The First Cut by Dianne Emley Page B

been quietly but decidedly contentious. Never back down. Never let them see you sweat. It was one of the ways she tried to be as tough as the men. To prove her mettle. Who’s the most macho? She was Quick Draw. Poison Ivy, creeping up on everything she touched. Scratch it and make it worse. Before. Now she wasn’t breaking a sweat. She felt as if she’d slipped into her own skin and found she was just the right size. A perfect fit.
    She could give T. B. Mann credit for that. He’d torn her down and rebuilt her. But now he’d have to deal with it.
    She flashed back to the kitchen floor at 835 El Alisal Road. While chaos reigned around her, she pulled herself along the floor with her forearms, trailing a slick of blood. The officer assisting her tried to get her to stay still. They later told her she crawled six feet, entering the pantry’s open door. Her last thought before she went out was not of her daughter. Her life did not pass before her eyes. Her final memory was of what she saw in front of her in black and white. There on the tile floor was the tiny magnet that had flown from The Bad Man’s hand when he’d rushed her. On it was printed a single word: “pearl.”

 
    E I G H T
    V INING HEARD KISSICK ON THE PHONE IN HIS CUBICLE AND SAW Early making a call in her office. She took the opportunity to make a quick call herself. Emily had a half-day at school and Vining’s mom was to take her to the dentist, but another voice answered the phone.
    “Hi, Granny,” said Vining. “How come you’re there? Where’s my mom?”
    “She went to meet that man she’s been seeing. The one who works for Lockheed. One of the ones she met over the Internet.”
    Vining grimaced. Her mother had been inconsistent help ever since she’d discovered Internet dating. Patsy Brightly had just turned fifty-one and had leaped on the search for husband number five as if she was driving on reserve. Patsy had retained the surname of her fourth husband, which she loved while she despised the man.
    “She’s gonna get herself killed is what she’s gonna do. Taking up with strangers like that.”
    “Let’s hope not.” Vining glanced at her watch. “How did the dentist go?”
    “Dentist canceled. Your daughter talked me into taking her to Forest Lawn instead. She’s in the darkroom, developing pictures she took at a funeral there.”
    Vining closed her eyes.
    “Maybe you should speak to somebody about this hobby of hers. When she asked me did I want to see her photographs, I thought they’d be of her school friends and such. But no. She’s got corpses, caskets, graveyards, haunted houses, things she calls swirls and orbs and I don’t know what all. Nanette, I tell you. It’s not healthy. When I was her age, I was at the soda shop flirting with the boys.”
    Vining adored her grandmother, who had been her one source of stability when she had been growing up, but the old woman was a wellspring of advice that she freely distributed whether invited or not. “Emily’s fine, Granny. She’s just working out her fears about what happened to me.”
    In truth, Vining also didn’t care for her daughter’s new hobby, but she and Em always presented a united front to the world, especially to other family members. Emily’s fascination with the dead, dying, and paranormal began after Vining’s attack. It hadn’t abated. Vining felt responsible and regretted describing her near-death experience to her daughter. Vining didn’t think it was that big a deal, but for Emily, it had profound meaning. She claimed it confirmed the existence of a netherworld that sometimes pierces the veil of our everyday existence. The girl was convinced that if we paid close enough attention and had the right equipment, we could catch glimpses of it. She spent her allowance and the money she earned babysitting on materials to assist her in ghost hunting: electromagnetic detectors, black lights, audio equipment, cameras, and other paraphernalia. She belonged