Read Online Even In Darkness--An American Murder Mystery Thriller by Lynn Hightower - Free Book Online Page B

upper lip. ‘You said “shot in the throat”. You’re sure? The FBI, they told you that?’
    â€˜They didn’t have to. I saw it in the pictures.’
    She lifts her head. The pupils of her eyes have gone huge, black holes that crowd the blue irises into the thinnest of circles.
    â€˜Joy. Oh, Joy. I am sorry. I am
sorry.
’
    I don’t want to feel sorry for Marsha, but I can’t help it.
    She grabs my arm with both hands, and her fingernails dig into my forearm. ‘I can’t believe this is happening, I just can’t believe it—’
    Her voice is going up octaves, an opera of distress, and she starts breathing faster and faster.
    â€˜
Marsha.
’ I peel her hands off my arm, see that her nails have left red and purple dents and in two or three places drawn tiny dots of blood. Marsha and her damn claw manicures. I wrap my pink fuzzy throw around her shoulders. ‘Deep breaths,’ I tell her. ‘I’ll be right back.’
    I smell fresh coffee from the kitchen, which makes one less thing I’ll have to do, and I glance back over my shoulder. Marsha’s head touches the tops of her knees, and she has wrapped her arms around herself and is crying softly. Almost, I go to her. Almost, I put my arms around her with real affection.
    And then with a flash of memory comes a sliver of resentment. This is the same Marsha who took me to the ER with a red hot appendix four years ago. The same Marsha who held up my admittance because she wanted to look at the list of ER doctors on duty before she would let them take me away, the same Marsha who sobbed like a baby when I snapped her head off and told her to let it be. The same Marsha, soothed by emergency room nurses and admitting clerks who ran to get her hot coffee and a comfortable place to sit while I writhed in agony. And somehow, as only Marsha can, my cousin had turned my emergency into a personal soap opera, starring none other than poor little Marsha herself, doing her best for her cousin, who rewards her with brutal unkindness and hurts the tender feelings of her heart.
    Right. Coffee. A glass of water. And I’ll be on my way.
    But the phone rings while I’m pouring the coffee, and I wipe my hands on a dishtowel and head for the office extension. Marsha, miraculously on her feet, moves like a racehorse at the starting bell, and she’s picked it up before I’ve taken more than three steps.
    It is a relief to hear how calm her voice is. She’s OK now. One cup of coffee and I’ll go.
    I hear her mutter something, and the clack of her shoes in the hall.
    â€˜Joy?’ she says, appearing around the doorframe.
    I am already shaking my head and mouthing
no
.
    â€˜It was the FBI. They need to talk to you. They want you to go in to their office right now and answer questions. They want you
immediately
– they said it’s urgent.’
    I blow air out of my cheeks, not sure what to do. ‘Are they still on the phone? Are they waiting?’
    She shakes her head. ‘I stalled. I told them you weren’t expected until tonight, and that I’d already tried to get you a little earlier, but that you weren’t answering your cell. I set it up for you to go in first thing in the morning, but they made me promise to try to get you in their office today, if you happened to call and check in.’
    I frown at her, not understanding, and she puts a hand on my arm.
    â€˜Joy, the things they were saying when they talked to me. Earlier, when they came to my house. They asked me for a sample of your handwriting.’
    â€˜Did you give it to them?’
    â€˜Well, sure. Because they said it was to rule you out. But now that I think about it, it worries me. You need to get a lawyer before you talk to them. Don’t go down to that office alone.’

EIGHT
    M y trip to Arkansas is on hold till I talk to the FBI.
    The conference room is too hot. The carpet is thin and grey,