At First Light(Dr. Evan Wilding #1)(25)

“Oh,” said Mrs. Snow. Her gaze finally met Evan’s. “The bleeding-heart is Tommy’s favorite. He calls her Cory, from the Latin.”

“For heart, in the sense of courage. Tommy must be a bright young man.”

She puffed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “People don’t realize. They assume he’s slow.”

“I imagine”—Evan went out on a limb—“that Tommy’s intelligence makes it both easier and harder.”

“You have no idea.” She opened the door a few inches. “I’m glad he’s bright. But on some days, it makes him that much more of a handful. His ability to focus is both a blessing and . . . well, frankly, sometimes it feels like a curse.”

An autistic savant, perhaps, Evan thought. No wonder Deputy Templeton finds him bewildering.

“It’s exhausting,” he said.

“Yes.” She looked relieved that he understood. “That’s exactly it. Exhausting. So if you could tell me why you’re here?”

“We need only a few minutes with him,” Evan went on. “We’re just crossing some t’s on the investigation. If he becomes agitated, we can stop and come back another time.”

Addie’s foot swung gently, her toes connecting with his shin. She kept her eyes and her smile on Mrs. Snow.

Evan kicked back, verbally speaking. “We absolutely don’t want to upset him.”

“Well.” Tommy’s mother wavered. “If you promise you’ll back off if he gets distressed.”

“It’s really impor—” Addie began.

Evan cut across her. “We promise.”

Mrs. Snow opened the door the rest of the way and gestured them in. “He’s pretty calm today. If you start by talking to him about birds or, God knows, animals of any kind, you might learn whatever it is you’re after. Come on inside.”

They crowded into the entryway, and Addie and Evan wiped their shoes on the mat.

“You have a lovely home, Mrs. Snow,” Addie said.

“Thank you. But you’ll have to forgive the stink.” She turned and led them down the blue-carpeted hall with its bland watercolor landscapes. “I’ve tried everything. Plants. Air fresheners. A neighbor installed a heat exchanger, and that’s helped a little. But . . .” She shrugged. “I put up with it because Tommy’s hobby is what keeps him calm.”

Addie looked puzzled. “All I smell is pumpkin bread.”

Mrs. Snow smiled. “With walnuts. Tommy’s favorite. No, the smell is mostly confined to the workshop out back. But it can become quite unpleasant during the summer months when I have the windows open. Now and again, the neighbors complain.”

They walked through a kitchen—clean and bright with white appliances, oak cabinets, and blue countertops—then followed Mrs. Snow out the back door and into a winter-dead yard with brown sod, the remains of a vegetable garden, and a single scraggly maple. A mournful wind rattled the tree’s remaining brown leaves, tattered clouds raced by overhead, and Evan was sure the temperature had dropped in the short time they’d been inside. Against the back fence rose a single-story structure the size of a three-car garage. The door was closed tight, and blackout curtains covered the two windows.

Mrs. Snow pulled a key from the pocket of her jeans.

“This unfinished workshop is why I bought the house after the divorce,” she said. “So Tommy could pursue his hobby and I could have a house that didn’t smell like, well, urine and God knows what. The previous owner used it as a woodworking shop. The walls are insulated, and there’s electricity and water. If I added a cot and a fridge, I’d probably never see my son.”

She unlocked and opened the door. They were immediately assaulted by the smells of wild things—of feathers and earth and waste and most of all the warm, living bodies of small creatures. Hot, moist air pressed against their skin.

Addie pushed back her curls. Her smile had faded.

They stepped inside, and Mrs. Snow closed the door behind them.

“Let me tell him you’re here. He doesn’t like surprises.” She moved away, into the gloom. “Tommy? You have visitors.”

Addie glanced at Evan and crinkled her nose. Ugh, she mouthed.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t smelled worse,” he whispered.

“Only when a dead body is involved.”

Mrs. Snow reemerged from the semidarkness. “Come on in. Sorry about the dark, but he finds it soothing. And don’t be alarmed by the rat. It’s for his biology class.”

“Did you say rat?” Addie’s voice rose.

For the first time, Mrs. Snow seemed to take satisfaction in whatever peculiarities her son might possess. She gave Addie a small, smug smile. “You’ll see.”

They followed her across the concrete floor into a gloomy space illuminated here and there by pockets of light.

Unpainted drywall lined the walls. Bracketed to the studs were expensive-looking cabinets and countertops, the work surfaces strewn with microscopes, slides, stacks of petri dishes, vials, Bunsen burners, and assorted other scientific detritus. Displays of everything from the reticulated skeleton of a small alligator to a stuffed and mounted badger crowded the space along the tops of the cabinets. Potted plants, limp-leafed and pale, dotted the landscape—Mrs. Snow’s attempt at odor mitigation. The forlorn philodendrons made Evan think of tiny levees mounted against a tsunami of animals and their malodourous by-products.