Read Online Don't Close Your Eyes by Carlene Thompson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Carlene Thompson
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recent stroke that had left him partially paralyzed and emotionally stunned. Her parents had left her alone to read, watch television (anything except Street Life), and to wander around the six acres of manicured grounds surrounding the white-columned house Max had modeled on Tara in Gone With the Wind. After a couple of months, when her depression didn’t lift, she’d decided to seek professional help in the form of Dr. Warren Hunt.
Four weeks later their affair had begun and she’d wanted him as badly as she’d once wanted Paul Fiori. True, he wasn’t as handsome and charismatic as Paul, but he was much brighter, far more educated, and absolutely adored her. And, oh, how her battered ego wanted his adoration after Paul’s devastating rejection. Wanted, needed, hungered. The only thing standing between them was Warren’s vapid little wife Tamara.
Charlotte wandered over to her vanity table and sat down, gazing into the large mirror. Charlotte knew she wasn’t a classic beauty, but she was striking. Sunlight poured through the west window picking up the copper highlights in her short, sleek chestnut hair. When she blinked, long lashes swept over her gold-flecked green eyes and her skin shone like fine porcelain in the strong natural light. She didn’t look thirty. She didn’t look a day older than Paul’s twenty one year old silicone-and-bleach creation Larissa. Well, not much older. And she certainly looked better than Tamara, who didn’t even try to be stylish like her twin sister Lily. Of course Lily was no threat. Warren didn’t like her. She didn’t think he really liked Tamara, either. It was only guilt that held him to her—guilt and fear of the fallout from a divorce.
Warren worried about what scandal would do to his reputation in a town of twenty thousand people. But as soon as he got his divorce, Charlotte knew she could convince him to move somewhere more cosmopolitan where they both
could shine. New York City would be nice. Expensive, yes, but her father was dying and she knew he intended to leave his fortune in her hands, not his wife’s. Muriel didn’t even like to write checks. She could never handle Bishop Corporation. Charlotte, on the other hand, had a brilliant business mind and could run the company from far away. Yes, New York City would be very nice. An apartment in Manhattan, a second home in the Hamptons …
Someone tapped at her door. “Come in,” she called absently.
In a moment her mother’s small, white face appeared. Muriel Bishop always looked slightly anxious, vaguely worried, but at the moment she appeared positively terrified. “Honey, that nice deputy Ted Hysell from the sheriff’s office called,” she said tremulously. “He thought your daddy would want to know …”
After years of living with the impatient Max, who interrupted constantly, Muriel finished only half of her sentences. The others trailed off into fluttering uncertainty.
“Daddy would want to know what, Mother?” Charlotte asked, picking up a silver-backed brush and fluffing her glossy hair.
“You won’t believe this. I can hardly take it in myself. I mean, such a terrible thing … It really makes you wonder … I want to believe in God, but when something-like this happens …”
“Mother, what is it?”
Muriel’s hand touched her throat, then her trembling lips. She looked like she was going to cry. “It’s that pretty Tamara Hunt, your doctor’s wife … She’s dead.”
Charlotte’s brush stopped in mid-stroke. She met her own gaze in the mirror and hoped her mother didn’t see the satisfaction in the green depths of her eyes.
Deputy Ted Hysell waited for a relatively private moment, then called his girlfriend, Dee Fisher. She picked up on the fifth ring.
“What were you doing?” he asked.
“Taking care of Ma, what else? I wish I could afford to put her in a nursing home.”
“You’re a nurse.”
“Was. Thanks to Andrew St. John, my illustrious career ended
Four weeks later their affair had begun and she’d wanted him as badly as she’d once wanted Paul Fiori. True, he wasn’t as handsome and charismatic as Paul, but he was much brighter, far more educated, and absolutely adored her. And, oh, how her battered ego wanted his adoration after Paul’s devastating rejection. Wanted, needed, hungered. The only thing standing between them was Warren’s vapid little wife Tamara.
Charlotte wandered over to her vanity table and sat down, gazing into the large mirror. Charlotte knew she wasn’t a classic beauty, but she was striking. Sunlight poured through the west window picking up the copper highlights in her short, sleek chestnut hair. When she blinked, long lashes swept over her gold-flecked green eyes and her skin shone like fine porcelain in the strong natural light. She didn’t look thirty. She didn’t look a day older than Paul’s twenty one year old silicone-and-bleach creation Larissa. Well, not much older. And she certainly looked better than Tamara, who didn’t even try to be stylish like her twin sister Lily. Of course Lily was no threat. Warren didn’t like her. She didn’t think he really liked Tamara, either. It was only guilt that held him to her—guilt and fear of the fallout from a divorce.
Warren worried about what scandal would do to his reputation in a town of twenty thousand people. But as soon as he got his divorce, Charlotte knew she could convince him to move somewhere more cosmopolitan where they both
could shine. New York City would be nice. Expensive, yes, but her father was dying and she knew he intended to leave his fortune in her hands, not his wife’s. Muriel didn’t even like to write checks. She could never handle Bishop Corporation. Charlotte, on the other hand, had a brilliant business mind and could run the company from far away. Yes, New York City would be very nice. An apartment in Manhattan, a second home in the Hamptons …
Someone tapped at her door. “Come in,” she called absently.
In a moment her mother’s small, white face appeared. Muriel Bishop always looked slightly anxious, vaguely worried, but at the moment she appeared positively terrified. “Honey, that nice deputy Ted Hysell from the sheriff’s office called,” she said tremulously. “He thought your daddy would want to know …”
After years of living with the impatient Max, who interrupted constantly, Muriel finished only half of her sentences. The others trailed off into fluttering uncertainty.
“Daddy would want to know what, Mother?” Charlotte asked, picking up a silver-backed brush and fluffing her glossy hair.
“You won’t believe this. I can hardly take it in myself. I mean, such a terrible thing … It really makes you wonder … I want to believe in God, but when something-like this happens …”
“Mother, what is it?”
Muriel’s hand touched her throat, then her trembling lips. She looked like she was going to cry. “It’s that pretty Tamara Hunt, your doctor’s wife … She’s dead.”
Charlotte’s brush stopped in mid-stroke. She met her own gaze in the mirror and hoped her mother didn’t see the satisfaction in the green depths of her eyes.
Deputy Ted Hysell waited for a relatively private moment, then called his girlfriend, Dee Fisher. She picked up on the fifth ring.
“What were you doing?” he asked.
“Taking care of Ma, what else? I wish I could afford to put her in a nursing home.”
“You’re a nurse.”
“Was. Thanks to Andrew St. John, my illustrious career ended
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