CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
September 17, 1959, 11:40 a.m.
Norwood State Hospital, De Baca County
Valenti paused just inside the double doors, listening. But there wasn't a sound inside the deserted hospital save for his footsteps when he began moving forward again. He passed through the gate he'd seen through the window and reached an interior hallway, dark save for the light coming from the front entry behind him, noting the thin layer of dust on the floors and a lack of the typical critter population one usually found in abandoned buildings. It hadn't been long at all since this place had been in use.
Working his way down the hallway, he opened one door after another. These were offices judging from the furniture inside, although any paperwork or personal objects had been removed as a trip through various drawers revealed. At the end of the hall was a stairway, and he climbed it slowly, his flashlight trained on the upper stairs. The floor above was straight out of a horror movie: Door after door with tiny windows, slots to slide food trays through, and bare metal beds, most of which sported leather straps with a multitude of buckles. At the end of the hall was another stairway, and he paused in the stairwell, looking up and down. The upper floors were likely more of the same, and this place gave him the creeps. Why anyone would want to meet him here was a mystery, but Valenti decided he wasn't staying; the potential for some kind of ambush was just too great. He went down, emerging at the end of the hall of offices near the gate.
"Hello, Sheriff."
Startled, Valenti nearly dropped his flashlight. A man was standing in the middle of the hallway, suit, long coat, hands in his pockets....and a face which looked vaguely familiar.
"Who are you?" Valenti demanded.
"I'm Agent Cates," the man answered, his voice echoing oddly in the empty building.
"You got ID? Slowly," Valenti ordered as Cates' hand started to leave his pocket. "And both hands where I can see them."
Cates obediently removed both hands from his pockets, one holding a leather wallet. Valenti edged closer and took it from him, inspecting the picture. "Sheriff, I understand your paranoia, but I'd appreciate it if you'd lower your weapon. I'm unarmed."
"Prove it," Valenti replied.
Cates raised both hands and turned around. A full pat down later, Valenti holstered his weapon. "You do look familiar," he said as he handed the wallet back to Cates. "You were there when we were chasing that Anderson fellow."
"Right," Cates nodded. "I see you've had a look at the place. I can wait if you're not finished."
Valenti's eyes narrowed. "How long have you been here?"
"About an hour. I knew you'd be here early."
"The door was chained shut," Valenti reminded him. "How did you get in?"
"The FBI has access to this facility," Cates explained. "I came in the back. Check the footprints in the dust."
"If you were here already, why didn't you show yourself?"
Cates smiled faintly. "Because I wanted to see what you'd do. Trespassing to get some answers. Very good. You're exactly what I hoped you'd be."
"What the hell are we doing here?" Valenti asked in exasperation. "What is this place? Why is it abandoned?"
"We're here because no one else is, and no one would think to question my coming here were they to find out about it," Cates answered. "This is the closest thing to a safe place for us to meet as we'll ever find. I'm sure you've already figured out Norwood was a mental hospital. It was closed last month because they'd piled up too many violations. And the reason they piled up too many violations has to do with the former occupant of this office." Cates opened the door to his left, ushering Valenti into an office he'd already looked at. "One Lieutenant Colonel Daniel Pierce, a medical doctor who went AWOL in June of 1950. Does that date ring a bell with you?"
"Yes," Valenti said guardedly. "But I don't remember a 'Pierce'."
"I don't believe you ever met him," Cates said. "But you met his co-commander, Lieutenant Colonel Sheridan Cavitt, whose downfall you were partially responsible for. And you've met his nemesis, Bernard Lewis, a former Army major and good friend of Cavitt's who resigned rather than face court-martial in the summer of 1950. Lewis always wanted Pierce's position, but he never got it."
"A veritable lovers' triangle," Valenti said dryly. "I know what Lewis and Cavitt are like, so I can't imagine Pierce was much better. Why did he go AWOL?"
"He lost his test subject in 1950," Cates replied, "and his methods were coming under increasing scrutiny. I won't bore you with the details, but suffice it to say he took with him a good deal of information that the Army would like to have, along with the FBI, the CIA, and just about any government agency you can think of. He eluded capture until July of this year, when that former test subject finally tracked him down and killed him, right here in this office."
"Let me guess," Valenti said softly. "That 'former test subject' wasn't human."
"No, it wasn't," Cates agreed, leaning on the desk. "This is where it all began for me, sheriff. I was one of the agents called to the scene to take possession of Pierce's body. This was the birthplace of the Special Unit, the reason Director Hoover was willing to give Lewis the task force he wanted to hunt aliens. They resurfaced here in July, and they killed that actress in August....and I don't care."
