delicate boned with wide brown eyes, hidden now beneath thick dark lashes as she stared at the ground between them. There were flecks of blue paint on one cheek and in the tips of her dark hair.

That’s good then.

She turned to go and he reached out, touching her arm. He watched her flinch. I’m Quinn Matthews. I bought the building across the street from the library. He held out a hand, which she took reluctantly. He lightened his grip, fearful he might crush the tiny bones. I’m opening a restaurant. Dagny the dog strained forward to sniff and lick his arm, clearly friendlier than her mistress.

That’s nice. I’m glad someone finally bought it. We haven’t had anything but the diner in almost a year. People are getting tired of driving twenty miles for dinner. I’d better go. If you discover a problem with your bicycle, just call the library.

She turned and seemed to half run up the rest of the slope into the park. He watched her dart quickly around the benches and along the grass to the sidewalk, disappearing from view as she crossed the street. Pretty sure he wasn’t sporting a tattoo on his arm with the words Homicidal Maniac caligraphied in blood red script or wearing his favorite Rape and Pillage T-Shirt, Quinn wondered just exactly what had spooked her.

* * *

Lena lingered in Beth’s studio, taking in the colorful paintings. As a child, Beth had escaped into an enchanted forest where there were no spiteful, snooty girls or bad boy bullies who took pot shots and delivered low blows, who turned whole groups against her daughter for the sake of sport. Beth’s forest was safe and accepting.

The back door slammed and she could hear Beth calling to her from the mud- room at the back of the house. An instant later, Dagny raced into the studio and leapt into her arms, front paws on Lena’s chest, licking her jaw with enthusiasm.

Laughing, Lena said, You’re home early. I haven’t even started dinner. Did you have a good run, Dagny Ann? Did you watch out for your mommy?

She had a good run all right. Beth sighed, setting the leash and collar on the edge of the long table. She slipped her collar and went tearing off after a bird. Unfortunately, she ran right in the path of someone’s bicycle. In swerving to miss her, he wiped out on the beach.

Oh my, Dagny, Lena scolded, that was bad. Is he tall, dark, and eligible?

Mom, I had no idea you were in the market.

I’m not, but you should be.

Are you so ready to be rid of me you’d marry me off to any old stranger on a bike?

Aha, I knew he was a stranger when you didn’t give his name. Lena pursed her lips, tapping a thin forefinger against them in thought. Let’s see. I seem to recall a rumor about a good-looking young man who bought the old Steiner restaurant on Main Street. Is that the one?

The restaurant or the man?

The man, of course. Is he cute? Young, good looking, eligible?

Beth groaned. You’re impossible.

You haven’t answered my questions.

Beth rolled her eyes. He was okay, I guess, a little too much of a jock, but not bad looking.

Your age? Lena raised a brow, settling into the interrogation.

Gosh Mom, I forgot to ask to see his driver’s license.

You know what I mean. Did he look your age?

Pretty close, I guess. But, you know none of that matters.

Why not?

Come on, Mom. If you ask me one more time why I don’t date, I’ll start suspecting Alzheimer’s.

I’m as stubborn as you are, young lady, and I’ll keep asking as long as your reasons keep making no sense.

My reasons make perfect sense, Beth said, returning her mother’s glare. To me, and I’m the only one they need to make sense to. Let’s just drop it, okay? I’m starving.

Are you planning on being alone the rest of your life?

Beth flinched. I’m not alone. I’ve got you.

I won’t be here forever, Beth and we both know it. What will you do when I’m gone?

I’ll mourn. And it will be hard, devastating in fact, but I’ll survive, pull myself together and go on. There are no guarantees, Mom. I could find Mr. Right around the next corner and he could be hit by a bus tomorrow. Ultimately, we all end up alone. The way I look at it, I’m ahead of the game. I like my own company.

So, did this okay looking guy, who’s about your age, give you his name?

CHAPTER 3

Quinn couldn’t get the little brunette out of his mind. Not that she was anything spectacular. There was no polish to her, nothing to draw his attention, which was unusual for him. In the past, he’d gravitated toward glitzier models. She wore no makeup and her short-cropped hair had no particular style. In fact, it didn’t even look like it had been combed. The blue paint that spattered the left side of her face and clung to the ends of her hair intrigued him.

