Read Online The Charity by Connie Johnson Hambley - Free Book Online

against the doorjamb with her shoulder. Thick fingers fumbled with the latch. With one great heave the thick wooden door swung open.
    Reflexively, her hand shielded her shut eyes from the onslaught. The images before her were blobs of luminous red surrounded by the searing light of the late morning sun. Her hands covered her face as she tried to wean her eyes back into the day lit world.
    “Jessica Wyeth? Are you Miss Jessica Wyeth?”
    “Hum? Wh-What?”
    “Are you Miss Jessica Wyeth?” The voice was more insistent.
    Jessica lowered one hand. The fingers of the other rubbed her temple. Her eyes were growing accustomed to the glare. The blobs darkened into figures.
    “Cut the crap, Gus. What do you want?”
    “Miss Wyeth? I’m Detective Coogan and this is Trooper Shea. Did you know a Gus Adams?”
    Jessica’s eyes were finally winning their battle against glare. The black figures further sharpened into two men. One wore a new police uniform. The other wore an expensive suit and asked a lot of stupid questions. A police radio crackled to life then spit itself silent.
    “Hum? Wh-what? Yeah. I know Gus Adams.” Jessica’s eyes locked and focused on the face in front of her. It had small eyes and angular features. “What kind of stunt is Gus up to this time, guys? You can tell him for me I don’t like his humor.”
    “Miss Wyeth, Gus Adams is dead. He was murdered last night here on your farm. Jason Cressup found his body this morning.”
    “Jason? Oh, yeah right. Jason.” Jessica remembered the black haired Jason as the groom Gus relied upon to ready the horses for their morning workouts. “Jason’s dead?”
    “No Miss. Gus Adams was stabbed to death last night. I would like to ask you some questions.”
    “Gus is dead? What are you talking a—” Shadows from last night jumped to the surface. She gasped and staggered backwards under their force. Blood rushed from her face and the pounding in her temples grew. Rubbery knees gave under her weight and she grabbed the doorjamb for support.
    “Miss Wyeth? Are you all right? Would you like to sit down?” It was a different voice asking these questions. Younger. Nicer. The detective blocked his way.
    “Where were you last night, Miss Wyeth?”
    It was the detective’s voice again. Jessica decided she didn’t like him.
    “I was with Gus. We had dinner together and... and... Oh, God! Gus!” The last words came out as a moan. Jessica had trouble thinking. “I do need to sit down.” She stumbled for the thickly padded armchair closest to the door. Her hand motioned the men toward the living room.
    The two men looked at one another. Detective Coogan paused in the entryway and looked around.
    It seemed like he nodded a silent approval of the finely appointed home. The detective walked across a worn oriental rug and absently fingered the cut glass vase which sat empty upon a small table. Eventually, he returned his attention to the girl.
    Jessica was totally unaware at how she appeared. Pale skin. Eyes sunk back into her head. Her long hair hung in strings around her face. A strand of hay still clung stubbornly to her shirt. It was her hands and shirt which drew the most interest.
    They were filthy. Reddish brown streaks and black grime were caked onto them. Her right hand, now clenched into a tight fist held stiffly against the arm of the chair, had what looked like teeth marks and scrapes along the knuckles. A fitful night’s rest had worked apart most of the buttons of her splattered shirt, opening it far down the front. Coogan’s eyes swept over her smooth skin and lingered on the swell of her breasts. After a moment, he looked at her face. It was swollen from lack of rest and emotion, crisscrossed with dirt. Her mouth was pulled tight in an effort to control herself. But even the drawn mouth could not hide the cut lower lip which had swelled overnight and turned a faint purplish color.
    “Where were you last night, Miss Wyeth?” Detective Coogan asked