Read Online One Door From Heaven by Dean Koontz - Free Book Online
Authors: Dean Koontz
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strictly as a matter of principle. Born to wealth and blessed with great beauty, she would skate through life with a smile, warm in even the most bitter wind, describing graceful arabesques upon her flashing blades, while all around her people perished in the cold and fell through the ice that, though solid under her, was treacherously thin for them.
By the time Mrs. Sharmer had left his office at the end of that first meeting, Noah's determination to dislike her had given way to admiration. She wore her beauty with humility, but more impressively, she kept her pedigree in her purse and never flashed it, as did so many others of her economic station.
At forty, she was only seven years older than Noah. Another Woman this beautiful would inspire his sexual interest-even an octogenarian kept youthful by a vile diet of monkey glands. By this third meeting, however, he regarded her as he might have regarded a sister: with the desire only to protect her and earn her approval.
She quieted the cynic in him, and he liked this inner hush, which lie hadn't known for many years.
When she arrived at the open door of the presidential suite where Noah stood, she offered her hand; if younger and more foolish, he might have kissed it. Instead, they shook. Her grip was firm.
Her voice wasn't full of money, no disdain or evidence of tutor-shaped enunciation, but rich with quiet self-possession and faraway music. "How are you this evening, Mr. Farrel?"
"Just wondering how I ever took pleasure in this line of work."
"The cloak-and-dagger aspect ought to be fun, and the sleuthing. I've always loved the Rex Stout mysteries."
"Yeah, but it never quite makes up for always being the bearer of had news." He stepped back from the door to let her enter.
The presidential suite was hers, not because she had booked the use of it, but because she owned the hotel. She was directly engaged in all her business enterprises; if her husband were having her followed, this early-evening visit wouldn't raise his suspicions.
"Is bad news what you always bring?" she asked as Noah closed the door and followed her into the suite.
"Often enough that it seems like always."
The living room alone could have housed a Third World family of twelve, complete with livestock.
"Then why not do something else?" she asked.
"They'll never let me be a cop again, but my mind doesn't have a reset button. If I can't be a cop, I'll be a make-believe cop, like what I am now, and if someday I can't do this Well, then,.."
When he trailed off, she finished for him: "Then screw it."
Noah smiled. This was one reason he liked her. Class and style without pretension. "Exactly."
The suite featured contemporary decor. The honey-toned, bird's-eye maple entertainment center, with ebony accents, was a modified obelisk, not gracefully tapered like a standard obelisk, but of chunky proportions. The open doors revealed a large TV screen.
Instead of seeking chairs, they remained standing for the show.
A single lamp glowed. Like a jury of ghosts, ranks of shadows gathered in the room.
Earlier Noah had loaded the tape in the VCR. Now he pushed PLAY on the remote control.
On screen: the residential street in Anaheim. The camera tilted down from a height, focusing on the house of the congressman's lover.
"That's a severe angle," Mrs. Sharmer said. "Where were you?"
"I'm not shooting this. My associate is at an attic window of the place across the street. We made financial arrangements with the owner. It's item number seven on your final bill."
The camera pulled back and angled down even more severely to reveal Noah's Chevrolet parked at the curb: battered but beloved steed, still ready to race when this had been shot, subsequently rendered into spare parts by a machine knacker.
"That's my
By the time Mrs. Sharmer had left his office at the end of that first meeting, Noah's determination to dislike her had given way to admiration. She wore her beauty with humility, but more impressively, she kept her pedigree in her purse and never flashed it, as did so many others of her economic station.
At forty, she was only seven years older than Noah. Another Woman this beautiful would inspire his sexual interest-even an octogenarian kept youthful by a vile diet of monkey glands. By this third meeting, however, he regarded her as he might have regarded a sister: with the desire only to protect her and earn her approval.
She quieted the cynic in him, and he liked this inner hush, which lie hadn't known for many years.
When she arrived at the open door of the presidential suite where Noah stood, she offered her hand; if younger and more foolish, he might have kissed it. Instead, they shook. Her grip was firm.
Her voice wasn't full of money, no disdain or evidence of tutor-shaped enunciation, but rich with quiet self-possession and faraway music. "How are you this evening, Mr. Farrel?"
"Just wondering how I ever took pleasure in this line of work."
"The cloak-and-dagger aspect ought to be fun, and the sleuthing. I've always loved the Rex Stout mysteries."
"Yeah, but it never quite makes up for always being the bearer of had news." He stepped back from the door to let her enter.
The presidential suite was hers, not because she had booked the use of it, but because she owned the hotel. She was directly engaged in all her business enterprises; if her husband were having her followed, this early-evening visit wouldn't raise his suspicions.
"Is bad news what you always bring?" she asked as Noah closed the door and followed her into the suite.
"Often enough that it seems like always."
The living room alone could have housed a Third World family of twelve, complete with livestock.
"Then why not do something else?" she asked.
"They'll never let me be a cop again, but my mind doesn't have a reset button. If I can't be a cop, I'll be a make-believe cop, like what I am now, and if someday I can't do this Well, then,.."
When he trailed off, she finished for him: "Then screw it."
Noah smiled. This was one reason he liked her. Class and style without pretension. "Exactly."
The suite featured contemporary decor. The honey-toned, bird's-eye maple entertainment center, with ebony accents, was a modified obelisk, not gracefully tapered like a standard obelisk, but of chunky proportions. The open doors revealed a large TV screen.
Instead of seeking chairs, they remained standing for the show.
A single lamp glowed. Like a jury of ghosts, ranks of shadows gathered in the room.
Earlier Noah had loaded the tape in the VCR. Now he pushed PLAY on the remote control.
On screen: the residential street in Anaheim. The camera tilted down from a height, focusing on the house of the congressman's lover.
"That's a severe angle," Mrs. Sharmer said. "Where were you?"
"I'm not shooting this. My associate is at an attic window of the place across the street. We made financial arrangements with the owner. It's item number seven on your final bill."
The camera pulled back and angled down even more severely to reveal Noah's Chevrolet parked at the curb: battered but beloved steed, still ready to race when this had been shot, subsequently rendered into spare parts by a machine knacker.
"That's my
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