Rubbing his lower back where an impressive bruise was forming, Quinn forced himself to focus on the task at hand: choosing light fixtures for the restaurant. He’d decided on pendant lights above every table and in-ceiling spots scattered liberally throughout the main dining room. A crystal chandelier would hang in the large, formally outfitted ladies’ room and wrought iron sconces in the men’s.

We can have the antique gold pendants in by Saturday. That soon enough?

Quinn turned toward the voice. That’s great, Stan. Thanks. Stan Harper, a licensed electrician, owned the lighting store on Main Street, just five buildings down from the restaurant. He was a short, stocky man in his mid-sixties with Andy Rooney eyebrows and a weathered, wind-tanned face. The man’s green eyes twinkled from beneath those impressive brows.

Looks like you’re going pretty fancy there, young man, Stan said, grinning. You sure our little town is the place you can make your big splash?

The words and tone felt fatherly rather than critical. He’d heard similar warnings from the local contractor he’d hired to tear out walls and add the expansion. I think it will be just what the doctor ordered, Stan, he said easily, smiling down at the older man. This little town is post-card quaint and the lake attracts summer tourists. Besides, I think people will enjoy the option of ambience for their evening meal.

Stan nodded approvingly. You might just have something there.

Can you recommend somebody for an estimate on the roof? Quinn believed in patronizing the local businesses for his supplies. Not only did he want to support the town and demonstrate his loyalty for his newfound home, but he thought that using local flooring, lighting, furnishings, paint and other supplies would assist in making the other business owners feel a part of the process, give them a sense of pride in the restaurant.

Sure do. Rolly Perkins is your man. I’ve got some of his cards in the back. I’ll fetch one for you.

While he waited, Quinn meandered toward the picture window at the front of the store where he stood looking out at the bustling street. The library stood kitty-corner to his new restaurant and he could just see the bricked in courtyard and wide front steps leading to the wrap around porch and double mahogany doors of the entrance. He’d been neglecting his reading of late. Maybe the pretty, no-name brunette could recommend a good thriller.

He caught sight of her just as she positioned the kickstand in place on a beat up blue bike and leaned it into the gravel at the side of the formidable building. In the bike’s basket sat the little dog that had caused that deep ache at the base of his spine. Dagny wore a perfect purple doggie-sized helmet over her mop of disordered white curls. Quinn watched with amusement as the woman unfastened the harness from around the dog’s middle and lifted her out of the basket. The late August sun was already beating down at 9:45 in the morning. He wondered how far she lived from work that she could bike in and still appear so fresh.

Bethie caught your eye, has she? Stan said, chuckling beside him.

Bethie?

That’s Elizabeth Rinehart, our local librarian. Stan grinned, watching along with Quinn as the woman made her way up the front steps of the library with Dagny tucked securely under one arm.

She plays the part well. Got her masters degree in Library Science at the University of Michigan a few years back and came back home to take care of her mother. Done some nice things for the library too. Really brought it into the twenty-first century.

I sort of met her yesterday, Quinn said, stroking his chin and straining to catch one last glimpse as the tall door closed behind her. I was riding my bike out by the park and her dog ran in front of me. I managed to fall on my ass in front of her, God, and everybody.

Dagny slip her collar again?

So it would seem, he mused. She stopped to see if I was okay, then bolted out of there like Cinderella when the clock struck.

Think you might be a prince, do you?

Quinn smiled easily. Well, I had a reasonably healthy ego before my ride in the park. Your Elizabeth Rinehart wouldn’t even give me her name and I don’t think it was fear of a wicked stepmother keeping her mouth shut.

Don’t take it personally. She’s always been a skittish one. Not much on the social end of things. I know it worries her mom. You should ask her out. It would make Lena awful happy if you would. He paused, glancing down at the floor. Uh, that’s her mom, Lena.

Sounds like I’m not the only one smitten around here. You sweet on Lena?

Stan’s ruddy complexion turned ruddier and he gave Quinn a sheepish grin. Lena’s one of the best people you’ll ever know. She’s got MS though, can’t walk anymore. Bethie lives with her and gives her the best care anyone could ask for. I think Lena’s afraid of what will happen to Bethie when she dies.

Bethie, Quinn said sarcastically, seems perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Quinn took Rolly Perkin’s card from Stan’s outstretched hand and tucked it into his wallet. Why the social issues? She’s smart and certainly pretty enough.