Valenti blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Oh, I used to," Cates assured him. "I was all fired up when I started. I was going to help save the world from the big bad monsters." He paused, his expression hardening. "And then I found out we didn't have to leave the planet to find monsters, that we had monsters of our own, monsters who would kill a man just for thinking the wrong thing."
"Been there," Valenti said. "Back in the forties. It was Cavitt who explained that to me, so I'm not surprised a friend of his explained it to you."
"Believe me, Agent Lewis is well aware of the obstacles you threw in Colonel Cavitt's way," Cates replied. "He's had it in for you ever since he found out you were sheriff in Roswell. The only reason you and your family didn't go down for what happened last month is that your fellow sheriff called in the press. Hoover wasn't willing to move against you with the eyes of the media on you, but someone had to pay for our failure.....and that someone was Chris."
"I'm sorry about what happened to Agent Owens," Valenti said, "but I'm not sorry my family was spared. What do you want from me? It must be pretty important if you're willing to risk being discovered."
"It is." Cates reached into his pocket and withdrew a sheet of paper which he handed to Valenti. "This was left by Dr. Pierce. I couldn't remove the original, so that's a handwritten copy."
"Serum?" Valenti murmured, inspecting what appeared to be a copy of a letter. "What's this 'serum' for?"
"Don't know. But Lewis wants it badly. Keep reading."
"So....Pierce's kid inherits this 'serum' at the age of thirty," Valenti said, skimming through to the end. "And how old is he now?"
"Two days."
Valenti raised an eyebrow. "I gather Lewis doesn't want to wait three decades for the tot to grow up?"
"To put it mildly," Cates agreed. "He has our entire unit trying to track down the mechanism Pierce is using to transfer the serum thirty years from now.....and I don't want them to succeed. I want to find it first and make certain Lewis never does, not now, not ever."
"And I come into this.....how?"
Cates stood up, gazing at him intently. "I want you to join the hunt. Chris had the utmost respect for your investigational skills. I was late to that party, but I got there. You found that thing that killed Agent Feldman, I know you had suspects when we were pursuing Anderson....and the way you slipped the actress' body out from under Lewis and emptied your files of anything he'd want was priceless," he added with a grim smile. "And ballsy. He would have come after you for that if he could have."
"Like he'll come after you if he gets wind of this," Valenti pointed out. "How am I supposed to investigate this without Lewis finding out? If your entire unit is on the case, we're bound to run into each other, and it's not like they wouldn't notice me. I don't think I need to point out that you're running with a rough crowd."
"Chris thought so too," Cates said, looking out the window at the desert beyond. "Always claimed he'd rather take his chances with the aliens than Lewis. I thought he was exaggerating, if not just plain nuts, but now.....now I'm not so sure. What I am sure of is that there's no way out for me. No one quits the Special Unit, sheriff; if I leave, I'll wind up hunted or six feet under just like Chris. So I can effectively commit suicide, or I can stay and be a good little soldier....or I can stay and gum up the works. I want to make Lewis pay for what he did by keeping from him what he wants the most. I would think that would appeal to you given what he did to your family, not to mention what he wanted to do."
"Fine, but the logistics—"
"I'm not stupid," Cates interrupted. "I'll walk the beat, you'll be my sounding board. I won't get caught; I've been careful to call from pay phones, to use disguises, to type that letter I sent you so they couldn't trace the handwriting—"
"They can trace the typewriter," Valenti said. "You should know that."
Cates broke into a completely incongruent smile. "Of course I know that. That's why I used the typewriter that belongs to Chris' murderer, a fellow agent and Lewis' right-hand man. I was almost hoping they'd figure it out just to see the look on his face."
"You're playing a dangerous game, agent," Valenti warned.
Cates' smile dissolved. "Of course I am. Aliens are dangerous business. But then you know that already, don't you?" He paused, waiting for an answer, walking into the hallway when none came. "I couldn't remove any documents relating to Pierce, so I hand-copied those I felt most pertinent. If you'll follow me to my car, I'll get them for you."
"I haven't said I'd help you," Valenti noted.
"I'm on the clock, sheriff," Cates said urgently. "There are eight other agents actively looking for that serum. You've already shown a willingness to go out on a limb to keep Lewis from getting what he wants, and I need you to do that again. Chris took the fall for your family. I know you didn't ask him to, wouldn't have asked him to. But he wound up doing it anyway, so do this for him, if nothing else. You owe him that."
