Page 44 of Unwanted Vows

“I thought you to be the mild mannered healer,” Jason sneers.

Maddy speaks from the hall. She sounds angry and frightened, but speaks out boldly. “Surely,” she says, “You have heard that the hands that can heal also can maim or even kill. Don’t hold back on my account, Andrew.”

“Our son is here,” I say gently. “Can you keep Jason on ice for a little while, Austin?”

“Oh, yeah,” Austin says, using his best deranged beach bum intonation. “I can definitely do that.” He slides back out the door, taking Jason with him.

DAMAGE CONTROL

MADDY

With one probable culprit out of the way, Andrew and I go into Paul’s room, keeping low. I look closely at the dart. It is stained on the tip with something dark. Poison or sedative, I can’t be sure without testing it. For now, I leave it where it landed. Paul lingers at the door, not coming in.

I examine the window. My blood chills at what I see. Someone has cut a neat, round hole in the glass, just the right size to fit a blow gun or the barrel of a firearm.

Andrew frowns at it. “That took a specialized tool, especially to do it quietly. This was carefully planned.” We back out, and I close the door. Andrew brings a chair from the kitchen and braces it under the doorknob.

We all stand in the hallway, looking at each other. “Now what?” Andrew says.

I study an exit diagram posted in the hall. “Pantry,” I say. “It’s set up as a tornado shelter, and is rated as earthquake safe.”

“Unusual for California,” Andrew says.

I shrug. “It’s a Spindizzy design. James Bailey, Kate’s brother, is the primary architect. He grew up in Kansas, where tornadoes are an ordinary part of summer weather. I’m surprised the outer walls and windows aren’t better. This must be a retrofit.”

“I’m hungry,” Paul says. “Dinner was a while ago. Do you think there’s anything good in there?”

I laugh, relieved to address something more or less normal. “Let’s go see. We could probably pull a mattress in there and get comfortable.”

The mattress wasn’t necessary. The pantry had four pullout padded shelves, and had emergency blankets and pillows stored in tubs along the bottom shelf.

Paul discovered a pullout drawer stocked with individual packets of chips, fish shaped crackers, dried fruit, and similar nibbles. One shelf was stocked with all the major brands of soft drinks in individual servings.

“Can I have one?” Paul begged. “Please, Mom, just one.”

I sigh. “Your poor teeth,” I say. “Just one, then you need to brush after.”

“My toothbrush is in my bathroom, and we’ve got the door barricaded,” Paul says slyly.

Andrew turns away and puts his hand over the lower part of his face. If he laughs, I’m going to strangle him. Paul is enough of a handful without encouraging him.

I say “The spare toothbrushes are stored here. I’m sure we can find at least one that will fit in your mouth.”

Paul sighs.

“Pick out your soda and a couple of snacks to go with it,” I add gently.

“There’s no TV,” Paul says. “How am I going to fall asleep?”

There are times when Paul is amazingly mature. Clearly, this was not going to be one of those times. I try to think of something sensible to say, when Andrew comes up with a reasonable idea.

“How about if I tell you a story?” he says.

“What kind of story?” Paul asks suspiciously. “I’m too old for ‘The Three Little Pigs’ or ‘Goldilocks.'"

I hold my breath. I truly hope Andrew won’t tell one of the more gruesome legends or myths. The Mabnogian’s stories held themes far too mature for my son.

But Andrew surprised me.

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