Read Online The Deadly Neighbors (The Zoe Hayes Mysteries) by Mery Jones - Free Book Online Page A

the table and leftovers sitting out, Nick and I fell onto each other. We didn’t talk about what had happened. Neither of us mentioned issues of child safety or parental behavior; nobody referred to trust or honesty or openness or secrets. The topics of my father or Beatrice or gambling or her murder did not come up. In fact, Nick and I didn’t speak at all. Silently, without a need for conversation, we concentrated on what was really important. Nick held me closely, preciously. His touch told me everything I needed to know; words would have been weak and redundant. His hand stroked my belly, caressing both the baby and me. His lips brushed my neck, his bristly whiskers skittering, tickling my flesh. My fingertips, my kiss told him I was sorry; my hips declared how deeply I treasured the life I carried. Slowly, gently, our bodies blended so completely that it was difficult to tell where one stopped and the other began, which leg was mine, which thigh his. We rolled together over waves, our bed a raft in the ocean, and we hung on to each other desperately, carefully, as if for survival.
    Afterward, Nick lay back, eyes closed; I thought he’d dozed off. “What about Vanessa?” he said.
    Who? “Vanessa?”
    “If it’s a girl. Or Gabrielle?”
    “Gabriella?”
    His eyes opened. “No, Gabrielle.”
    Gabrielle? “So we’d call her Gabby?”
    “We’d call her Gabrielle. I thought we should name her something unusual. Distinctive. I like Skylar, but it might be too trendy. Sibyl’s too witchy. What do you think of Meredith? It means ‘guardian from the sea.’ Or Arielle?” He was on a roll.
    “You’ve been reading name books.”
    Nick half-smiled. “Well, skimming through them.”
    I nodded.
    “Actually, I’ve been making lists.”
    How adorable. I was impressed.
    “So what names do you like?” He propped himself on an elbow, waiting. “If you want something more conventional, how about Hannah?”
    I’d been thinking about names for weeks, searching through name books, reviewing names of people who’d meant something to me. I couldn’t bear to name a baby after my mother, Louise. Or after Hilda. “Maybe Susan.”
    “Really?” Nick frowned. “But there are a million Susans.”
    “It’s simple. Basic. Strong. My best friend’s name.”
    “You want simple for our daughter?”
    “You don’t like ‘Susan’?”
    He shrugged. “For simple, I kind of like Judy.” He repeated it, doing an awful impression of Cary Grant. “Judy. Judy. Judy.”
    “Okay, no Susan, no Judy.” I sighed, resting on his shoulder, and we lapsed into cozy silence. “We’ll keep on searching.”
    “And if it’s a boy?”
    “Molly’s set on Oliver.”
    “I know. I think we’re stuck with it.”
    “Oliver? You’re serious?”
    “That’s why there are middle names.” Nick chuckled.
    “Speaking of middle names, what’s yours?”
    He winced. “No, uh-uh.”
    “Come on, Nick.” I began to tickle him. “Tell me. Out with it— you know mine.”
    “That’s not fair.” He was laughing. “You don’t have one— stop—” He was doubled up, protecting his ticklish spots, but I climbed onto him, keeping it up until, breathless, he belted out, “Okay, okay—Ambrogino.”
    “What?” I stopped tickling.
    He repeated it. Nicholas Ambrogino Stiles. “It’s Italian.” He felt the need to explain.
    “Well.” I lay back, releasing him. “I guess Oliver’s not so bad, after all.”
    We chuckled together, lying limbs entangled, imagining our future.
    “Maybe we should name him after one of my brothers.”
    I’d never met his brothers; all I knew was that he had three of them scattered across the country.
    “What do you think of Eli, Samuel, or Anthony?”
    I considered the series. Odd set.
    “Or my father’s name, Solomon.”
    “Solomon?”
    “I told you. We’re half Italian, half Jewish. My parents took turns naming us.” Half of Nick’s face grinned. “They took turns at everything—one year,