Read Online Dream Man by Linda Howard - Free Book Online Page A

already been out questioning her neighbors; she wouldn’t have expected him to do otherwise. He had made it plain this morning that he was very suspicious of her.
    Despite what he had said, when she opened the trunk he plucked all four bags of groceries out, clutching two in each hand. “After you,” he said politely.
    She shrugged; if he was willing to carry her groceries, she was willing to let him. She unlocked the front door and held it open for him, then followed him inside and directed him back to the kitchen, where he placed the bags on the table.
    “Thank you,” she said.
    “Why say thank you now, when you didn’t before?”
    She lifted her brows. “You told me not to.” She began putting the groceries away. “What’s on your mind, Detec-tive?”
    “Murder.”
    The circumstances of Nadine Vinick’s death weren’t something she could be flippant about. Strain tightened her face as she said simply, “Mine, too.” Her eyes were wide and haunted. He leaned against the cabinet, eyeing her thoughtfully as she moved about the kitchen, bending to stow this item here, stretching to put another on a top shelf. He hadn’t missed the strain in her expression. He looked around. He liked the kitchen, which was a rather unsettling thought; whatever he had expected the interior of her house to be like, this soothing coziness wasn’t it. His own kitchen was strictly utilitarian; Trammell’s was the latest in high tech, totally intimidating. Marlie Keen’s kitchen was comforting. Rows of herbs in small pots grew in a rack in the window over the sink, giving the air a fresh scent. The tile under his feet was a creamy white, with patterns of soft blues and greens. The open shutters over the windows were painted the same soft blue. A white ceiling fan was positioned over the table.
    “Did you find out anything interesting about me today?” she asked, keeping her back turned to him as she placed canned goods on a shelf.
    He didn’t reply, just broodingly watched her. He wasn’t about to keep her informed of his progress, or lack of it.
    “Let me tell you,” she offered lightly. “Today you found that I’ve never been arrested, never had a traffic ticket, and that to the best of my neighbors’ knowledge, I don’t date or have anyone over. I pay my bills on time, don’t use credit cards, and don’t have any books overdue at the library, though I would have if I hadn’t returned those today.”
    “Why don’t you tell me again about Friday night,” he said. His tone was sharp. She had neatly outlined his day, and he didn’t like it. The anger that had simmered in him all day was under control, but just barely. The lady definitely put his back up.
    He could see her shoulders tense. “What part didn’t you understand?”
    “I’d like to hear it all. Humor me. Just start at the beginning.”
    She turned around, and she was as pale as she had been that morning, when she had related the story for the first time. Her hands, he noticed, were knotted into fists at her sides.
    “Does it bother you to talk about it?” he asked coolly. He hoped it did. If her conscience was bothering her, maybe she’d spill her guts. It had happened before, though usually it was sheer stupidity and a perverted sort of pride that led the perp into confession.
    “Of course. Doesn’t it bother you to hear about it?”
    “Seeing it was a lot worse.”
    “I know,” she murmured, and for a moment the expres-sion in her eyes was unguarded. There was pain in those dark blue depths, and anger, but most of all he saw a desolation that punched him square in the chest.
    He had to clench his own hands, to prevent himself from reaching out to support her. Suddenly she looked so frail, as if she might faint. And maybe she was just a damn good actress, he grimly reminded himself, pushing away the unwanted and uncharacteristic concern for a suspect. “Tell me about Friday night,” he said. “What did you say you were doing?”
    “I went