12

The woman who opened the door wore a V-neck red cardigan sweater over bare skin. The top button was undone. Her slacks were snug and white, flaring at the ankles. She drew deeply on her cigarette, puckering bright red lips set in a powdered face while allowing her large sleepy-lidded eyes to roam him from head to crotch and back again. She unplugged the Benson & Hedges and let the foul-scented pale smoke stream from her lips. "Why, hello, Geoff."

He despised her. "Merry Christmas, Mrs. Fontaine. I'm kind of in a hurry. Where's your freezer?"

Her tongue protruded to stroke the end of her right upper eye tooth while she leaned against the doorframe. "Oh, you can't stay?"

"No, ma'am. I have a slight emergency I need to get back to as soon as possible."

She reached with her free hand to fiddle with the neck of his jacket as though he required a few finishing touches before he was completely presentable. The smoke finally got to him and he failed to stifle two quick coughs.

"Sorry."

"Come in, come in," she told him, turning away to saunter across plush white shag carpet.

He stamped his feet before entering, always put off by the peculiar décor. The Fontaines preferred prominent angles, form over practicality, startling textures and color combinations mixed with bright and shiny metals. "Is, is Aurora here?"

"Aurora!" the woman bleated melodically, turning to smile at her houseguest to gauge his reaction.

They heard fumbling upstairs.

"I made cookies," the woman purred, bending to lift a tray from a shield-shaped coffee table. "They're loaded with Kahlua." She bit into one.

"Hurry," he reminded her, smiling tightly.

"Can I get you a drink?"

"No, thank you. I just need to pick up-"

"Geoff!" was shrieked from the top of the stairs. "Oh, Mother! Why didn't you tell me Geoff was here?"

"I just did," the woman replied with a shrug Geoff's way.

"Oh!" The tall, gangly teen fiddled blindly with her hair and smoothed a hand across her checkered dress before descending majestically as though she'd practiced while balancing books atop her head. "Greetings, Geoffery."

"Hey, Aurora," he said, doubly uncomfortable.

"Have you come to see me?"

"I have," he admitted, aware Mrs. Fontaine had departed for the den.

"Really?" Aurora was tall for her age and lean with long, lank, golden blonde hair tied back loosely with a green velvet bow. She was not unattractive and all evidence supported the notion she would likely mature into a stunning woman like her mother, but she was only fifteen and awkward as a colt.

"Do you still raise Ayam Cemanis?" he asked.

"Of course. Do you want to see them? I also have-"

"Your mother said you might have a couple awaiting necropsies?"

Her pale brows drew together. "Do you need them?"

He almost told her just one, but nodded instead. "Yes. Please. You have a pair of them?"

She led him through the kitchen toward the back door.