Read Online Proposal by Meg Cabot - Free Book Online

hear one another over the sound of the pounding rain on the roof, the roar of the surf beyond the sliding glass doors leading to the pool, and the overloud tinkling of the baby grand in the corner, at which a hired professional was crooning how “s’wonderful” and “s’marvelous” it was that we should care for him.
    In one swift glance, I recognized Carmel’s mayor, police chief, and chief prosecutor, all schmoozing it up with their spouses.
    If a crazed, murderous spirit had burst in and attempted to kill the Farhats’ son any time in the past hour, I doubted any of them would still be there, let alone be in such a party mood—­if they’d even noticed, of course. Non-­Compliant Deceased Persons don’t always make their presence known as obviously as Mark had at the cemetery.
    Then again, I was fairly certain he hadn’t gotten the sweet revenge he was seeking, or the storm outside would have already abated.
    And it seemed as if Zack might be home, since Jesse and I had spotted the “Beamer” and Jeep that Parisa had described, along with an F150 pickup that looked like it might belong to a teenager—­the bed was jacked up away from the enormous wheels, and there was a large sticker of a snorting bull (the mascot of one of area’s high school football teams) in the back windshield—­parked close to the home.
    A close examination of the truck (as close as we could make in the dark during a violent rainstorm) revealed nothing to show that it might have been involved in a vehicular manslaughter near Big Sur last month . . . unless the kid was friends with an extremely talented (and quick) auto repair person.
    True, he could have called a friend to come pick him up for the night. It was possible he and his “friend group”—­that’s what they called them now, instead of cliques—­had gone to the movies or something.
    But would his parents really have let him go out in weather like this?
    â€œIt was touch and go there for a while,” I rattled on with the hostess, scanning the high-­ceilinged room for any sign of someone who might be Zack’s age. But all I could see were more heart-­shaped, helium-­filled balloons, along with a banner that said T HANK Y OU D ONO RS! with red hearts all over it. I had no idea what that was about, and didn’t care. “Especially on Scenic Road—­you would not believe the waves—­I don’t blame those ­people for sandbagging their driveways. But we’re here!”
    The lady—­she was older, with such gorgeous highlights that I envied her—­had to be Mrs. Farhat. She radiated prideful home ownership.
    â€œWonderful!” she said. “The more the merrier. You know, we give this party every year, and every year, we never fail to be pleased with the turnout, despite it being Valentine’s Day. Some ­people think it’s a bit morbid, but heart disease, is, after all—­”
    â€œâ€”­the number one cause of death in the world,” Jesse finished for her, handing his own coat and our dripping umbrella to the waitperson. “Actually, I think it’s very clever of you to hold a fund-­raiser for coronary disease on Valentine’s Day, Mrs. Farhat. More women die annually of cardiovascular diseases than from all forms of cancer combined. But heart disease is so easily preventable with proper diet and exercise.”
    â€œWhy, yes,” Mrs. Farhat said, instantly charmed as Jesse took the hand she’d extended and shook it. “Yes, I know. My mother died of heart disease. By the time we found out how sick she was, it was too late for even my husband to help her. I’ve been trying to raise awareness ever since. Thank you. And who might you be?”
    â€œHector de Silva,” he said, gazing deeply into her eyes. “Dr. Hector de Silva.”
    Her expression couldn’t have