Blood Brothers Page 0,111

We don't break our word to each other."

"In that case," Cybil said to Gage, "you ought to be playing the ponies instead of cards."

He flashed a grin. "Been known to, but I like cards. Wanna play?"

"Maybe later."

When Cybil glanced at Quinn with a look of apology, Quinn knew what was coming. "I guess we should get back to it," Cybil began. "I have a question, a place I'd like to start."

"Let's take fifteen." Quinn pushed to her feet. "Get the table cleared off, take the dog out. Just move a little. Fifteen."

Cal brushed a hand over her arm as he rose with her. "I need to check the fire anyway, probably bring in more wood. Let's do this in the living room when we're finished up."

THEY LOOKED LIKE ORDINARY PEOPLE, CAL thought. Just a group of friends hanging out on a winter night. Gage had switched to coffee, and that was usual. Cal hadn't known Gage to indulge in more than a couple drinks at a time since the summer they'd been seventeen. Fox was back on Coke, and he himself had opted for water.

Clear heads, he mused. They wanted clear heads if there were questions to be answered.

They'd gone back to gender groups. Had that been automatic, even intrinsic? he wondered. The three women on the couch, Fox on the floor with Lump. He'd taken a chair, and Gage stood by the fire as if he might just walk out if the topic didn't suit his mood.

"So." Cybil tucked her legs under her, let her dark eyes scan the room. "I'm wondering what was the first thing, event, instance, the first happening, we'll say, that alerted you something was wrong in town. After your night in the clearing, after you went home."

"Mr. Guthrie and the fork." Fox stretched out, propped his head on Lump's belly. "That was a big clue."

"Sounds like the title of a kid's book." Quinn made a note on her pad. "Why don't you fill us in?"

"You take it, Cal," Fox suggested.

"It would've been our birthday-the night, or really the evening of it. We were all pretty spooked. It was worse being separated, each of us in our own place. I talked my mother into letting me go in to the bowling center, so I'd have something to do, and Gage would be there. She couldn't figure out whether to ground me or not," he said with a half smile. "First and last time I remember her being undecided on that kind of issue. So she let me go in with my father. Gage?"

"I was working. Mr. Hawkins let me earn some spending money at the center, mopping up spills or carrying grill orders out to tables. I know I felt a hell of a lot better when Cal came in. Then Fox."

"I nagged my parents brainless to let me go in. My father finally caved, took me. I think he wanted to have a confab with Cal's dad, and Gage's if he could."

"So, Brian-Mr. O'Dell-and my dad sat down at the end of the counter, having coffee. They didn't bring Bill, Gage's father, into it at that point."

"Because he didn't know I'd been gone in the first place," Gage said. "No point getting me in trouble until they'd decided what to do."

"Where was your father?" Cybil asked.

"Around. Behind the pins. He was having a few sober hours, so Mr. Hawkins had him working on something."

"Ball return, lane two," Cal murmured. "I remember. It seemed like an ordinary summer night. Teenagers, some college types on the pinballs and video games. Grill smoking, pins crashing. There was a kid-two or three years old, I guess-with a family in the four lane. Major tantrum. The mother hauled him outside right before it happened."

He took a swig of water. He could see it, bell clear. "Mr. Guthrie was at the counter, drinking a beer, eating a dog and fries. He came in once a week. Nice enough guy. Sold flooring, had a couple of kids in high school. Once a week, he came in when his wife went to the movies with girlfriends. It was clockwork. And Mr. Guthrie would order a dog and fries, and get steadily trashed. My dad used to say he did his drinking there because he could tell himself it wasn't real drinking if he wasn't in a bar."

"Troublemaker?" Quinn asked as she made another note.

"Anything but. He was what my dad called an affable drunk. He never got mean, or even sloppy. Tuesday