that it would offer cover for their escape.
The sand seemed a lot warmer than the air, so Jingles crawled to her place behind the piling and lay down. She crossed her arms under her face for a pillow. That was better. The chilly air still crept over her back, but her front felt good, nestled in the sand.
She looked to the right. Lorna was still sprawled there, sleeping. She turned her head the other way.
She squinted through the faint light at the patch of boards on the Funhouse’s foundation.
If she could pry some of those boards away…
Nice and warm inside.
She gritted her teeth to stop their clicking.
Wait in there till dark. Safe and cozy.
Jingles pushed herself up. On her knees, she brushed the sand off her skin. Then she crawled over to Lorna and shook the girl awake.
Lorna rolled onto her side, curled up, and hugged herself. “God, it’s freezing!”
“Come on.”
“What?”
“You’ll see.”
Lorna followed Jingles to the boarded area of the foundation. “What’re we doing?”
“I think we can get in.”
“Oh, shit.”
“You rather freeze?”
Jingles dug her fingers under the end of a plank and pulled.
She expected resistance.
Figured the boards were nailed into the cinder blocks.
But the entire patch of crisscrossed wood swung toward her like a door.
It is a door!
Christ.
Through the opening in front of her was total darkness. But she felt heat swelling out.
“I don’t like this,” Lorna muttered.
I don’t either, Jingles thought. An actual door. A secret door. She didn’t like it at all.
But the heat felt wonderful.
“It’s warm,” she said. “Come on.”
Jingles stepped into the darkness. Lorna entered after her.
Jingles pulled the door shut.
“Yeah,” she said. The warmth seemed to seep into her skin. Her shivering stopped. She sighed. “This is great, huh?”
Then she felt hands all over her.
Sixteen
After taking a shower, Dave removed the sodden bandage that had been applied at the emergency room. The cut, about two inches below his right nipple and nearly four inches long, was cross-hatched with stitches so it resembled a zipper. Though the blade had sliced through his skin, it hadn’t penetrated to the muscle tissue.
If he’d been a little slower turning aside…
You really lucked out, he told himself.
He put together a fresh bandage of gauze and tape and pressed it over the wound.
In his bedroom, he combed his hair and got into a robe. He went into the kitchen for a beer. As he opened the refrigerator, the doorbell rang.
He hadn’t really expected Gloria to come by. He’d seen the look on her face when Joan got into the ambulance with him. She hadn’t bothered to show up at the emergency room. But she must’ve decided to come by, after all, and offer her sympathy or congratulations—or interview him for the Standard.
Maybe she’s not here for that, he thought as he approached the door. Maybe she wants to comfort me. I could go for some comforting of the right kind.
He opened the door.
“Hey there, tiger.”
He felt a smile break out. “My own Chuck Norris.”
“I brought you some medicine,” Joan said, and lifted a bottle of champagne from the paper bag she was bracing against her chest. Dave saw the foil-wrapped top of another bottle inside the bag.
“Come on in,” he said.
She shrugged with one shoulder. “I just wanted to drop these off for you. I’m not in the habit of barging in on people.”
“So break the habit.” He waved her inside and shut the door. “Sit down, make yourself comfortable. I’ll put some clothes on.”
He hurried to his bedroom. There he shed his robe and stepped into underwear and corduroy pants. He put on a plaid shirt, slipped his feet into moccasins, and rushed back into the living room.
Joan was bending over the coffee table, setting the twin bottles of champagne on top of the flattened bag. She smiled at him, straightened up, and rubbed her hands on the sides of her skirt.
The skirt was very short. It was part of a white denim dress that had a zipper up the front. The zipper wasn’t pulled to the neck. The opening showed a narrow V of skin. Joan’s sleeves were rolled halfway up her forearms.
“I like your outfit,” Dave said. “You seeing Harold later?”
“I doubt it. Threw this on figuring it might perk you up.”
“Consider me perked.”
She went with him into the kitchen.
“So, how are you feeling?” she asked. “That was a nasty gash he gave you.”
“It’s not so bad.” As if calling his bluff, the wound burned him with pain when he reached into a high cupboard for wineglasses. He