Angel Falling Softly - By Eugene Woodbury Page 0,19
you should thank.”
Brent Millington and David finished talking. They shook hands, and Brother Millington gave him a heartfelt whack on the shoulder. Big guy emotion. “See you Wednesday, Bishop.” Brother Millington and Charlene climbed into the Suburban, and they drove off.
Laura was waiting for them in the kitchen. “So how’s the doughboy?”
Her father gave her a scolding look. “Surprisingly well. They’re keeping him overnight at Alta View for observation. But it looks like he’ll be no worse for wear. Remarkable, considering the severity of his reaction.” He paused. “There was one odd thing, though. A pair of marks on his wrist—” David touched his right arm.
“Bee stings?”
“No, they’re pretty sure it wasn’t that. More like needle marks. Maybe one of the EMTs—” He shook his head. “Who knows in cases like this—all the excitement and everything. At least he’s all right.” David paused for a moment. “How did you know where to find him?”
“Mom didn’t find him. It was Milada. It’s like she has radar or something. Like she can see in the dark.”
Her mother agreed. “She does have very good eyesight.” Then she hesitated. “When we found Andy, I think she started doing CPR.”
“You think?”
Rachel opened her mouth to go on, but she didn’t know what to say. She tilted her head to one side, her brow furrowing. “I—I can’t remember.”
“Can’t remember?” Laura was incredulous. “How can you not remember? Mom, you were right there!”
“I know.” A gnawing frustration welled up inside her. “She started doing CPR and then—and then Andy started breathing and she picked him up and carried him back to the yard.”
End of story. Good enough for them, but not good enough for her. Something was missing. Something she couldn’t remember. Something she’d lost.
David gave her a reassuring hug. “It’s been a most interesting family home evening.”
“Yeah,” said Laura. “We should have Milada over again sometime.”
Have Milada over again. Rachel smiled. Laura was rarely enthusiastic about their adult guests. But at that same moment, something jolted inside her like an electric shock. She ran herself a glass of warm water and drank it slowly.
It was only later that night, her mind hovering at the edge of sleep, that she understood what she had felt. Not fear—not the fear of imminent harm or suffering—but surprise, astonishment, even awe.
Just then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow creeping across the room. She felt a quick stab in the gut. Her eyes opened wide. But it was only the curtains fluttering against an open window, the bright street light beyond.
It’s nothing.
So in her dreams, she went back to cranking the handle of the music box with a quiet if impatient amusement. Listening to the playful melody. Yet feeling the uneasy expectation that when the trap door flipped open, the little clown would pop out bearing tooth and claw.
Chapter 15
Don’t take no for an answer
Milada asked Jane, her assistant, “Is Garrick on the line yet?”
She heard a click in her headset. Garrick Burke said, in the lower Middlesex accent he’d never bothered to shed, “Morning to you, girls. At least to you, Milly. Still morning there, isn’t it?” He was on speakerphone, sounding like he was in the middle of the Holland Tunnel.
“Talk to me about Wylde Medical,” she said. “I don’t like what I’m seeing.”
“Neither do I. I’m looking at thirty-seven and change on the big board right now.”
Milada sucked air through her teeth. Garrick said, “I’m telling you, Milly, the float is a bloody mess. Every time I buy into a position, the day traders are all over me. It’s like throwing a stuck pig in the Amazon.”
“What are we holding?”
“I figure we’ve got over a third of outstanding. With the churn we’re kicking up, we could sell off right now and make a killing. All that irrational exuberance, don’t you know.”
“Get it up to half first.”
“How high are you willing to go?”
“Forty.”
She knew Garrick was shaking his head when he said, “It’ll go there, Milly, on a rocket. But I wouldn’t pay ten for the whole shebang. They’ve sunk fifty million into that new biotech venture of theirs—fifty million in new debt on marginal earnings, and not a dime of profit so far.”
“Those are real assets, Garrick. Fungible R&D resources. Push come to shove, everything else depends on the unregistered shares. That’s what’s flogging the float. Have your elves start digging.”
“Hi-ho, hi-ho.”
“That was elves,” Jane interrupted. “Not dwarves.”
Milada laughed. “Jane, have we heard anything from corporate? Let them know I’ve come all the