Virals(31)

Had to check for a grave.





CHAPTER 21


Brian Limestone was anxious.

Though puzzling, his instructions had been clear all those years ago. So far back he'd almost forgotten. Almost.

He'd advanced in the hierarchy since that day, his first on the job. Indeed, Limestone felt he had a decent shot at head librarian when old lady Wilkerson hung up her bookmark.

The old biddy must be two hundred by now, he thought wryly. Surely she'll kick it soon. Then me. My chance.

The library was closed and locked. Limestone had just finished re-shelving materials dislodged by the day's scholars.

Time to follow orders.

Descending three flights, Limestone used an old brass key to let himself into a small basement office. The room was dusty from disuse, empty but for a single filing cabinet. He unlocked the rusty relic and pulled a folder from the bottom drawer.

Fifteen years earlier, Brian Limestone had sat in this room with the man he'd been hired to replace. Fenton Dawkins was a strange old coot, possessive and distrusting. Limestone had sensed the reluctance with which Dawkins had revealed his secret.

The deal was simple. An unknown benefactor paid a yearly, thousand-dollar stipend to the research librarian of the public library's main branch. Should the fact of this bonus ever be disclosed--to anyone--it would cease to exist.

A single duty came with the money: vigilance concerning a specific name.

Katherine Heaton.

Should anyone ask about Ms. Heaton, Limestone must obstruct the party in any manner possible. In addition, should such inquiry occur, he must return to this office and open a sealed envelope for further instruction.

That's all.

Limestone had agreed without hesitation. Free cash was free cash.

So there he sat, holding the magic packet. With a firm hand Limestone tore open one side and removed a single slip of paper.

Nine digits. Typed, not handwritten or computer printed. Recognizing the obvious, Limestone returned to the main desk and dialed the number.

A male voice answered on the third ring.

"Yes."

"My name is Brian Limestone. I'm research librarian at the Charleston Public Library."

Limestone waited.

Dead silence.

"Years back I was tasked with calling this number should a certain event ever transpire. Today it happened."

Still no response.

Limestone glanced at the phone's display, assuring himself that the call hadn't disconnected.

Get it over with, he thought. No big deal.

"Three students visited the library, one a young lady named Tory Brennan. I failed to catch the other names. The children were asking about a Katherine Heaton."

Limestone laughed nervously. "Does that make any sense to you?"

Another pause, then a soft click.

Dial tone.

"Hello?"

Limestone waited a beat, then slammed the receiver. "Nuts!"

Having fulfilled his obligation, Brian Limestone trashed the phone number and headed home to his cats.





CHAPTER 22


The next day, school seemed endless. I couldn't shake my suspicion that something was buried on Loggerhead. I tried to concentrate, but time and again my thoughts circled back to the ghastly possibility.

Before catching the morning ferry, I'd checked on Coop. He still looked dreadful, the proverbial "sick as a dog." I told myself to stay positive. But I had to admit. Things didn't look good.

We were down to our last IV bag and had no hope of obtaining others. Antibiotics were also running low. Everyone had tried, but the puppy continued to vomit what little he ate. Coop needed to turn a corner, and soon, before he weakened beyond his ability to recover.

Mind burning with worry, I was thoroughly distracted during biology. Jason and Hannah were quiet, but I could tell their patience had worn thin. I tried to shake the negative vibes. We had work to do.

"Sorry guys," I mumbled, "I'm out of it today. What were you saying?"

Jason snorted. "Out of it? You've been staring at nothing for the last half hour. If you didn't usually do 90 percent of the work, I'd be outraged."

"It's okay," said Hannah, understanding as always. "But we need to get through this. We have to present our results next week."

"I know. My bad. Where do we stand?"

Our project was to compare human DNA to that of several animal species to determine which are our closest relatives.

"Neck-deep, by my count." Jason sighed. "Let's face it. We're going to have to work . . ." His eyes closed in dramatic agony. ". . . On the weekend."

Hannah giggled. "Looks like it. Let's exchange phone numbers."

It felt strange, storing Hannah Wythe's digits in my cell. She was popular, cool, admired by all. Strange, and oddly like trespassing.

Self-confidence at an all-time high, eh Tory?

"I'll take the cystic fibrosis gene," said Jason. "That section compares humans to chimps, gorillas, and orangutans. My money's on the chimps."

"I can handle the bone-growth protein sequences," I said. My menagerie would be pigs, rabbits, and sheep.

Hannah nodded agreeably. "That leaves me with Leptin counts for cows, dogs, and horses."

The bell rang, sounding our release.