***************************************************
Pesos Diner
Route 285 South
"You sure you don't want anything, hon?"
"No, thank you," Atherton replied. "I'm still waiting for someone.
"You've been waitin' a while," the waitress observed, tucking her pencil behind her ear as she walked off. "A body could starve waitin' for whoever you're waitin' for."
'Whomever', Atherton corrected privately, craning his neck to get a better view of patrons entering the diner along the road to Marathon where he and Langley had stopped on their first visit to his house, right after escaping the FBI. Or perhaps "patrons" was too ambitious a word for the typical Pesos customer, who wore boots, smelled heavily of smoke, and was armed more often than not. Verbiage aside, he did wish Langley would hurry up and get here. He still hadn't figured out how his friend traveled, so he wasn't certain if he should look for a car, or a truck, or....
"Good afternoon."
Atherton nearly jumped out of his seat. "Langley! Where did you come from?"
"I'll assume that to be a rhetorical question," Langley said dryly. "Coffee, please," he added to the waitress, who had resurfaced. "And a grilled cheese."
"The same," Atherton added, waiting impatiently as the waitress seemed to take forever scribbling down such a simple order. "How did you get in here?" he asked after she finally left. "The last time we visited River Dog, he mentioned that you come and go on little cat's feet, but he doesn't know the half of it. I've been watching like a hawk, and I completely missed you! Never mind," he added when Langley raised an eyebrow. "I've been dying to talk to you. I'm all moved in, and I've met three of them!"
"Three?" Langley repeated. "I thought you were merely going to observe."
"I was," Atherton agreed. "But they came downstairs shortly after I arrived, and then the landlady suggested they help me move in, and that awful 'Nicholas' objected, and another one showed up and gave him what appeared to be a tongue lashing....oh, this is so exciting! Not only have I found what I've dreamed of finding all my life, I'm right in the middle of a conflict! I've never felt so energized, so full of purpose, so....alive!"
Langley sighed and shook his head. "I know your type, James. They exist in every species on every world I've ever visited: Those who laugh in the face of danger, who crave peril as a means of amusement. Be careful. As you humans say, those who play with fire are bound to get burned."
"I hope you're joking," Atherton replied in a wounded tone. "My years of successfully sporting pseudonyms should speak for themselves. Don't you even want to hear what happened?"
"Of course I do," Langley said gently. "I only wish to remind you who you're dealing with. Nicholas is not one to trifle with."
"I wasn't 'trifling'," Atherton objected. "I was minding my own business when this adolescent boy came flying down the stairs and literally shoved me into my room. And then he must have done something because the whole room went pink, some weird kind of light."
"They have a device they use to identify members of my race," Langley said. "He was checking to see if you were one of us."
"Really? It's a bit obvious. Anyway, the man staying with him, name of Nathaniel, is posing as his father, and he apologized profusely, and insisted Nicholas apologize, and—"
"Did he?"
"Reluctantly," Atherton allowed, "and with ill temper. Nicholas left, insisted his 'father' follow him, and they both retreated to one of the upstairs rooms. I tried to listen, but all I could hear were raised voices when another, older man entered the building, walked right by me up the stairs and into the same room. Shortly after, Nathaniel joined me outside and helped me move in my belongings. A nice chap, that one, though quite jumpy. He seemed very much on edge as to what his 'son' would do."
"With good reason," Langley noted. "Did you get a name on the older man?"
"No. But I did write detailed descriptions," Atherton said, pulling a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket. "I'll keep notes on everyone I see going in and out of there—"
"No," Langley said firmly. "If those 'notes' are found, your life will be forfeit."
"Fine, I'll keep mental notes," Atherton sighed. "I do wish you'd stop treating me like a neophyte, Langley. I've been undercover for years now, posing as everything from a janitor to an Oxford don, and I've never been caught."
"You've also never had to deal with those who would kill you—or worse—were they to discover your true purpose," Langley noted.
"My, but you're dramatic," Atherton chuckled. "Were you always such a pessimist?"
"My pessimism has kept me alive on more occasions than I can count," Langley observed. "You should try it some time."
"If I were a pessimist, I wouldn't be doing this, now would I?" Atherton smiled. "Let's see....what else do I have for you? The layout of the rooming house is very similar to the one you lived in; Nicholas and Nathaniel have the two rooms upstairs, while I have the room downstairs. From the little I could hear, the ruckus was over the fact that I was moving in. I gather Nicholas didn't want me there."
