Read Online Patterns in the Sand by Sally Goldenbaum - Free Book Online
Authors: Sally Goldenbaum
Ads: Link
beads of perspiration covered her upper lip. It was time for air.
She looked around the gallery for Ben. Because he was well over six feet, his slightly graying head was easy to spot in a crowd. He was standing in the far corner, his head bent low as he listened attentively to Annabelle Palazola. Annabelle was probably seeking advice on some paperwork for her restauranta conversation Nell knew would go longer than she could bear to be in the overheated gallery.
An open doorway near the back of the gallery offered Nell a getaway and she quickly slipped into the warm night and away from the press of people. A slight breeze lifted the hair from the back of her neck as she walked along the flagstone pathway into Aidans secluded garden.
Ah, she murmured into the breeze, enjoying the reprieve and the instant peace Aidans garden provided.
Low garden lights lit her path and cast shadows from pieces of art nearly hidden in the tall grasses or hanging from a small magnolia tree or Japanese maplea playful ceramic owl, an old clay frog, a string of colorful elves. The cooler air was a welcome relief, and Nell stood still for a moment, adjusting to the darkness and fanning the air with her hand.
It was when Nell sat down on a teak chair near a small fountain that she realized she wasnt alone. Stretched out on the stone bench opposite her, resting in the nights solitude, was a long figure of a man, looking up at the black night.
It was Aidanhed escaped the crowd and the heat. A necessary reprieve.
Thank heavens, Nell thought. He had looked like he was going to collapse inside. She opened her mouth to speak, to greet her friend and apologize for invading his private moment, probably the only one he had had in hours.
And then, just as quickly, Nells mouth snapped closed. She was across the garden in an instant and slipped to her knees beside the still figure. With two fingers pressed against Aidans neck, she lowered her ear to his mouth.
But Nell knew before she ever touched him that his eyes werent seeing the night sky . . . nor was his skin cooled by the slight breeze.
Aidan Peabody was dead.
Chapter 7
I t took less than two days for the autopsy results to be splashed across the front page of the Sea Harbor Gazette .
ARTISTS DEATH RULED A HOMICIDE
A heart attack had been Nells first thought as shed looked down on Aidans still body the night he died. And hed been perspiring and unfocused when they had talked a short time before.
But it didnt take Doc Russo long to discover a stomach filled with pentobarbital mixed with chloral hydrate. Something no sane person would have ingested intentionally. Someone slipped him a Mickey Finn, Doc said sadly. Just like in the movies.
I cant believe Aidan is dead, Cass murmured, her eyes reflecting the groups sadness.
Nell, Izzy, Birdie, and Cass sat together on Coffees patio, leaning over the paper as if the words would suddenly focus into copy that made sense. Not an awful, illogical tale of a friends murder.
We went out a couple times, Cass went on. It didnt sit well with my momshe thought Aidan was too old for me. I think she worried about the number of progeny such a match would bear.
The group mustered smiles at Mary Hallorans continuous attempts to have grandchildren.
There werent any fireworks between us, but we sure liked each other as friends, Cass said. He was a good guy. I just cant get my arms around this.
I cant either. A shiver passed through Nell, and she pulled a half-finished scarf from her bag. Touching the deep blue cashmere yarn and slipping it onto her needle, one stitch after another, somehow brought comfort to Nell, just as the cabled scarf would bring comfort to Ben on a cold Sea Harbor
She looked around the gallery for Ben. Because he was well over six feet, his slightly graying head was easy to spot in a crowd. He was standing in the far corner, his head bent low as he listened attentively to Annabelle Palazola. Annabelle was probably seeking advice on some paperwork for her restauranta conversation Nell knew would go longer than she could bear to be in the overheated gallery.
An open doorway near the back of the gallery offered Nell a getaway and she quickly slipped into the warm night and away from the press of people. A slight breeze lifted the hair from the back of her neck as she walked along the flagstone pathway into Aidans secluded garden.
Ah, she murmured into the breeze, enjoying the reprieve and the instant peace Aidans garden provided.
Low garden lights lit her path and cast shadows from pieces of art nearly hidden in the tall grasses or hanging from a small magnolia tree or Japanese maplea playful ceramic owl, an old clay frog, a string of colorful elves. The cooler air was a welcome relief, and Nell stood still for a moment, adjusting to the darkness and fanning the air with her hand.
It was when Nell sat down on a teak chair near a small fountain that she realized she wasnt alone. Stretched out on the stone bench opposite her, resting in the nights solitude, was a long figure of a man, looking up at the black night.
It was Aidanhed escaped the crowd and the heat. A necessary reprieve.
Thank heavens, Nell thought. He had looked like he was going to collapse inside. She opened her mouth to speak, to greet her friend and apologize for invading his private moment, probably the only one he had had in hours.
And then, just as quickly, Nells mouth snapped closed. She was across the garden in an instant and slipped to her knees beside the still figure. With two fingers pressed against Aidans neck, she lowered her ear to his mouth.
But Nell knew before she ever touched him that his eyes werent seeing the night sky . . . nor was his skin cooled by the slight breeze.
Aidan Peabody was dead.
Chapter 7
I t took less than two days for the autopsy results to be splashed across the front page of the Sea Harbor Gazette .
ARTISTS DEATH RULED A HOMICIDE
A heart attack had been Nells first thought as shed looked down on Aidans still body the night he died. And hed been perspiring and unfocused when they had talked a short time before.
But it didnt take Doc Russo long to discover a stomach filled with pentobarbital mixed with chloral hydrate. Something no sane person would have ingested intentionally. Someone slipped him a Mickey Finn, Doc said sadly. Just like in the movies.
I cant believe Aidan is dead, Cass murmured, her eyes reflecting the groups sadness.
Nell, Izzy, Birdie, and Cass sat together on Coffees patio, leaning over the paper as if the words would suddenly focus into copy that made sense. Not an awful, illogical tale of a friends murder.
We went out a couple times, Cass went on. It didnt sit well with my momshe thought Aidan was too old for me. I think she worried about the number of progeny such a match would bear.
The group mustered smiles at Mary Hallorans continuous attempts to have grandchildren.
There werent any fireworks between us, but we sure liked each other as friends, Cass said. He was a good guy. I just cant get my arms around this.
I cant either. A shiver passed through Nell, and she pulled a half-finished scarf from her bag. Touching the deep blue cashmere yarn and slipping it onto her needle, one stitch after another, somehow brought comfort to Nell, just as the cabled scarf would bring comfort to Ben on a cold Sea Harbor
Similar Books
