One to the Wolves, On the Trail of a Killer Read Online Free

too much or, conversely, clenched my hands together in my lap in a knot
     of rigidity that made me appear catatonic. And, whenever I described the hours at
     Kait’s bedside, holding her hand and waiting for her to die, I started to gasp as
     if I had asthma.
    Since Don’s last day of work was the tenth of December, we decided to take the trailer
     on a maiden voyage to spend the holidays with our second daughter, Kerry, and her
     family. In a campground in Texas it quickly became apparent why we had gotten such
     a good deal on the trailer. It rained non-stop all Christmas week, and the roof sprung
     so many leaks that we felt as if we were sleeping in a shower stall. On top of that,
     our plumbing performed some sort of reflux action that sent floods of water gushing
     out of the sink and toilet to join forces with the pools of rain water. The ratty shag carpet soaked up the liquid like a blotter and emitted a pungent
     odor of stale beer and cat urine that told us more about the former owners of the
     trailer than we wanted to know.
    Kerry tried to make our visit a festive one, but the going was rough for her. Both
     our little granddaughters had ear infections, our son-in-law had just learned that
     his job was being terminated, and Kerry herself was in her ninth month of pregnancy.
     Despite our best efforts, we never quite got the holidays up and rolling. As the baby
     of the family, Kait had been the pivot of Christmas, and memories of happier times
     overwhelmed us.
    “Remember when she wrapped up all her old toys and put them under the tree so she
     would have more packages to open than Donnie?”
    “Remember when she baked pies and forgot to put in sugar?”
    “Remember when we took her to see The Nutcracker , and she brought the hamsters in her purse so they could see the Mouse King?”
    I remember, I responded silently. Oh, yes, I remember.

    I remembered the chubby three-year-old, still damp from her bath, who snuggled on
     Don’s lap as he read her The Night Before Christmas .  I remembered the gregarious ten-year-old who sang Christmas carols off key as she
     lined the driveway with luminarias. I remembered the starry-eyed teenager on the last
     Christmas Eve of her life, filling a stocking for her boyfriend — “Dung says they
     don’t have Christmas stockings in Vietnam. I’m going to sneak over and hang this on
     his door knob.”
    Precariously balanced on an emotional seesaw that could plunge me into depression
     with the slightest bit of overload, I flipped over the edge on the day I made a last
     minute dash to a department store to pick up a present that Kerry had placed on layaway.
     As I stood waiting for the over-worked salesgirl to bring out the package, I heard
     a girl’s voice call, “Mother!”
    “Yes?” I responded automatically, and turned to see a pretty blond teenager pull a
     blouse from a rack and hold it up in front of her.
    “This is the one you ought to buy!” she announced emphatically to the middle-aged
     woman standing next to her. “It’s in your colors!”
    “Those are your colors!” the woman responded, laughing. “You only want me to buy that so you can borrow
     it!”
    Her daughter joined in the laughter. “Can’t blame me for trying! Oh, Mother, look—
     isn’t that the coolest jacket!”
    She grabbed the woman’s hand and dragged her across the aisle to another rack of clothing,
     and a scene from the past came rushing back me.
    It was the Mother’s Day that Kait was twelve, and she announced to me at breakfast
     that she had a very special gift for me.
    “I’ve neglected you lately,” she said solemnly. “I’ve been so busy that I haven’t
     scheduled enough time for you. To make up for that, I’m going to spend the whole day
     with you.” She smiled at my look of bewilderment. “ That’s your present, Mother! I’m going to spend every minute of this entire day with you.
     What shall we do first?”
    “That sounds wonderful, honey,” I