Read Online Just One Look by Harlan Coben - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Harlan Coben
Tags: Fiction, General, thriller, Suspense, Psychological, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Suspense fiction, Domestic Fiction, Missing Persons, Suspense Fiction; American, Married Women, Suburban Life, Domestic fiction; American, Identity (Psychology), Photographs, Runaway husbands
Ads: Link
eyes closed. She should have known.
The television. Freddy had turned on the television.
He was home.
Charlaine stood without moving. She didn’t know how she felt anymore. The numb was back. Her son Clay liked to play a song from the
Shrek
movie about a guy forming an L with his fingers on his forehead. Loser. That was Freddy Sykes. And now Freddy, this scuzzy creepazoid, this Loser with a finger-capital L, would rather watch television than her lingerie-clad body.
Something was still strange.
All those shades pulled down. Why? She had lived next to the Sykes house for eight years. Even when Freddy’s mother was alive, the shades were never pulled down, the curtains never closed. Charlaine took another look through her binoculars.
The television flicked off.
She stopped, waiting for something to happen. Freddy had lost track of the time, she thought. The shade would open now. They would begin their perverted ritual.
But that’s not what happened.
Charlaine heard the slight whir and knew immediately what it was. Freddy’s electric garage door had been activated.
She moved closer to the window. There was the sound of a car starting up, and then Freddy’s hunk-of-junk Honda pulled out. Sunlight reflected off the windshield. The glare made her squint. She blocked it by cupping her hand above her eyes.
The car moved and the glare cleared. She could now see who was driving.
It wasn’t Freddy.
Something, something base and primitive, commanded Charlaine to duck out of sight. She did. She dropped down and crawled for the robe. She pressed the terrycloth against herself. The smell-that combination of Mike and stale cologne-now seemed oddly comforting.
Charlaine moved toward the side of the window. She pressed her back against the wall and peaked out.
The Honda Accord had stopped. The driver-the Asian man behind the wheel-was staring at her window.
Charlaine quickly flattened herself back against the wall. She stayed still, holding her breath. She stayed that way until she heard the car start moving again. And then, just to be on the safe side, she stayed down another ten minutes.
When she looked again, the car was gone.
The house next door was still.
chapter 7
At exactly 10:15 A.M., Grace arrived at the Photomat.
Josh the Fuzz Pellet was not there. As a matter of fact, nobody was there. The sign in the store window, probably left from the night before, read CLOSED.
She checked the printed hours. Opens at 10 A.M. She waited. At ten-twenty, the first customer, a harried woman in her mid-thirties, spotted the CLOSED sign, read the hours, tried the door. She sighed in high drama. Grace gave her a commiserating shrug. The woman huffed off. Grace waited.
When the store had still not opened at 10:30 A.M., Grace knew that it was bad. She decided to try Jack’s office again. His line kept going into voice mail-eerie hearing Jack’s too-formal recorded voice-so she tried Dan’s line this time. The two men had, after all, spoken last night. Maybe Dan could offer a clue.
She dialed his work number.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Dan, it’s Grace.”
“Hey!” he said with a tad too much enthusiasm. “I was just about to call you.”
“Oh?”
“Where’s Jack?”
“I don’t know.”
He hesitated. “When you say you don’t know-”
“You called him last night, right?”
“Yes.”
“What did you two talk about?”
“We’re supposed to be making a presentation this afternoon. On the Phenomytol studies.”
“Anything else?”
“What do you mean, anything else? Like what?”
“Like what else did you talk about?”
“Nothing. I wanted to ask him about a PowerPoint slide. Why? What’s going on, Grace?”
“He went out after that.”
“Right, so?”
“I haven’t seen him since.”
“Wait, when you say you haven’t seen him…?”
“I mean, he hasn’t come home, he hasn’t called, I have no idea where he is.”
“Jesus, did you call the police?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And
The television. Freddy had turned on the television.
He was home.
Charlaine stood without moving. She didn’t know how she felt anymore. The numb was back. Her son Clay liked to play a song from the
Shrek
movie about a guy forming an L with his fingers on his forehead. Loser. That was Freddy Sykes. And now Freddy, this scuzzy creepazoid, this Loser with a finger-capital L, would rather watch television than her lingerie-clad body.
Something was still strange.
All those shades pulled down. Why? She had lived next to the Sykes house for eight years. Even when Freddy’s mother was alive, the shades were never pulled down, the curtains never closed. Charlaine took another look through her binoculars.
The television flicked off.
She stopped, waiting for something to happen. Freddy had lost track of the time, she thought. The shade would open now. They would begin their perverted ritual.
But that’s not what happened.
Charlaine heard the slight whir and knew immediately what it was. Freddy’s electric garage door had been activated.
She moved closer to the window. There was the sound of a car starting up, and then Freddy’s hunk-of-junk Honda pulled out. Sunlight reflected off the windshield. The glare made her squint. She blocked it by cupping her hand above her eyes.
The car moved and the glare cleared. She could now see who was driving.
It wasn’t Freddy.
Something, something base and primitive, commanded Charlaine to duck out of sight. She did. She dropped down and crawled for the robe. She pressed the terrycloth against herself. The smell-that combination of Mike and stale cologne-now seemed oddly comforting.
Charlaine moved toward the side of the window. She pressed her back against the wall and peaked out.
The Honda Accord had stopped. The driver-the Asian man behind the wheel-was staring at her window.
Charlaine quickly flattened herself back against the wall. She stayed still, holding her breath. She stayed that way until she heard the car start moving again. And then, just to be on the safe side, she stayed down another ten minutes.
When she looked again, the car was gone.
The house next door was still.
chapter 7
At exactly 10:15 A.M., Grace arrived at the Photomat.
Josh the Fuzz Pellet was not there. As a matter of fact, nobody was there. The sign in the store window, probably left from the night before, read CLOSED.
She checked the printed hours. Opens at 10 A.M. She waited. At ten-twenty, the first customer, a harried woman in her mid-thirties, spotted the CLOSED sign, read the hours, tried the door. She sighed in high drama. Grace gave her a commiserating shrug. The woman huffed off. Grace waited.
When the store had still not opened at 10:30 A.M., Grace knew that it was bad. She decided to try Jack’s office again. His line kept going into voice mail-eerie hearing Jack’s too-formal recorded voice-so she tried Dan’s line this time. The two men had, after all, spoken last night. Maybe Dan could offer a clue.
She dialed his work number.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Dan, it’s Grace.”
“Hey!” he said with a tad too much enthusiasm. “I was just about to call you.”
“Oh?”
“Where’s Jack?”
“I don’t know.”
He hesitated. “When you say you don’t know-”
“You called him last night, right?”
“Yes.”
“What did you two talk about?”
“We’re supposed to be making a presentation this afternoon. On the Phenomytol studies.”
“Anything else?”
“What do you mean, anything else? Like what?”
“Like what else did you talk about?”
“Nothing. I wanted to ask him about a PowerPoint slide. Why? What’s going on, Grace?”
“He went out after that.”
“Right, so?”
“I haven’t seen him since.”
“Wait, when you say you haven’t seen him…?”
“I mean, he hasn’t come home, he hasn’t called, I have no idea where he is.”
“Jesus, did you call the police?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And
Similar Books
