Read Sweet Dreams for Free Online Page B

though giant termites with degrees in architecture had been hard at work. A large canvas, big as a circus tent, covered the entire site of the actual dig, shading it, casting a gloomy appearance over it.
    â€œWell, it’s kinda what I expected. I’ve got a lot of Dad’s old books on the subject, and this is the way it almost always looks. It’s really picky work.”
    â€œI know that much, Marc. Come on. Let’s walk all the way around the fence.”
    They encountered no one on their journey around the square hole.
    â€œNow let’s see if the gate is locked,” Heather said.
    â€œI’m sure it is.”
    But it wasn’t.
    The gate wasn’t even latched. Heather pushed it, and squeaking protestingly, it opened on its rusty hinges.
    She stepped inside the enclosure.
    â€œUh ... Heather?”
    â€œOh, come on, Marc. Look around you. You don’t see any No Trespassing sign, do you?”
    He looked around, hoping he would see one. “Uh, no, I don’t.”
    â€œThat what harm are we doing?”
    Marc thought some adults might consider what they were doing wrong – but he kept this to himself. He didn’t want to appear chicken in Heather’s eyes. He followed her in. Under the canvas, it was even hotter—and spookier. Marc didn’t say anything about that, either. He didn’t have to. Heather did.
    â€œStrange in here,” she said.
    â€œYeah,” Marc agreed.
    â€œWhen’s Prom Night?” Heather asked with a grin.
    They had watched that movie, one night when their parents had gone out. They had gasped and feigned great fright and nausea at the gore.
    â€œFriday the Thirteenth,” Marc countered with another movie title.
    A shadow slipped across the sun, turning the site dark for a moment. Marc turned around in response to a slight noise behind him, and Heather heard his sharp intake of breath.
    She looked around and began screaming.
    Â 
    â€œCatalina, French, or vinegar and oil?” Maryruth asked.
    â€œHow about Russian?” Jerry grinned.
    â€œDamn Bolshevik!” Maryruth said, returning his smile. “But I do think I have some Russian dressing ... somewhere in the fridge.”
    Over homemade soup and a fresh, crisp salad, the two doctors discussed anew the events of the day.
    â€œProbably I was overreacting,” Jerry said. “You see scenes like that occasionally. I never have.”
    â€œNo,” Maryruth said slowly. “I have never seen anything like what I witnessed today. What language was Van speaking?”
    â€œI don’t know. I have never heard anything quite like it. I detect some hesitation in your voice. Care to elaborate?”
    â€œMaybe Van is lying. Given that any thought?”
    â€œNo. Because what would the boy have to gain by lying?”
    â€œThat, I can’t answer, Jerry. I have to reject attention, because as a star athlete and a very popular student, he certainly receives enough of that – perhaps too much, in my opinion. And don’t get me started on peer pressure on kids these days.”
    â€œI know, Maryruth. I see it too. And I agree with you.”
    â€œI know Van’s parents. They’re good, stable people. And Van is basically – despite what we saw in your office today – a good boy.”
    Jerry picked at what was left of his salad. Conversation lagged at the table. He finally said, without looking at her, “Heard from Steve?”
    He heard her intake of breath. He lifted his eyes, met hers. “That . . . bastard!” she said.
    â€œI see you finally wised up,” Jerry said.
    â€œDidn’t take me long, Jerry. But it still hurts to admit what a fool I was.”
    â€œWant to talk about it?”
    â€œNot that much to talk about. The divorce was final last month. He got one of those one-day jobs in Chicago. I didn’t fight it; just wanted it over with.”
    â€œI see.”
    Her smile was not