Stan’s face took on a pensive look and his eyes lost some of their sparkle. She’s always been something of a misfit around here. You know how it can be. Marches to the beat of a different drummer.

Yeah? Maybe I’ll brush up on my drumming.

* * *

The once white walls were yellowed by cigarette smoke and smudged by oily hands. Green shag carpeting hid any manner of infestation and the bed was a mass of soiled linens on a thin, lumpy mattress. Stripping the bed of its spread, Zachary smoothed a sheet of thick plastic onto the top sheet and followed it with a sheet of his own. This done, he proceeded to make up the bed with blanket and comforter from an oversized duffle. He opened the one small window at the opposite end of the motel room to mix some of the fresher air in with the stale. On his slender hands he wore latex gloves.

Moving to the bathroom, Zachary sprayed bleach liberally into the tub and sink and then onto the small expanse of floor tile. Vintage octagonal tiles, once white, now a dismal brown/gray, were separated by grout gone moldy from age and lack of care. It would take some time to clean it properly.

The smell of the bleach clawed at his throat, burned his eyes, and would have overtaken him if he hadn’t been wearing a thick mask over his mouth and nose. Ironically, cleaning products set off his asthma faster than anything else. He didn’t mind. It kept him working with swift efficiency. He would only be in Oregon for three days and every moment counted.

When his work was done, Zachary flopped onto the newly made bed to catch his breath. Closing his eyes, he could still see the faces of his old friends Bill and June. Focused now, he let the scene play through his mind, savoring every morsel, every pleading look, every frightened utterance, muffled as they were by the gags. Funny, he thought, taking in big gulps of air wafting in through the alley window, how the smell of fear and the deeper, more pungent smell of death didn’t seem to bother his asthma at all.

CHAPTER 4

Sun glinted off the wet rock to which Cecil Bog clung as he rattled off a fuselage of chattering nonsense words at the two mice that stood on the bank.

I don’t know why you’re so upset, Cecil, Rosalie Pollywattle exclaimed, her amber fur gleaming and her brown eyes snapping. It’s not as though we did it on purpose.

Well, technically, Sister, Prudence Pollywattle stammered, It is our responsibility to repair or replace it. After all, we borrowed the camera in the first place.

Without asking, I might add, Cecil admonished from his rock.

One half of the otter’s body was under water and the other half was out. Rosalie scowled. The noisier half was out. Listen here, Cecil Bog, you ungrateful little weasel—

Otter, Prudence corrected, her blue eyes wide as she watched her sister’s patience thin.

He’s a weasel and an otter. Now, please, Prudence, let me handle this. Turning her attention back to the irate rodent, she said in clipped tones, You know very well we were only trying to take the photographs for you as a surprise. We were going to have them framed and hung on your wall as a housewarming gift. I think we got some lovely shots of fish and rocks and ripples before the camera went in. Prudence never meant to lose her balance and fall in the way she did.

But Rosalie, Prudence said, you were the one who dropped it in the water. I just went in after it.

Details, Sister, details. It’s all beside the point. He should be thanking us for the gesture.

He glared at her and, taking a deep, noisy breath, dove again beneath the turbulent waters that carried the camera further downstream. He came up under it, the strap in his mouth, and swam to shore, pulling his sodden body up onto the bank until he stood directly in front of the mice. It’s surely ruined, he muttered. "Absolutely waterlogged is what it is. I’ve told you ladies before not to touch my things, in fact, not to try to help me at all."

But we thought it would be such a lovely surprise. Prudence’s voice took on a whining tone that grated on both the otter and the other mouse in equal measure.

You’re forgetting something, Rosalie said, tiny mouse paws on her tiny mouse hips. It’s the thought that counts and the thought was sweet as pie, something your ungrateful hide doesn’t deserve in the least.

I’ll have your hide if you don’t replace my camera by this time tomorrow. I need it for Scarlett’s party. I told her I would be official photographer and I can’t very well be a photographer without a camera, now can I?

Cecil laid the camera in a patch of sunlight that dappled the forest floor, and stepped back, ruminating on it with furrowed brow and pinpoint eyes. Suddenly, he looked up, his eyes narrowing on Rosalie’s furry face. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s what this whole thing is about.

What? Rosalie squeaked, sounding for an instant, more than ever like the mouse