The Valley and the Flood by Rebecca Mahoney (i wanna iguana read aloud TXT) 📕

I gesture to the front desk and ask, “Shouldn’t somebody—”

“Think of it this way,” he says, as if he didn’t hear me. “Say your parents are on vacation, and you break your mother’s vase—”

“Jay,” someone calls from the foyer.

He finally turns away from me. The relief is short-lived. Standing on the other side of the front desk is a blonde girl in a polka-dot dress, finishing off the last swig of my water bottle.

The girl from the Lethe Ridge housing development smiles at the deputy. “Why don’t you let me get our guest settled?”

“Cassie?” he says, blinking. “What are you—”

Then he turns back to me, slowly. His smile fades as his eyes lock with mine. And the blood drains from his face.

He’s looking at me with understanding. Which is funny, because I couldn’t be more lost.

“Well.” He clears his throat as he backs away, never taking his eyes off me. “If that’s the case, I’ve got quite the stack of paperwork to finish, so you’ll let me know if you need anything, Cassie?”

“Don’t I always.” She wiggles her fingers in a wave. “Bye, Jay.”

And he bolts. I hear a door slam shut down the hall. Which leaves me and the girl.

I know I’m staring. I don’t think she cares. She looks down at her watch with a light frown. “Hmm. A few minutes behind schedule. But all things considered, not bad.”

Despite my best efforts, I keep staring. I was holding out hope that she was another one of those mirages this town seemed to have in spades. But she looks pretty solid to me.

Finally, I do the one thing I can think of. I grab my backpack from where I left it on the floor, I swing it onto my shoulder, and I start toward the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Cassie says.

“He said I was done here,” I toss over my shoulder.

“Not right now you’re not,” she says. “That’s not the proper order, first of all.”

It’s just weird enough to stop me. “For what?”

“Any of it,” she says, maddeningly patient. “Like I was saying, we’re more or less on schedule. Let’s not lose our heads.”

“What do you want?” I snap, whirling to face her.

She looks mildly confused. “Right at this moment? A strawberry milk shake.”

“Why are you following me?” I say.

“Strictly speaking, I’ve only just started following you,” Cassie says. As I take another step toward the door, she adds, “But, for one, you’re not going to make it far in this town on your own. And, more immediately, you’re about to waste your time. You can’t get in that way. It’s locked.”

“What is?” I say.

She tosses my empty water bottle into the recycling bin. “You know what. The old broadcast studio.”

Now she’s got my attention. I freeze. “How did you—”

“You’re going to need permission. And the keys. Both of which you’d get from the sheriff,” Cassie says. “So why don’t you slow down and come with me? The studio isn’t going anywhere. And without your car, neither are you.”

I can feel the door behind me. But she’s right. I’m not going to get far on my own. And maybe the wrong direction is better than none.

“Okay,” I say.

“There now,” she says with a smile, like she wants to make sure I already regret this. “Right this way, then. You’ll like the interns. They’re not originally from here, either.”

“Does that mean they make sense?” I say flatly.

Cassie tilts her head, as if considering it. “They certainly like to tell me so.”

I follow her deeper into the building. As the hallway narrows, it also opens up: floor-length windows overlook two courtyards, studded with cacti and ferns. The walls are covered with pictures of ceremonies and events and fairs. The building has a lot in common with Deputy Jay: so bright and friendly it doesn’t look real.

Before long, I can hear someone’s voice around the corner. They’re speaking Spanish. Very bad Spanish.

“Okay,” says a different voice in English. “That means ‘Your monkey is on the table.’”

“Oh,” says the first voice, also in English now. “And if I used usted, what would it mean?”

“‘Your monkey is on the table,’” says the second voice. “Respectfully.”

The two boys behind the desk are my age, maybe younger. The boy on the right is quarterback-handsome, with broad shoulders, olive skin, and expressive brown eyes peeking out from his shaggy black hair. The boy on the left is his physical opposite: small and thin and boy band–cute, with neat chestnut hair and bright blue eyes lined with dark shadows. He’s pale enough that he might disappear into the white-blue wallpaper in the right lighting. When he reaches over to adjust something across the desk, I can see the outline of his wrist bones.

Without missing a beat, Tall, Dark, and Handsome turns to us. “I want to state for the record that I know three languages.”

“You know two,” says the other.

“I know English, Farsi, and Klingon,” says the first boy.

“You will never use Klingon,” says the second.

“Don’t be so sure,” the first boy says. “I know some great pickup lines.”

I turn to Cassie. “I thought they were going to make sense.”

“As you’ll recall,” Cassie says, “I didn’t say either way.”

“Sorry.” The smaller kid flashes a grin. “Is there something we can help you with?”

“Rose needs an appointment with the sheriff when she’s back,” Cassie says.

“Of course! At your service, Rose.” Tall, Dark, and Handsome jumps up and shakes my hand. “Felix Sohrabi. And this is Allie—”

“Alex,” his partner interrupts smoothly. “Alex Harper.”

“How many times—” Felix demonstratively cuts himself off, as if he needs a steadying breath. “We can’t just rhyme, Allie—”

“Appointment, you said?” says Alex, drowning him out. “Let me pull up her calendar.”

Felix peers over Alex’s shoulder. “You could do tomorrow at twelve thirty, right after she gets back?”

“That’s her lunch,” Alex says.

“Then what’s the problem?” Felix says. “Because I seem to remember some very pointed comments to me this week about being able to work while you eat—”

Alex waves a