Trophies Read Online Free Page B

keyhole and the pick above it. The lock gave off
distinctive clicks as I raised each pin to its opening point, and
the tension tool kept them there while I worked on the next
one.
    This wasn't the simplest lock to pick, but
nor was it the hardest. Normally it didn't need more than a few
minutes, but today it took longer because something was in the way
inside the lock. An unfortunate insect, I supposed, or a bit of
pine needle. That was about all that would fit inside the keyway,
although both seemed unlikely. Patty's quiet footsteps padded up
the steps as I concentrated, then her shadow spilled over my
fumbling hands. It didn't matter. Aunt Edith had taught me to pick
locks when I was eleven and it didn't require a visual image, only
the sensation of the tumblers through the tools.
    The deadbolt surrendered finally and the
usual moment of satisfaction gave me a smile even then. I pushed
open the dark oak door and stood aside for Patricia. She didn't
notice. She was too busy staring at me, staring at the tools before
I zipped the case and returned it to my pocket, and all the old
family rumors regarding my less-than-savory reputation were
accusations in her eyes.
    "You never told me you could do that."
    Oh, ruddy hell. The house and yard seemed to
invisibly explode around me, even though nothing visually changed.
But in the carefully balanced reality I cultivated, everything
changed, and irretrievably. My lockpicking skills were something
I'd intended for Patricia to never, ever see. I'd wanted her to
discount my family reputation as a thief and consider me as good as
them.
    It was a worse gut-wrench than any flashback.
Every move I'd made that day was a flaming disaster and my raw
nerves craved a safe spot and some recovery time. Calling a cab was
tempting, too. But that would abandon Patty to staying in the house
alone. It would also give her far too much time to think about
those unmistakable lockpicking tools. Besides, this revelation was
my fault, not hers. I couldn't abandon her. I tugged her inside,
then closed the door and snapped the bolt.
    The interior was cool, dim, and silent. Our
steps were muted by the vestibule's sweep of bright blue Persian
carpet. When I'd been younger, I'd pretended it was a magic flying
carpet that could sweep me far away from the problems I didn't want
to face. Once again, I wished that was true.
    Outside, a car honked.
    "Who could that be?" I didn't really care,
whoever it was I could avoid them, but hopefully the new arrival
would distract Patty. Often she rode an issue like a mouse on a
little wheel and right now I could survive without further
harassment.
    But she wouldn't look at me and her lower lip
vanished between her teeth.
    My internal organs roiled again. "Cuz,
besides your father, whom did you call?"
    She rolled her eyes. "Caren."
    That sensation of ice invading my veins
seemed likely to become habitual. "Why?"
    Patricia glared, rocking me back on my heels.
Thankfully her genes had skipped another of the family's hereditary
traits, the Roman nose, so she never seemed to be looking down on
me the way the others did. But she gave it a really good go.
"Because you're acting oddly, and you keep tensing and closing your
eyes, and then you start shaking, and I don't know what to make of
it, Charles, and you're frightening me." She pushed past me to the
door I'd just closed.
    I glared back. I'd missed the Roman nose,
too, but right then it would have been helpful. "Tell me, is Caren
supposed to understand me because she's a shrink, or because she
used to be my girlfriend?"
    But Patty slung open the door and stalked
out, and the moment exited with her. I was losing all around.
Suddenly the silence of the house felt menacing. Alienating Patty
was not something I cared to contemplate, especially if Aunt Edith
really was gone. I couldn't bear to lose both my girls in one
day.
    Even the once-magical house felt odd, like
the home of a stranger and not where I'd grown up. On the surface
it