Dexter in the Dark (Dexter 3)

JEFF LINDSAY

would be. “I’m sure there’s a very good explanation,” I said, and Astor brightened immediately and began to nod vigorously.

“It was an accident,” she insisted happily.

“Nobody ties up a cat, tapes it to a workbench, and stands over it with hedge clippers by accident!” Rita said.

To be honest, things were getting a little complicated. On the one hand, I was very pleased to get such a clear picture at last of what the problem was. But on the other hand, we seemed to have strayed into an area that could be somewhat awkward to explain, and I could not help feeling that Rita might be a little bit better off if she remained ignorant of these matters.

I thought I had been clear with Astor and Cody that they were not to fly solo until I had explained their wings to them. But they had obviously chosen not to understand and, even though they were suffering some very gratifying consequences for their action, it was still up to me to get them out of it. Unless they could be made to understand that they absolutely must not repeat this—and must not stray from the Harry Path as I put their feet upon it—I was happy to let them twist in the wind indefinitely.

“Do you know that what you did is wrong?” I asked them. They nodded in unison.

“Do you know why it is wrong?” I said.

Astor looked very uncertain, glanced at Cody, and then blurted out, “Because we got caught!”

“There now, you see?” said Rita, and a hysterical edge was creeping into her voice.

“Astor,” I said, looking at her very carefully and not really winking, “this is not the time to be funny.”

“I’m glad somebody thinks this is funny,” Rita said. “But I don’t happen to think so.”

“Rita,” I said, with all the soothing calm I could muster, and then, using the smooth cunning I had developed in my years as an apparently human adult, I added, “I think this might be one of those times that Reverend Gilles was talking about, where I need to mentor.”

“Dexter, these two have just—I don’t have any idea—and DEXTER IN THE DARK

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you—!” she said, and even though she was close to tears, I was happy to see that at least her old speech patterns were returning.

Just as happily, a scene from an old movie popped into my head in the nick of time, and I knew exactly what a real human being was supposed to do.

I walked over to Rita and, with my very best serious face, I put a hand on her shoulder.

“Rita,” I said, and I was very proud of how grave and manly my voice sounded, “you are too close to this, and you’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment. These two need some firm perspective, and I can give it to them. After all,” I said as the line came to me, and I was pleased to see that I hadn’t lost a step, “I have to be their father now.”

I should have guessed that this would be the remark that pushed Rita off the dock and into the lake of tears; and it was, because immediately after I said it, her lips began to tremble, her face lost all its anger, and a rivulet began to stream down each cheek.

“All right,” she sobbed, “please, I—just talk to them.” She snuffled loudly and hurried from the room.

I let Rita have her dramatic exit and gave it a moment to sink in before I walked back around to the front of the couch and stared down at my two miscreants. “Well,” I said. “What happened to We understand, We promise, We’ll wait?”

“You’re taking too long,” said Astor. “We haven’t done anything except the once, and besides, you’re not always right and we think we shouldn’t have to wait anymore.”

“I’m ready,” Cody said.

“Really,” I said. “Then I guess your mother is the greatest detective in the world, because you’re ready and she caught you anyway.”

“Dex-terrrr,” Astor whined.

“No, Astor, you quit talking and just listen to me for a minute.”

I stared at her with my most serious face, and for a moment I thought she was going to say something else but then a miracle took place right there in our living room. Astor changed her mind and closed her mouth.

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JEFF LINDSAY