Read Online Born Innocent by Christine Rimmer - Free Book Online
Authors: Christine Rimmer
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sucked the bubble she’d been blowing back into her mouth and stood up. “Nah, I don’t mind. Let’s go.”
Claire left the lobby open, and they went out the back way, through her apartment and across the thick lawn that was still damp from its morning watering. Amelia walked slightly behind, cracking her gum all the way.
“ Hey, look at that,” Amelia said when they reached the short steps that led up to the bungalow’s miniature porch. “The door’s open a crack. You think maybe he’s gone?”
Claire shook her head. “His car’s still there.” She pointed at the silver Mercedes parked on Pine Court, the street that ran behind the bungalow.
Claire mounted the steps. “Alan? Mr. Henson?”
Henson gave no answer. So Claire squared her shoulders and marched up to the door. She knocked, an awkward knock, since she was trying not to push the door open at the same time.
And then she realized that all this hesitancy was getting her nowhere. If he was in there, he was hiding, and if he was hiding she was going to have to do more than tap politely and wait until he felt like answering.
She laid her palm on the door and gave it a push. It slid open on silent hinges.
“ Mr. Henson!” she called.
But then she realized that calling would do no good, because Alan Henson couldn’t hear her. He was lying on his side on the floor over by the credenza. He was utterly still. And the dark stain that had ruined the braided rug beneath him looked very much like drying blood.
Chapter Five
Amelia started shrieking. “Omigod! Oh, gross! He’s dead!”
Claire tuned her out. Slowly, pressing back the eerie feeling of unreality that seemed to have settled over the whole world like a shroud, Claire stepped through the open door.
“ Claire! Don’t go in there! Oh, God. Somebody killed him!”
Ignoring Amelia’s babbled pleas, Claire approached the still figure. She bent, and laid two fingers on his neck. The skin was cool but not cold. Against the pads of her fingers, she felt the faintest fluttering.
She looked up through the doorway at Amelia, who’d stopped squawking and was now simply staring, making little whimpering noises, her mouth half open, the pink wad of gum forgotten on her tongue.
“ I think he’s still alive,” Claire said.
But this was all too much for Amelia, who only stared uncomprehending, shaking her head.
Claire stood up again. “Come on, we have to get the ambulance.” She started to reach for the phone, and then realized there was no one at the desk to channel the call. So she rushed out, around the still-staring Amelia, and flew down the steps and across the grass.
She was in the lobby within seconds, calling 9-1-1.
The ambulance was there in minutes. And Sheriff Brawley arrived a few minutes after that.
Four hours later Alan Henson was in the hospital in Grass Valley, fifty miles away. He was alive, but still unconscious.
Sheriff Brawley, who had taken a statement from Claire right away, knocked on the back door of her cottage at a little after four and said he needed to ask her “just a few more questions.”
Claire’s mother was there by then. She had hurried right over as soon as she’d heard the awful news from Dinah Richter, who had heard it from Lolly Beals over at the grocery store, who had heard it from a number of reliable sources. Truth to tell, the whole town was abuzz.
Claire had no doubt that by the time Sheriff Brawley asked her for a second interview, there wasn’t a soul in Pine Bluff who didn’t know about the horrible thing that had happened at Snow’s Inn.
And now they had more questions for her. Claire said, “ Of course, anything you need to know,” and Sheriff Dan said he would be right back. For this interview, there would be two police officers present, himself and his undersheriff, Wayne Leven.
At about four-twenty, Sheriff Brawley and Undersheriff Wayne Leven arrived together at Claire’s back door. Claire showed them to the living
Claire left the lobby open, and they went out the back way, through her apartment and across the thick lawn that was still damp from its morning watering. Amelia walked slightly behind, cracking her gum all the way.
“ Hey, look at that,” Amelia said when they reached the short steps that led up to the bungalow’s miniature porch. “The door’s open a crack. You think maybe he’s gone?”
Claire shook her head. “His car’s still there.” She pointed at the silver Mercedes parked on Pine Court, the street that ran behind the bungalow.
Claire mounted the steps. “Alan? Mr. Henson?”
Henson gave no answer. So Claire squared her shoulders and marched up to the door. She knocked, an awkward knock, since she was trying not to push the door open at the same time.
And then she realized that all this hesitancy was getting her nowhere. If he was in there, he was hiding, and if he was hiding she was going to have to do more than tap politely and wait until he felt like answering.
She laid her palm on the door and gave it a push. It slid open on silent hinges.
“ Mr. Henson!” she called.
But then she realized that calling would do no good, because Alan Henson couldn’t hear her. He was lying on his side on the floor over by the credenza. He was utterly still. And the dark stain that had ruined the braided rug beneath him looked very much like drying blood.
Chapter Five
Amelia started shrieking. “Omigod! Oh, gross! He’s dead!”
Claire tuned her out. Slowly, pressing back the eerie feeling of unreality that seemed to have settled over the whole world like a shroud, Claire stepped through the open door.
“ Claire! Don’t go in there! Oh, God. Somebody killed him!”
Ignoring Amelia’s babbled pleas, Claire approached the still figure. She bent, and laid two fingers on his neck. The skin was cool but not cold. Against the pads of her fingers, she felt the faintest fluttering.
She looked up through the doorway at Amelia, who’d stopped squawking and was now simply staring, making little whimpering noises, her mouth half open, the pink wad of gum forgotten on her tongue.
“ I think he’s still alive,” Claire said.
But this was all too much for Amelia, who only stared uncomprehending, shaking her head.
Claire stood up again. “Come on, we have to get the ambulance.” She started to reach for the phone, and then realized there was no one at the desk to channel the call. So she rushed out, around the still-staring Amelia, and flew down the steps and across the grass.
She was in the lobby within seconds, calling 9-1-1.
The ambulance was there in minutes. And Sheriff Brawley arrived a few minutes after that.
Four hours later Alan Henson was in the hospital in Grass Valley, fifty miles away. He was alive, but still unconscious.
Sheriff Brawley, who had taken a statement from Claire right away, knocked on the back door of her cottage at a little after four and said he needed to ask her “just a few more questions.”
Claire’s mother was there by then. She had hurried right over as soon as she’d heard the awful news from Dinah Richter, who had heard it from Lolly Beals over at the grocery store, who had heard it from a number of reliable sources. Truth to tell, the whole town was abuzz.
Claire had no doubt that by the time Sheriff Brawley asked her for a second interview, there wasn’t a soul in Pine Bluff who didn’t know about the horrible thing that had happened at Snow’s Inn.
And now they had more questions for her. Claire said, “ Of course, anything you need to know,” and Sheriff Dan said he would be right back. For this interview, there would be two police officers present, himself and his undersheriff, Wayne Leven.
At about four-twenty, Sheriff Brawley and Undersheriff Wayne Leven arrived together at Claire’s back door. Claire showed them to the living
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