Page 71 of The Killing Plains

“An ant farm. You can watch them build their tunnels and nests. The queen’s there, in the corner, see?” Niall pointed. “She controls the worker ants, and those white things are her eggs. Careful, don’t shake it.”

Satchel held the plexiglass frame near his face, then looked up at Colly. “Can I take it inside?”

“Sure.” Colly unlocked the door. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Thank you,” Satchel murmured over his shoulder as he went into the house, holding the ant farm like an overfilled cup he was afraid might spill.

Colly closed the door behind him. “He loves it.”

Niall stood and dusted his knees. “It’s been in my office for years. The kids I treat for anxiety find it soothing.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because it’s a hermetically sealed little world where all the rules work.”

“I’ll be sure to return it before we go back to Houston.”

“It’s a gift. I’ll get another one.” Niall hesitated, smiling. “At the risk of sounding forward, it’s hard to believe you’re a grandmother.”

Colly frowned. The remark was more personal than she liked, but it seemed well-intentioned. “My daughter was fifteen when Satchel was born.” She changed the subject. “Brenda says you specialize in compulsive disorders?”

“That’s my therapeutic focus. I research the links between brain structure and impulse control in kids with antisocial tendencies.”

“Psychopaths?”

“That’s not a clinical term, but essentially, yes—kids with potential in that direction, anyway.”

Remembering her earlier conversation with Brenda, Colly felt the familiar pang of worry. She wanted to ask more questions, but Avery, who disliked Shaw intensely, was due at the farmhouse soon. Colly didn’t want to risk a tense encounter while Satchel was within earshot.

“Well, thanks for the ant farm,” she said a little abruptly. “It was kind of you to think of Satchel.”

Niall took the hint without offense. “Not at all.” He trotted down the steps, then paused. “Did Brenda mention dinner Friday? I hope you’re free.”

“She did. But I don’t know.”

“It’ll be a nice break. Great food, pleasant company, Walmart’s finest Pinot.” He grinned.

Colly murmured something noncommittal.

“No pressure. Things are complicated, I realize.” Pulling a pen and business card from his pocket, he jotted something down and handed the card to Colly. “My personal number. If Satchel’s struggling, call any time.”

Inside, Colly found Satchel in the living room, sitting on the floor with his chin on the edge of the coffee table. He’d set the ant farm in front of him and was staring intently at it.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Colly ruffled his hair.

He looked up. “We didn’t ask what to feed them.”

“We’ll google it.”

“What if Google’s wrong?”

“I’ll ask Dr. Shaw, then.” Her head throbbing, Colly checked the time—fifteen minutes until Avery would arrive. No time for a nap, but with luck she could grab a shower.

She went to the kitchen, returning with apple slices and cheese crackers on a plate. She set them on the coffee table. “There you go, buddy. I’m going upstairs to clean up.”

Satchel rubbed his bandaged fingers against the edge of the coffee table. “Can you change my bandages first? They’re itchy.”

Colly sighed. “Okay, but hurry.”

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