"No doubt he planned to move another operative into that room," Langley replied. "It would be to their advantage to have the entire house to themselves."
"Then I'm delighted to have ruined his day," Atherton said cheerfully. "The older man who came later is apparently a person of some importance judging by the way he walked right in on them without knocking. He also wasn't fretting the way Nathaniel was; he looked angry, if anything."
"Most likely Nicholas' second," Langley said. "As in 'second-in-command'. He would enjoy a certain amount of largesse by virtue of his position."
"That would explain it," Atherton agreed. "And that's it, I'm afraid. The older man left while Nathaniel and I were unloading, and Nicholas was still upstairs when I left to meet you. I can't for the life of me understand why a military commander would choose to present himself as a child. I suppose posing as a child might avoid suspicion, but I would think the limitations it would place on movement within our society would outweigh that. God knows it's giving his handlers fits."
"It was not a choice," Langley said. "It was a punishment from his master for killing mine, one we hope will render him so frustrated that it clouds his judgment."
"And it appears to be working," Atherton said. "I'm mulling over how to get into their rooms—"
"You will do no such thing," Langley declared. "You will find nothing in their rooms that will be of any value. As we discussed earlier, what we need most is information."
"All right, then, I'll work on finding a way to eavesdrop," Atherton said stubbornly. "You don't really expect me to just hang around and do nothing, do you? What good will that do anyone?"
"Listen to me," Langley said intently. "The best way to get information is to earn the trust of those from whom you seek it."
"Preaching to the choir," Atherton declared. "What, pray tell, do you think I've been doing for the past several years? Earning the trust of those who have information I want, that's what."
"This is different," Langley insisted. "There are two ways to earn trust: Directly, by favorable interaction, and indirectly, by little or no interaction. By becoming so typical, so usual, so unremarkable that you fade into the background, causing people to say and do things in your presence they normally would not because they do not find your presence of any note. The direct route might work with Nathaniel; he is purportedly a remember of the resistance, and might be amenable to human contact, at least so far as he feels it necessary to maintain their cover. But you will never win the trust of Nicholas and his closest subordinates because they shun humans. For them, you want to fade as far into the background as possible to encourage them to lower their guard in your presence. Which is why I insisted you do just exactly that when I approved of your presence there, and you agreed."
"Of course, of course," Atherton said dismissively. "Child's play."
"Not for you," Langley said dryly. "Fading into the background is not one of your strong suits."
"Nonsense," Atherton scoffed. "I've 'faded' many times. I shall fade and unfade as necessary, have no fear."
"I wish to make it clear once more who you're dealing with," Langley pressed. "Do not be fooled by appearances. Nicholas commands the Army of the king's chief rival on my world, the very rival attempting to steal his throne. Watch yourself, James. Do not let your enthusiasm make you rash."
"Langley, I assure you, this is the defining moment of my life," Atherton said sincerely. "I will do whatever is necessary to assist you in staying free of either my people or yours. I will not let you down."
****************************************************
Parker's Diner
"What've you got?" Mr. Parker asked through the pass-through.
"I need two cows, one on the hoof, hold the mayo, the other a hockey puck, keep off the grass, one blue plate special, and a tube steak," Courtney answered briskly, clipping an order slip to the turntable and loading up her arms with plates of cooked food. "Back with more in a minute."
"Courtney?" Mr. Parker called as she started to walk away.
"Yes?"
"Glad to have you back."
He disappeared then, back to his grill and the grease that seemed to form a curtain in the kitchen air, but those five words put a smile on Courtney's face as she delivered the plates to one of her tables, producing a bottle of ketchup and the required number of straws from her pocket. At least someone was glad she was back. One would think her father would be among those "someone's", that bringing the Warders and the resistance together for the first time since the coup and managing to produce only dialog and no causalities would be worth something. One would think.....but one would be wrong. She'd been doing a slow burn over her father's tongue-lashing yesterday, her last encounter with her father as he hadn't been up this morning before she'd left even though she'd had to wait for Greer to leave. The previous twenty-four hours with its peril and lack of sleep had been bad enough, but the current set was proving no better, what with her being reprimanded and propositioned. Perhaps it was a good thing her father hadn't been there for the morning's excitement. He may have told her to go ahead and give Greer what he wanted.
