The Hornet’s Nest. Patricia Cornwell

eating nails, in the rain.

“I wA thinking about brunch,” he said to her.

“Maybe Chili’s.”

Raises approached from the rear and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her neck,

and found it wet, and a little sAy- West didn’t smile or respond or take the nails out of her

mouth. She hammered and didn’t want to be bothefod- He gave up, and leaned against

what she was building- He crossed his arms, and studied her as water dripped off Ac bill

of his Panthers baseball cap.

“I take it you’ve seen the paper,” he said.

He would bring that up, and she had no comment. She measured another space.

“This is an affirmative. Now I know a celebrity. Right there. This big on the front

page.” He exaggerated with his ha^ds, as if the morning paper with West in it was ten

feet tall- “Above the fold, too,” he went on.

“Good story. I’m impressed.”

she measured and hammered.

“Triith i8? I learned stuff even I didn’t know. Like the part about high school. Shelby

High. That you played on the boys’ tennis team for Coach Wagon? Never lost a matfh?

How ’bout that?”

He was more enchanted with her than ever, roaming her with his eyes and not getting

charged a dime a minute. She wA aware of this and feeling ripped off as she tasted metal

Ad hammered.

“Yoi1 go1 aA idea what it does to a guy to see a eood-loo^111^ woman in a tool belt?”

He finally got to his fe^h.

“It’s like when we roll up on a scene and you’re in that goddamn uniform. And I start thinking thoughts I shouldn’t, people bleeding to death. Right now I got it for you so bad

I’m busting out of my jeans.”

She slipped a nail from between her lips and looked at him, at his jeans. She rammed the

hammer into her belt, and it was the only tool that was going to be intimate with her this

day. Every Sunday, without fail, they had brunch, drank mimosas, watched TV in her

bed, and all he ever talked about was calls he had been on over the weekend, as if she

didn’t get enough blood and misery in her life. Raines was a doll, but boring.

“Go rescue somebody and leave me alone,” she suggested to him.

His smile and playfulness fled as rain fell in a curtain from heaven.

“What the hell did I do?” he complained.

Chapter Six.

West stayed outside in the rain alone, hammering, measuring, and building her fence as if

it were a symbol of what she felt about people and life. When her gate opened and shut

again at three p. m. ” she assumed it was Raines trying again. She slammed another nail

into wood and felt bad about the way she had treated him. He had meant no harm, and

her mood had nothing to do with him, really.

“W Niles could have done with the same consideration. He was in the window over the

kitchen sink, looking out at his owner in a flood. She was swinging something that

looked like it might hurt Niles if he got in her way. Niles had been minding his own

business earlier, walking in circles, kneading the covers, finding just the right warm spot

to settle on his owner’s chest. Next thing, he was an astronaut, a circus acrobat shot out of

a cannon. It was just a darn good thing he could land on his feet. He stared through

streaming water at

someone entering the yard from the north. Niles, the watch cat, had never seen this person, not once in his ancient feline life.

%< Brazil was aware of a skinny cat watching him from a window as he trespassed and West hammered, calling out to someone named Raines. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?" she was saying. "I'm in this mood." Brazil carried three thick Sunday papers wrapped in a dry-cleaning bag he had found in his closet. "Apology accepted," he said. West wheeled around, and fixed him in her sights, hammer mid-swing. "What the hell are you doing here?" She was startled and taken aback, and did her best to sound hateful.

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