Read Online Deadly Valentine by Carolyn G. Hart - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carolyn G. Hart
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shifting shadows. Motionless, she listened hard.
Ragged breathing.
Oh Lord, where was Laurel and what in the hell was going on?
Annie was afraid to go ahead and determined not to go back alone. Was Laurel all right? She cautiously edged ahead. Through the trees, she saw a gleam of light and heard running footsteps.
In a city when frightened, the best course was to make noise. Scream. Blow a horn. Shrill a whistle. Scare off an attacker.
Annie flicked on the flashlight and yelled as loud as she could.
Her first effort came out as a strangled whisper. Heart thudding, she began to wave the light and jump up and down and, finally, she got it out. “Help! Help! HELP!”
As the beam of the light swung back and forth, she saw she’d come much farther in the darkness than she realized. She had reached the end of the forest path where it gave way to the Cahill gardens and their lovely Victorian gazebo. A small shaft of light pointed from the gazebo.
Annie’s light swept over the gazebo steps.
Her shout died in her throat.
Waveringly, Annie brought the beam back to the steps and focused it on the blood-drenched figure crumpled there.
Seven
T HE QUIET WAS ominous, freighted with horror.
Blood glistened obscenely against magnolia-white skin and creamy silk, clung viscously to the diamond-brilliant necklace.
Shakily, Annie took one step forward, then another. She had to see if … But when the light focused fully on that crushed head and what remained of a no longer lovely face, she knew there was no need to hurry. Help would be forever too late for Sydney Cahill.
Shrubbery rustled to her left, toward the lagoon.
Whirling, Annie swung the light in that direction. Was there a darker shadow past that clump of azaleas?
“Who’s there?” Her voice rose in panic.
No answer.
Annie had had enough. Not for her the perilous sleuthing of an Anne Maybury heroine. She bolted toward the path to home, running as fast as she could go.
From the lagoon, she heard a splash.
“Max, wake up! Wake up! Sydney’s dead, and I can’t find Laurel.” She shook him like a terrier with a rat.
He came flailing up from a deep sleep and grabbed her inhis arms. “It’s all right,” he said groggily. “Bad dream. Everything’s all right, Annie. I’m here. Just—”
“Max, listen! Something awful’s happened and Laurel isn’t—”
“Did I hear my name?” Laurel stood in the open doorway to their bedroom.
“Oh my God, I was afraid—” Annie sank to the bed in relief, then looked sharply at her mother-in-law. “Where have you been? What have you been doing?”
Laurel looked fetching in soft pink warm-ups and matching pink sneakers. A few pine needles clung to the jacket. She waggled one hand in a delicate, airy gesture and said vaguely, “So helpful sometimes to walk about. Just to breathe in the night air. And so much warmer here in February than in Connecticut. Though the crunch of icy snow has its own charm. Still, a foray at night there can be too frosty. Here, the night air soothes and refreshes. It doesn’t have noxious fumes, of course. That’s merely an old wives’ tale.”
“Laurel,” Annie cried. “You’ve got to tell us where you’ve been. Someone’s killed Sydney.” She turned anxiously toward Max. “At the gazebo. Someone … We have to call Chief Saulter. Oh God, we’ve got to tell Howard!”
Laurel gasped. “Sydney dead? But she was fine when—” A sorrowful shake of her golden head. “What a tragedy. Poor dear girl. Oh, I must go to Howard.”
“Mother, wait a minute.” Beneath its blond stubble of beard, Max’s face tightened with worry. “Where have you been?”
“Round and about. Hither and yon. But that is of no moment.” She took a deep breath and refused to meet his eyes. “My dear, if what Annie says is true, you are wasting time. You must contact the authorities. And I shall go inform Howard.”
“Oh no,” Max said. “That’s the last thing in the world you should
Ragged breathing.
Oh Lord, where was Laurel and what in the hell was going on?
Annie was afraid to go ahead and determined not to go back alone. Was Laurel all right? She cautiously edged ahead. Through the trees, she saw a gleam of light and heard running footsteps.
In a city when frightened, the best course was to make noise. Scream. Blow a horn. Shrill a whistle. Scare off an attacker.
Annie flicked on the flashlight and yelled as loud as she could.
Her first effort came out as a strangled whisper. Heart thudding, she began to wave the light and jump up and down and, finally, she got it out. “Help! Help! HELP!”
As the beam of the light swung back and forth, she saw she’d come much farther in the darkness than she realized. She had reached the end of the forest path where it gave way to the Cahill gardens and their lovely Victorian gazebo. A small shaft of light pointed from the gazebo.
Annie’s light swept over the gazebo steps.
Her shout died in her throat.
Waveringly, Annie brought the beam back to the steps and focused it on the blood-drenched figure crumpled there.
Seven
T HE QUIET WAS ominous, freighted with horror.
Blood glistened obscenely against magnolia-white skin and creamy silk, clung viscously to the diamond-brilliant necklace.
Shakily, Annie took one step forward, then another. She had to see if … But when the light focused fully on that crushed head and what remained of a no longer lovely face, she knew there was no need to hurry. Help would be forever too late for Sydney Cahill.
Shrubbery rustled to her left, toward the lagoon.
Whirling, Annie swung the light in that direction. Was there a darker shadow past that clump of azaleas?
“Who’s there?” Her voice rose in panic.
No answer.
Annie had had enough. Not for her the perilous sleuthing of an Anne Maybury heroine. She bolted toward the path to home, running as fast as she could go.
From the lagoon, she heard a splash.
“Max, wake up! Wake up! Sydney’s dead, and I can’t find Laurel.” She shook him like a terrier with a rat.
He came flailing up from a deep sleep and grabbed her inhis arms. “It’s all right,” he said groggily. “Bad dream. Everything’s all right, Annie. I’m here. Just—”
“Max, listen! Something awful’s happened and Laurel isn’t—”
“Did I hear my name?” Laurel stood in the open doorway to their bedroom.
“Oh my God, I was afraid—” Annie sank to the bed in relief, then looked sharply at her mother-in-law. “Where have you been? What have you been doing?”
Laurel looked fetching in soft pink warm-ups and matching pink sneakers. A few pine needles clung to the jacket. She waggled one hand in a delicate, airy gesture and said vaguely, “So helpful sometimes to walk about. Just to breathe in the night air. And so much warmer here in February than in Connecticut. Though the crunch of icy snow has its own charm. Still, a foray at night there can be too frosty. Here, the night air soothes and refreshes. It doesn’t have noxious fumes, of course. That’s merely an old wives’ tale.”
“Laurel,” Annie cried. “You’ve got to tell us where you’ve been. Someone’s killed Sydney.” She turned anxiously toward Max. “At the gazebo. Someone … We have to call Chief Saulter. Oh God, we’ve got to tell Howard!”
Laurel gasped. “Sydney dead? But she was fine when—” A sorrowful shake of her golden head. “What a tragedy. Poor dear girl. Oh, I must go to Howard.”
“Mother, wait a minute.” Beneath its blond stubble of beard, Max’s face tightened with worry. “Where have you been?”
“Round and about. Hither and yon. But that is of no moment.” She took a deep breath and refused to meet his eyes. “My dear, if what Annie says is true, you are wasting time. You must contact the authorities. And I shall go inform Howard.”
“Oh no,” Max said. “That’s the last thing in the world you should
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