Fatal Harvest. Catherine Palmer
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“No, sir! I’m going after Matt. You don’t understand the Mattman like I do. He’s not good at stuff, you know? Regular life is what I mean. Common sense. He doesn’t know how to talk to people or do normal junk.”
“Now what’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean he needs me, Mr. Strong. If he was blind, I’d be like his seeing-eye dog. I get him through. I help him. I’ve been doing it since forever, okay?”
“I know you’re his best friend, Billy. But you can’t go out on the road with me. Tomorrow’s Friday. You’ve got school—”
“You don’t get it, Mr. Strong. Matt needs me. I gotta go find him!”
“No, Billy, I’m not taking you, and I won’t change my mind on this.”
“You don’t ever bend, do you? You’re just like Matt said—like an old dead stump stuck out in the middle of a dry lake, good for nothing. He said there’s not a single soft place on you, Mr. Strong. Not inside or out. You’re just hard and dead and cold. Well, I’m not like that. Not now, not ever. And if somebody needs me, I’m there. I’m totally there. Do you get that? Do you get it?”
“I get it, Billy. Now, go home.”
“I’m already gone.” He glanced at his teacher. “Later, Miss Pruitt.”
“Later, Billy.” As the boy stalked out of the room, she pushed back the chair and stood. “It wouldn’t kill you to take him along.”
“I don’t need another sixteen-year-old on my hands. But I do need somebody who can work a computer. I’ll get you back by Sunday night at the latest.”
“Me?” She laughed. “Are you kidding? I’m not going anywhere except home. I’ve got a dog to walk, tests to grade, and a full day of classes to teach tomorrow.”
“Yeah, and I’ve got a missing son who just made contact for the first time since he vanished. Now unplug the computer, and let’s go.”
“Are you crazy?”
“No,” he said. “I’m an old dead stump in a dry lake bed, and the only thing around me that’s got any life has disappeared. I’m going to find him, and I expect you to come along.”
“If you understood computers, Mr. Strong, you’d realize—”
“But I don’t. I understand cattle. I understand hay. I know how to make a ranch productive enough to help feed all those hungry people you care about. But I don’t know how to run a computer, and you do. So I’m telling you to pack that thing up, and come with me to find my son.”
“I could stay home and check the messages. If Matt e-mails me, then I could call you.”
“Miss Pruitt.” Cole set both hands on her shoulders and stared into her eyes. “I don’t know how to make this any plainer. I’m going to find my son, and you’re going to come with me. Bring the computer. Stay in contact with Matt, and tell him what I say. And go through that machine with a fine-tooth comb. Read every past e-mail he got or sent. Read all his reports, all his research, everything. If there’s anything else on the computer I need to know, tell me. We’ll find my son, and then I’ll take you home. Is that clear?”
Her chin stiffened. “I will not do this, Mr. Strong.”
“You will do it, because you’re the one who caused all this. You put the bug in his ear about famine relief. You fired him up about all the hungry people in the world, and your big mission trips, and your famine-relief projects. And you taught him every technological thing he needed to know to dig himself into this deep hole. So you’re coming with me, and you’re going to do your dead-level best to stay in touch with my son and help me find him. Do you understand now? ”
Her nostrils flared as she glared at him. For a moment, he thought she was going to buck him again. But he knew if she did, he’d toss the little fireball over his shoulder, throw her in the truck and make her go with him anyway.
“I will need to make arrangements for my classes,” she said through tightened lips. “And perhaps I could be allowed to pack a few things?”
“I’ll take you to your house.”
“My car is at the school.”
“You won’t need it.” He took her arm. “Let’s go.”
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