Thread of Fear Read Free Page B

prehistoric animal trivia was rusty, but she was pretty sure he had them grouped into meat eaters and plant eaters.
    Colter scooped up several of the dinos and scooted closer to Fiona. “Here,” he said, dumping them on the carpet beside her. “These are the best ones.”
    One by one, Fiona drew each plastic toy, quizzing Colter about them as she went. He was a font of information.
    “I draw people sometimes, too,” she said as she shaded aT-Rex. “I’d like to draw the person you saw at the door after school Monday. You think you could help me do that?”
    Colter sat across from her on the carpet now. He bowed his head.
    Fiona removed the dinosaur picture and replaced it with a clean sheet. She brought her knees up and rested the drawing board on them so he wouldn’t be distracted by it. “Will you help me, Colter?”
    “I didn’t see him,” he muttered.
    Fiona tried to keep her voice relaxed. She didn’t want Colter to sense the pressure, although clearly he already did. “It’s okay,” she said. “Just tell me anything you can.”
    He sat inert.
    “Colter? Do you remember someone coming to the door Monday?”
    A slight nod.
    “What color hair do you remember?” Asking about characteristics in the abstract was less threatening, and hair color was the trait most witnesses talked about first.
    “Brown,” he whispered.
    Brown hair.
    “Okay.” She leaned forward to hear his quiet voice. “What else did you see?”
    “He was big.”
    “All right. That’s good, Colter.” But she didn’t start drawing yet. Lots of people would seem “big” to a child seated on the floor, particularly a scared child. “Can you remember what he looked like?”
    The silence stretched out as Colter stared at his lap. A tear splashed onto his pajama pants, and he rubbed it in with a pudgy thumb. Fiona’s chest tightened.
    “He said not to tell.”
    “It’s okay to tell me, Colter. What else do you remember?”
    “He made Shelby cry.” The boy’s voice caught, and he hunched his shoulders.
    “It’s okay.” Her heart was breaking. “Take your time.”
    “He sticked his knife in my face!” A sob erupted from the depths of his little body. “He said don’t tell about him or he’ll come cut out my tongue.”
     

CHAPTER 2
    J ack hadn’t expected her to be so young.
    He watched Fiona Glass from across the darkened room, gathering details and filing them away in his brain: five-eight, average build—though it was difficult to tell because of the suit. Hair, light brown. Skin, pale. Full, pink lips illuminated by the glare of the slide projector.
    He listened to her talk, not really caring about the words, as she stood beside the lectern and clicked through slides. Her voice was clear and confident, no discernable accent. He knew she was from California, but her businesslike demeanor didn’t gel with his idea of an art teacher from the land of fruits, flakes, and nuts.
    She turned to face the class, and her gaze skimmed over the bodies slumped in chairs throughout the lecture hall. She used a laser pointer to highlight something on the screen, something that excited her, judging by her tone. But the windowless room was warm and dim, and Jack knew from his own college days how that combination could put a person to sleep, especially one who’d been up half the night drinking beer.
    Unfazed by her students’ drowsiness, she continued to hammer away at her point about humanism. She madeanother visual sweep of the room, and this time her gaze landed on him. Her speech faltered a moment, and he could tell she was wondering why a guy his age had appeared in her lecture hall to eavesdrop on a discussion of Florentine painters.
    A bell sounded in the outer hallway, and the room jolted to life. Students stood, yawned, stretched, and shouldered backpacks so they could be on their way to the next gig.
    Jack leaned against the wall and waited until the last sloppy coed had trudged out, leaving him alone with Fiona