A Field Guide to Deception Read Online Free Page B

infancy. Had he cried out? She crept to the doorway and peered into his room. He lay perpendicular to his bed, his arms dangling. She tucked him in properly, listened to the depth of his breathing.
    Three in the morning, she guessed. She wandered to the kitchen for a glass of water, heard the whir of the refrigerator, and something else. Strangely watchful now, as though she expected an intruder, she tiptoed into the great room. No one here. She paced through the last of the stately furniture—soon to be replaced by comfortable, plush sofas—and walked along the line of photographs documenting the construction of this stone house, and stepped over several bins of toys. A thief would break his neck. In the dining room, Claire checked beneath the walnut dining table, in the corner by the hutch, and finally the lock on the sliding door.
    What had she heard? At the top of the stairs to the basement, on the metal strip that edged the carpet, she stood and listened. Ridiculous. A grown woman frightened—her pulse rapid—at the thought of descending. She even considered flipping the light on. In the end, she dashed down the basement stairs and stood in the dark, gasping, as she tried to decipher her sense of alarm.
    When had she last been in Dee’s study? She touched the desk, remembered that she hadn’t yet searched through this room for the missing research. Probably dusty—the papers, the books, the windowsill—probably everything in this room had dust on its surface. Or worse, centipedes, and poisonous spiders, and if they were here, they could be
in the rest of the house. She’d have to clean. Now. The entire basement. She’d vacuum first, and obliterate the worst of the infestation. Mice—maybe mice had woken her with their skittering.
    In the utility closet, she grabbed the duster, and started with the windowsills. She vacuumed, and scrubbed, and emptied the garbage cans, and ran back upstairs to make pancakes when she heard movement above her, and then left Liv and Simon to their sticky devouring, only to run back downstairs, to stand in the middle of the shag carpet, and contemplate the paneled walls. It looked like a country lodge down here. There should be mounted heads of horned creatures.
    â€œHey,” Liv called from the basement door, “you’re not allowed to do any work. Remember?”
    Startled, Claire turned toward Liv as though toward laughter.
    Liv came down the stairs, “What’s going on?”
    â€œI don’t know what I’m doing here. There’s something—something I’m supposed to do, but I have no idea what. I’m just standing here, waiting for an answer.”
    Liv considered the disarray in the sad, paneled room. “Maybe it’s the book. Maybe you feel guilty about playing hooky.”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œMaybe it’s the décor in here.”
    â€œI know. It’s so grim.”
    â€œOr maybe you just need to be outdoors. Let go a little.”
    â€œLet go?” Claire asked.
    â€œIt’s what all the kids are doing.”
    â€œRight, the kids. I nearly forgot.”
    â€œDon’t worry,” Liv said, “I’ll help you remember.”
    â€œNow why would that worry me?”
    They drove Claire’s car to Riverside State Park, played Norah Jones to appease Simon; he’d decided no other artists existed. After crossing the swinging bridge above the river, they picked up the trail, rutted and loping and easy enough for Simon. Pockets filled with treasures, Simon would dart down to the river to hurl stones, then catch the women up again, gasping for breath, his face euphoric. Liv collected stick-swords for him and they battered rocks as they passed. Cyclists
hurled through, their bikes wrenched by stones and roots on the pathway. And dogs, off lead, sprinted down the trail and into the water, the light around them smoky.
    In her backpack, Claire carried water bottles, and