I've been here too long, she thought as she clipped yet another order to the turntable. Argilians viewed the human act of mating as no more than recreation, playing with their husks, seeing what they could do; it certainly wasn't regarded as a personal encounter the way humans would view it. Yet she had recoiled in disgust, indeed was still recoiling in disgust at Greer's suggestion much the way any human girl her age would have, and not just because she hated Greer. Which was silly, really, given that many, if not most, of her people had tried that activity, a fact which was kept largely silent in deference to their leader's deficiencies. She could probably get Greer in trouble just by casually mentioning his suggestion to Nicholas.
"Afternoon, ladies," Courtney greeted her next table, a group of three elderly women who came in twice a week for lunch. "What can I get you?"
"There you are!" one of them exclaimed. "We've been so worried about you! We've heard the strangest things! Whatever happened?"
Courtney dutifully gave the short answer to this oft-asked question, and the women mercifully didn't press for details. "We're so glad to see you again," another of the women said, pattering her hand. "You're our favorite waitress. And don't let anyone give you a hard time over what happened, you hear? Every single one of us has someone who's likely to make us jump out a window, so no one has any business picking on you."
Beaming, Courtney took their order, checked on her other tables, and headed for the back. On the way there, Nancy tucked a bill in her pocket. "From Herman," she whispered confidentially. "I think he really missed you. You were always kind to him, which is more than I can say for the most of the girls here."
Courtney set her plates down in the dirty dish bin and pulled the bill out of her pocket. Five dollars? Five whole dollars? That was a huge sum of money coming from someone like Herman. It was as though the human world was working overtime to contest her father's impression of her, to tell her they were glad to have her and that she did a good job. And I do, she told herself proudly. She knew this place backwards and forwards now, and was capable of doing virtually any job necessary, including the cooking. She'd not only survived on her own on a strange planet, she'd actually carved a niche for herself, and she'd brought two warring factions together besides. Chew on that, Papa, she thought with satisfaction. She couldn't be a total incompetent if she'd managed to pull all that off.
Back in the diner, Courtney pulled her pad out and fetched her pencil from behind her ear as she stood before the latest customers, a man and a woman. "Can I get you something?"
"Yes—an explanation," the woman answered. "How do you manage to carry around all that flesh without gagging?" She smiled when Courtney blinked. "Hi, Courtney! Long time, no see!"
Courtney's pencil froze over her pad as she catalogued the woman's voice, which was not as unfamiliar as her face. "Angela?" she said in disbelief.
"I told you she'd remember!" Angela beamed at the man across from her. "I redid the hair," she confessed, running a hand through her husk's hairdo, "so I wasn't sure you'd recognize me."
I almost didn't, Courtney thought, recalling the frightened girl who had arrived at her father's house on tottering legs, having only just donned her husk. That had been three months ago; was this an indicator of who Nicholas was sending to Roswell? Maybe the Warders didn't have anything to worry about after all.
"Isn't this exciting?" Angela was saying, looking every bit as excited as she sounded. "Do you really think the Warders are here?"
"We'll see," Courtney said evasively. "So....how are you? I'm sorry I left right after you arrived. I was reassigned."
"We know," Angela assured her. "This is Robert," she added, nodding toward her companion. "He's kind of my teacher. You have someone teaching you, don't you?"
"Not anymore," Courtney said. "He was reassigned too."
"So you're here alone?" Angela asked, wide-eyed. "Wow! I wonder if I could ever do that. But I'm getting better," she added in a whisper. "I know things like 'long time, no see' and other human colloquialisms. But I don't think I could ever be around all that flesh. How do you stand it?"
"Honestly, I don't even notice it any more," Courtney admitted.
"Have you begun to eat flesh?" Robert asked.
His tone was casual, but they were both obviously waiting avidly for an answer. They had all been taught to eat meat, of course; refusing to do so was considered odd in the human world, at least this part of it. But in private it was shunned as the mark of a cruel, primitive society, the same opinion Courtney had held when she'd first started working here and had made a point to avoid watching Mr. Parker cut raw meat. Now she'd seen it so much, it didn't even register, although she still couldn't bring herself to consume it.
"No," she answered. "Of course not. Did you want to order, or shall I choose something suitable for you?"
"I was actually thinking of trying the flesh," Robert confided.
"No!" Angela whispered. "Don't use a field assignment as an excuse to regress! Just look at that massive woman over there. That's what happens to humans who eat too much meat; they get fat and stupid."
