“But she was at the reservoir? Is that where the . . . beast . . . chased her?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought the place was barricaded off because of the filming.”
“It is,” Alvarez said. “They slipped through the temporary fencing.”
“They?”
“Alex O’Hara was with her.”
Another member of the group who couldn’t be trusted, at least in Pescoli’s opinion. “Barclay Sphinx is gonna be pissed if anything is missing or broken.”
“Unless there’s real evidence of Big Foot. Then he’ll be ecstatic. All that free publicity at another sighting.”
“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” she muttered. What if everything that was happening was a big publicity stunt? But no, there was homicide involved. As despicable as she found the producer, Pescoli didn’t believe him capable of murder. Then again, she’d been wrong before.
“Yes,” Alvarez agreed.
“It will be tough to believe it’s a Sasquatch. Those creatures are not only camera and people shy, they’re hairy and don’t seem to shed, it seems. And though they presumably hunt and eat, they’re so damned tidy, they don’t leave any evidence of their kills, not a trace. Also, I guess they don’t defecate, as no spoor can be found. And when they die, their carcasses must go through super rapid disintegration because their bones and teeth turn to dust in seconds flat. Unless maybe aliens come down and whisk the corpses back to an unknown planet in another solar system. Remind me to ask Ivor Hicks about that. He claims the reptilians under the leadership of a General Krytor or something took him away for a few hours to do experiments on him, if I remember correctly.”
“I’m with ya. But even so, since Bianca claims she saw something like a Big Foot last week, and a girl’s body was discovered . . .”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” All this talk of the mythical, overhyped beast was giving Pescoli a headache. “I’m on my way. I’ll meet you at the hospital.” After hanging up, she leaned back against the headboard for a second. What the hell was going on? Another Big Foot sighting landing a girl in the hospital? She couldn’t help but wonder if it was all staged, just like the reality show, all part of some elaborate prank, or, as she’d thought before, a publicity stunt.
She pushed herself upright and rolled out of bed, then found her dreaded maternity pants and top, dressed hastily, unlocked the safe for her sidearm, and slipped it into her shoulder holster.
Down the hall, she passed the door to the small nursery. The door was ajar and she cast a glance inside. The crib was already pushed into one corner, a chest of drawers on the opposite wall. The room was painted a soft gray and nearly ready for its tiny, as yet unborn, occupant. A huge package of diapers was still wrapped in plastic, and on the changing table a fluffy, lop-eared bunny, a gift from one of Pescoli’s sisters, peered at her.
It was hard to believe that within the next four weeks a new little person would call this room home.
Oh, man. She could hardly wait.
But she wasn’t ready. Not yet.
She took a few more steps in the hallway only to stop at Bianca’s door, where she peeked inside to find her daughter, her injured ankle elevated and resting on a pillow, one arm flung across her face, her curly hair a tangled mess, sleeping as if she were dead.
But she was safe.
Good. She felt a moment’s relief and closed the door.
On the stairs she was met with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Following the scent, she maneuvered around the obstacles of three energetic dogs and found her husband at the single-cup espresso machine, where a travel cup, the latte still frothing, was waiting. “For you,” he said, indicating the mug. He’d showered and was dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and socks, his boots standing at attention near the back door. “Coffee. Well, kinda.”
“You mean ‘decaf’?”
“Yep. I heard your phone. Figured you’d be down.” He handed her the cup.
/> “I think I need something stronger this morning, but thanks.” She took an experimental sip. “You’re too good to me.”
“Never in doubt.”
“And so humble.”
“That’s right. So what’s up?”
“If you can believe it, there’s been another Big Foot attack.”
“I don’t. Believe it.”