Read Online Death by Surprise (Carolyn Hart Classics) by Carolyn Hart - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carolyn Hart
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out onto the front lawn to climb the huge sycamore that shaded the drive.
We couldn’t see the window where we had tied the rope. It was on the west side of the house.
I was midway up the sycamore when I saw Rafael, the yard man, waving his arms and running toward the side of the house. It was such an odd sight, so unexpected, that I hung there openmouthed. Rafael never ran. He always moved slowly. Amanda said he had molasses in his bones.
Then the high shriek came.
I knew.
I clung to the rough bole of the sycamore, pushed my face against the bark until it hurt, and tried not to hear the trailing cry and the heavy thud.
Kenneth slid down the tree first and began to run.
I came, too, of course, and hung on the outskirts of the gathering circle and saw my little sister lying among the thick stems of the irises, one leg bent awkwardly beneath her.
It was the irises, they said later, that saved her life, cushioning her impact. They said it was a miracle, to fall three stories and suffer only a broken leg.
After the ambulance carrying Sheila and Mother left, Kenneth and I huddled in the shade at the side of the house. It was almost evening when my father came looking for us. We didn’t know then what had happened to Sheila. We didn’t know if she was going to live. That was what we thought, all that long afternoon, that we had killed Sheila. When my father found us, he understood. He consoled us and said she was going to be all right, that she had only a broken leg.
My mother came upon us then, angry and vengeful.
“If your sister’s leg doesn’t heal, if she always walks with a limp, well, we will know who is to blame, won’t we, K.C.?”
I stood there with a stolid look on my face.
My father interrupted sharply, “Grace, that’s enough. The children are upset as it is. They didn’t intend for anyone to be hurt. And think of this, both K.C. and Kenneth are bigger and heavier than Sheila. If either of them had tried to go down the rope, it would have torn loose much sooner and we might have lost them.”
“If Sheila is crippled . . .” Mother began.
That was all that mattered to her. Just Sheila. She wouldn’t have cared if it had been Kenneth or me.
“Sheila is not going to be crippled,” my father said angrily. Then he turned to me and Kenneth. “It’s all right, children. Everything is all right.”
I remembered that afternoon with crystal clarity, the heavy stillness about the house as we waited and the look of dread and despair in Kenneth’s eyes.
It was the same look he had tonight as we all sat around the damask-covered table, talking lightly and inconsequentially.
A desperate haunted look.
Megan was aware of it. I saw her glance at him several times, quick worried looks.
After my talk with Priscilla, when I promised to vote as she wished, I had decided that Kenneth had agreed to the meeting to help his sister.
I couldn’t imagine that Kenneth had ever done anything Francine Boutelle could exploit. Now I wasn’t sure.
Travis, of course, hadn’t missed any of it, Kenneth’s demeanor, Megan’s worry. He said to me softly, “Hey, what’s eating little Sir Lancelot?”
I was surprised at my twinge of irritation. But I just shrugged and said, “Who knows?”
I deliberately turned away from Travis and began to talk to Lorraine.
Lorraine complained for a while about the smog in LA, the insolence of stewardesses, and the probable contamination of shellfish off San Francisco. Then, I suppose in an attempt at some social grace, she asked, “Are you enjoying your practice?”
“Yes, I really am. Though, as with most lawyers, it’s either feast or famine, and, right now, I have way too much to do.”
Lorraine frowned, thinking, I suppose, that if I organized well, anything could be managed.
“Do you do criminal work?”
“Some. Not a lot. I take anything that walks through the door,” and smiled.
Lorraine didn’t smile in return. “I wouldn’t do criminal work if I were a
We couldn’t see the window where we had tied the rope. It was on the west side of the house.
I was midway up the sycamore when I saw Rafael, the yard man, waving his arms and running toward the side of the house. It was such an odd sight, so unexpected, that I hung there openmouthed. Rafael never ran. He always moved slowly. Amanda said he had molasses in his bones.
Then the high shriek came.
I knew.
I clung to the rough bole of the sycamore, pushed my face against the bark until it hurt, and tried not to hear the trailing cry and the heavy thud.
Kenneth slid down the tree first and began to run.
I came, too, of course, and hung on the outskirts of the gathering circle and saw my little sister lying among the thick stems of the irises, one leg bent awkwardly beneath her.
It was the irises, they said later, that saved her life, cushioning her impact. They said it was a miracle, to fall three stories and suffer only a broken leg.
After the ambulance carrying Sheila and Mother left, Kenneth and I huddled in the shade at the side of the house. It was almost evening when my father came looking for us. We didn’t know then what had happened to Sheila. We didn’t know if she was going to live. That was what we thought, all that long afternoon, that we had killed Sheila. When my father found us, he understood. He consoled us and said she was going to be all right, that she had only a broken leg.
My mother came upon us then, angry and vengeful.
“If your sister’s leg doesn’t heal, if she always walks with a limp, well, we will know who is to blame, won’t we, K.C.?”
I stood there with a stolid look on my face.
My father interrupted sharply, “Grace, that’s enough. The children are upset as it is. They didn’t intend for anyone to be hurt. And think of this, both K.C. and Kenneth are bigger and heavier than Sheila. If either of them had tried to go down the rope, it would have torn loose much sooner and we might have lost them.”
“If Sheila is crippled . . .” Mother began.
That was all that mattered to her. Just Sheila. She wouldn’t have cared if it had been Kenneth or me.
“Sheila is not going to be crippled,” my father said angrily. Then he turned to me and Kenneth. “It’s all right, children. Everything is all right.”
I remembered that afternoon with crystal clarity, the heavy stillness about the house as we waited and the look of dread and despair in Kenneth’s eyes.
It was the same look he had tonight as we all sat around the damask-covered table, talking lightly and inconsequentially.
A desperate haunted look.
Megan was aware of it. I saw her glance at him several times, quick worried looks.
After my talk with Priscilla, when I promised to vote as she wished, I had decided that Kenneth had agreed to the meeting to help his sister.
I couldn’t imagine that Kenneth had ever done anything Francine Boutelle could exploit. Now I wasn’t sure.
Travis, of course, hadn’t missed any of it, Kenneth’s demeanor, Megan’s worry. He said to me softly, “Hey, what’s eating little Sir Lancelot?”
I was surprised at my twinge of irritation. But I just shrugged and said, “Who knows?”
I deliberately turned away from Travis and began to talk to Lorraine.
Lorraine complained for a while about the smog in LA, the insolence of stewardesses, and the probable contamination of shellfish off San Francisco. Then, I suppose in an attempt at some social grace, she asked, “Are you enjoying your practice?”
“Yes, I really am. Though, as with most lawyers, it’s either feast or famine, and, right now, I have way too much to do.”
Lorraine frowned, thinking, I suppose, that if I organized well, anything could be managed.
“Do you do criminal work?”
“Some. Not a lot. I take anything that walks through the door,” and smiled.
Lorraine didn’t smile in return. “I wouldn’t do criminal work if I were a
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