Read Online She Loves Me Not by Wendy Corsi Staub - Free Book Online

upside down.”
    Jenna does, and her face breaks into a broad grin. “It’s your name! Leslie!”
    Rose peers over Jenna’s shoulder. Sure enough, it does say Leslie.
    â€œYour dad taught me that when I was a little kid,” Leslie says.
    â€œDo my name!”Jenna commands.
    â€œI can’t, but I can do Leo. See?” She punches in 0-3-7 and flips it over.
    â€œIt says Le,” Rose observes.
    â€œDarn it. I forgot. The zero won’t stick when you push it first. Oh, well. It’s still pretty cool, huh, guys?” She tucks the calculator back into Jenna’s backpack, zips it closed, and bends to attach the leash to the puppy’s collar. “All right, let’s go, everyone. We’ll head down to the bay.”
    â€œJust don’t let Leo get too close to the water,” Rose calls after them as they set off down the block, pulled along by the scampering puppy.
    She walks up onto the porch, unlocks the door, opens it, and deposits everything she’s holding inside. Then she retreats down the steps, flinching at the sound the snow makes under her boots as she walks across the yard.
    There are definitely footprints here.
    Okay, this is no reason to worry. Don’t let your imagination get carried away with you.
    But it isn’t her imagination.
    Someone has been here, and it wasn’t a ghost.
    Judging by the prints in the snow, it was one person—and an adult, at that.
    The footsteps lead from the street to a thatch of shrubs along the side of the house, just beneath the living room window.
    Rose’s heart begins to pound.
    Has somebody been prowling around while she’s gone during the day?
    Or—even more unsettling—while she’s here at night?
    She stands on her tiptoes and examines the window for signs of a break-in. There are no pry marks. The inside latch is securely locked.
    The tracks make an about-face at the window, retreating toward the street again, yet Rose slowly circles the house, checking every ground-floor window, making sure everything is secure.
    Should she call the police?
    And say . . . what? I’m alone, and I’m afraid?
    But she has a reason to be frightened. Someone has trespassed on her property. That’s a crime . . . isn’t it?
    Coming full circle to the living room window again, Rose has every intention of going inside and calling the police. Maybe they can send a patrol car around to keep an eye on things when she’s at work . . . and at night, too. After all, she was in such a rush this morning, the footsteps could very well have been here then, and she just didn’t notice—
    Oh.
    Her gaze falls on the silver-gray electric meter a few feet from the window, almost obscured by a tangle of bare wisteria vines that climb the lattice against the house.
    That explains it.
    The meter-reader must have been here while she was out.
    Case closed.
    Relieved, Rose sighs and gazes skyward. Thick black storm clouds are rolling in from the east. And somewhere up there, Sam is probably laughing at her.
    See, babe? Nothing to be afraid of. Everything is fine.
    No, it isn’t, Sam. It’s Valentine’s Day, and you’re not here to bring me roses that cost too much, and chocolates with cream-filled centers that nobody likes.
    She tries to remember last Valentine’s Day, her first without him. It came only a few weeks after his death. The day, like every day in that first month without him, is a blur. Maybe Leslie was here. Probably. She does her best to cheer up Rose on difficult occasions. On what would have been Rose and Sam’s eighth wedding anniversary in November, Leslie came over with four tickets to see the Rockettes at Radio City. She meant well, but she talked about Peter the whole time, telling Rose that she was sure he was The One. Caught up in her own wedding-day memories, Rose didn’t pay much attention to Leslie’s romantic rhapsodizing. In the