Courtney flinched as she followed Angela's gaze to find Nancy, who was plump by human standards and far more than that by Antarian. "It's 'meat', not 'flesh'," she said. "And Nancy eats very little meat, so that's not why she's heavy."
"You mean there are other reasons for humans being fat and stupid?"
Courtney closed her eyes briefly. "The link between weight and intelligence is a myth," she said, praying for patience. "Nancy is not even remotely stupid."
"She must be," Angela chuckled. "She's only human."
"She's been nothing but kind to me," Courtney said sharply. "I'll get you some drinks while you look over the menu. Try not to blow your cover while I'm gone."
Angela's startled face stared after her as she stalked off, seething. I should have expected this, she thought. It was inevitable that those of her people coming to town would find their way into Parker's, but frankly she'd been too busy recovering from the past couple of days and fretting over her rift with her father to give it much thought. She would soon be surrounded by operatives, some of whom would be out and about in the human world for the first time just like Angela, Copper Summit not really counting because there they could keep to their own if they chose. Many, if not most, of those operatives regarded humans as little better than cave men, so she would have to listen to their negative opinions, to the people she cared about being torn apart by those who fancied themselves "better". It was not a pleasant thought.
Behave yourself, she told herself firmly, filling two glasses with water and heading back out to the table, where Angela was blatantly staring at the elderly women in the booth across the aisle who had been so pleased to see Courtney.
"How old are they?" Angela whispered as Courtney set the glasses on the table.
"In their seventies, at least," Courtney answered.
"That's very near the end of their lifespan, isn't it?" Angela asked Robert, who nodded. "Why would they let themselves live that long? That's selfish!"
"Humans don't believe in ending life prematurely, even if their continued presence is a drain on resources," Robert explained. "I believe it has some sort of primitive religious connotations."
"It's rude to stare, and this isn't the place for a discussion like this," Courtney said bluntly when Angela opened her mouth to answer. "Keep this up, and you'll doom the mission before it starts. Still think this is 'exciting'?"
Angela flushed. "I....need to use the bathroom," she said, ducking out of the booth and scurrying away as Courtney rounded on Robert.
"What kind of a teacher are you, letting her act like this in public?" she whispered furiously.
Robert smiled faintly. "They can't hear us, so that's not it. You've gone native, haven't you?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Courtney demanded.
"Just making an observation," Robert said blandly.
Courtney slid into the seat Angela had vacated and fixed him with a hard stare. "Then allow me to make one of my own. Behavior that gets you noticed is bad. Our orders are to blend in, not stick out. Being rude and staring at people makes you stick out."
"So does jumping out windows," Robert observed.
"I was in the field," Courtney said acidly. "Have you ever been in the field, Robert?"
"A couple of times," Robert said defensively.
"Wow," Courtney deadpanned. "A whole couple of times. Congratulations. At least that's more than Angela, who wasn't even able to walk last time I saw her. Take it from one who's lived here for several months and save your denigrating conversations for somewhere private."
"There are plenty of operatives far more advanced than you," Robert retorted.
"And are those operatives also the third's daughter?"
Robert's eyes dropped. It worked, Courtney thought in amazement. She'd never pulled rank on anyone, never had enough experience to think she could get away with it. Now she felt like she should be the first one consulted on any subject regarding humans or human society.
"I'm sorry," Angela whispered, reappearing at the table. "It's just all so new and everything.....I'll keep my mind on the mission," she promised, sliding into the booth after Courtney slid out. "We both will."
"Good," Courtney said. "I'll get you both some salads."
Both looked suitably chastised as she made the rounds of tables again, retreating into the kitchen before she even let the truth cross her mind. Robert was right; the real rub was not the threat of being discovered, it was that people she cared about were being treated badly. Her reminding them of her parentage had worked this time, but she had to be careful not to do that too often. Throwing her familial weight around on behalf of humanity would not be taken kindly by either her father or Nicholas.
"What the hell?" Mr. Parker grumbled behind her.
Courtney pulled her head out of the fridge where she'd been rummaging for salad fixings. The lights were blinking....no, not just blinking, but changing. From white to pink, to be exact, and back again, short bursts that had every head in the diner turning this way and that. Every head but two, that is, that were dutifully scanning the entire diner for infrared signatures.
Great, Courtney thought wearily. Her little harangue had earned Parker's the honor of being the place where it all started.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 70 next Sunday.
So if you don't mind dry heat, you'll probably be just fine even in the depths of summer. It's good to hear you're happy in your new home, garden and everything!
You just can't resist stirring everything up, can you. 