“Yeah, yeah,” he said quickly. “I mean, there’s just a lot going on and I needed to—”
Deep in Josie’s purse, an alarm went off. Her cell-phone reminder that she needed to be in the car on the way to her dad’s if she was going to make it back to work on time. She’d already received a written warning because of her tardiness—usually because she was lingering at the track, watching Nick practice—so she needed to motor. “Crap,” she said. “I have to go.”
“Oh.” The muscles around Nick’s mouth sagged, reflecting more dejection and pain than his clipped, monosyllabic response. What was going on with him?
“Call me,” Josie said. “After practice, okay? We’ll talk tonight.”
“Okay.” Nick flashed his crooked half smile, the sadness of a moment before evaporated. He was his old, carefree self again. “Don’t let any monsters attack you on the way back from Landover, okay?”
Josie snuggled her face into his chest. “I’ll try.”
THREE
3:45 P.M.
JOSIE’S ANCIENT HATCHBACK SHUDDERED IN protest as she stepped on the accelerator.
“Come on.” She leaned forward in her seat, willing the old car to go faster. “If I’m late again, I’m going to get fired.”
As if in answer, the Ford Focus lurched forward. A hand-me-down from her cousin, it was almost as old as she was, and the engine screeched in protest as she held the pedal to the floor. The speedometer flickered, desperately grasping for forty-five miles per hour, and for a fleeting moment Josie thought the Teal Monster, as Madison had dubbed the car, might actually have some kick left in her.
Or not. The engine sputtered, momentum slowed, and Josie had to downshift to third gear.
“I hate you,” she said, slapping the steering wheel with the palm of her hand. “Just so you know.”
Josie’s phone rang. Keeping one hand on the wheel, she reached into the center console and hit speakerphone. “Hello?” she said loudly, over the roar of her car’s engine.
“Did you get it?” Her mom’s voice was crisp and businesslike.
Josie whizzed around a turn and hoped her mom couldn’t hear the screech of tires on the other end of the line. She eyed the rearview mirror, sending a death stare bouncing to the back of her car, where the oversized rococo monstrosity sat covered in a fluffy blue blanket, wedged into the flattened backseat through a feat of advanced car yoga.
“Josie, are you there?”
“Yeah, sorry.” Glancing right and left, Josie careened through a yellow light just as it turned red, praying there were no state troopers around as she barreled through the intersection. A speeding ticket was the last thing she needed. “I’ve got the mirror,” she said, before her mom could ask again.
“Good.” Her mom cleared her throat. “I just had a shipment delivered at the lab. So I’ll—”
“Be home late,” Josie said, finishing her thought. It was a conversation they had at least twice a week, whenever her mom got a shipment of materials delivered to her lab at Fort Meade. Top secret stuff, but Josie guessed it was the ultradense deuterium her mom used in most of her experiments. If so, it might be a few days before her mom surfaced from the lab.
“Right.” Her mom paused. “Okay, well, drive safely. I’ll call you later.”
Josie clicked off her phone. Part of her was relieved when her mom worked late: the tension between them recently had been almost unbearable. But since her dad had moved out, the house was lonely, and the idea of spending another night there by herself was incredibly depressing.
Her mood sinking like lead in water, Josie flipped on the radio. It was programmed to the AM news station.
“From the evidence at the scene,” a man said in a cool academic voice, “we have determined that the attacks were not caused by a bear. They appear to be the work of a predatory cat of some kind.”
A reporter cut into the prerecorded statement. “When pressed for information, Captain Wherry stated that local investigators are targeting known collectors of exotic animals in hopes of finding the cause of the recent attacks. For WPTN, I’m Morgan Curón.”
Josie rolled her eyes. A cat? Really? Sixteen dead bodies and all the authorities could come up with was an exotic cat?
Maybe Penelope was right: it was a cover-up.
“Time for weather on the nines,” the news anchor said in his overly cheerful radio voice. “And we’re looking at glorious weather for this April fifteenth.”
Josie’s stomach dropped. Today was April fifteenth?
Holy crap, no wonder Nick had looked so upset when she left. Today was their one-year anniversary.