Read Online We'll Meet Again by Mary Higgins Clark - Free Book Online
Authors: Mary Higgins Clark
Tags: thriller
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article included a profile of her grandparents, longtime pillars of Greenwich and Palm Beach society, listing their achievements and charities. It also discussed her father’s sterling business career, Gary ’s father’s distinguished history in medicine, and the model health maintenance organization Gary had cofounded with Dr. Peter Black.
All of them good people, their accomplishments impressive, but everything is turned into juicy gossip because of me, Molly thought. No longer hungry, she pushed away the sandwich. As it had earlier in the day, the feeling of fatigue and sleepiness was overwhelming her. The psychiatrist at the prison had treated her for depression and had urged her to see the doctor who had treated her while she was awaiting trial.
“You told me you liked Dr. Daniels, Molly. You said you felt comfortable with him because he believed you when you said you had no memory of Gary ’s death. Remember, extreme fatigue can be a sign of depression.”
As Molly rubbed her forehead in an effort to ward off the beginning of a headache, she remembered that she liked Dr. Daniels very much and that she should have included his name with those she had given Fran. Maybe she would try to get an appointment with him. More important, she’d phone and tell him that if Fran Simmons called, he had permission to speak freely about her.
Molly got up from the table, dumped the rest of the sandwich in the compactor, and started upstairs, carrying her tea. The ringer on the phone was turned off, but she decided she should check the answering machine for messages.
She now had a new unlisted phone number, so only a few people knew it. They included her parents, Philip Matthews, and Jenna. Jenna had called twice. “Moll, I don’t care what you say, I’m coming over tonight,” her message said. “I’m bringing dinner over at eight.”
Once she’s here, I’ll be glad to see her, Molly acknowledged to herself as she started up the stairs again. In the bedroom, she finished the tea, kicked off her shoes, lay down on top of the coverlet, and pulled it around her. She fell asleep immediately.
Her dreams were fragmented. In them, she was in the house. She was trying to talk to Gary, but he wouldn’t acknowledge her. Then there was a sound-what was it? If she could only recognize it, then everything would be clear. That sound.
That sound
. What
was
it?
She woke at 6:30 to find tears running down her cheeks. Maybe it’s a good sign, she thought. This morning, when she spoke to Fran, had been the first time she had cried since that week she spent on Cape Cod nearly six years ago, when she’d done nothing
except
cry. When she first learned that Gary was dead, it was as though something inside her dried up, became permanently arid. From that day to this one, she had been tearless.
Reluctantly she got up, splashed water on her face, brushed her hair, and changed from the jeans and cotton shirt to a beige sweater and slacks. As an afterthought she put on earrings and light makeup. When Jenna had visited her in prison, she had prodded her to wear makeup in the visiting room. “Best foot forward, Moll; remember our motto.”
Downstairs again, Molly lit the gas fire in the family room off the kitchen. Family room for the family of one, she thought. On the evenings they had been home, Gary and she had loved watching old movies together. His collection of classic films still filled the shelves.
She thought of the people she had to call to ask them to cooperate with Fran Simmons. She was unsure of one of them. She did not want to call Peter Black in his office, but she
did
want him to agree to talk to Fran, so she decided to call him at home. And rather than putting it off, she’d do it tonight. No, she’d do it right now.
She had scarcely thought of Pedro in nearly six years, but when she heard his voice, memories of the small dinner parties Peter used to have came rushing back. Often they included just the six of
All of them good people, their accomplishments impressive, but everything is turned into juicy gossip because of me, Molly thought. No longer hungry, she pushed away the sandwich. As it had earlier in the day, the feeling of fatigue and sleepiness was overwhelming her. The psychiatrist at the prison had treated her for depression and had urged her to see the doctor who had treated her while she was awaiting trial.
“You told me you liked Dr. Daniels, Molly. You said you felt comfortable with him because he believed you when you said you had no memory of Gary ’s death. Remember, extreme fatigue can be a sign of depression.”
As Molly rubbed her forehead in an effort to ward off the beginning of a headache, she remembered that she liked Dr. Daniels very much and that she should have included his name with those she had given Fran. Maybe she would try to get an appointment with him. More important, she’d phone and tell him that if Fran Simmons called, he had permission to speak freely about her.
Molly got up from the table, dumped the rest of the sandwich in the compactor, and started upstairs, carrying her tea. The ringer on the phone was turned off, but she decided she should check the answering machine for messages.
She now had a new unlisted phone number, so only a few people knew it. They included her parents, Philip Matthews, and Jenna. Jenna had called twice. “Moll, I don’t care what you say, I’m coming over tonight,” her message said. “I’m bringing dinner over at eight.”
Once she’s here, I’ll be glad to see her, Molly acknowledged to herself as she started up the stairs again. In the bedroom, she finished the tea, kicked off her shoes, lay down on top of the coverlet, and pulled it around her. She fell asleep immediately.
Her dreams were fragmented. In them, she was in the house. She was trying to talk to Gary, but he wouldn’t acknowledge her. Then there was a sound-what was it? If she could only recognize it, then everything would be clear. That sound.
That sound
. What
was
it?
She woke at 6:30 to find tears running down her cheeks. Maybe it’s a good sign, she thought. This morning, when she spoke to Fran, had been the first time she had cried since that week she spent on Cape Cod nearly six years ago, when she’d done nothing
except
cry. When she first learned that Gary was dead, it was as though something inside her dried up, became permanently arid. From that day to this one, she had been tearless.
Reluctantly she got up, splashed water on her face, brushed her hair, and changed from the jeans and cotton shirt to a beige sweater and slacks. As an afterthought she put on earrings and light makeup. When Jenna had visited her in prison, she had prodded her to wear makeup in the visiting room. “Best foot forward, Moll; remember our motto.”
Downstairs again, Molly lit the gas fire in the family room off the kitchen. Family room for the family of one, she thought. On the evenings they had been home, Gary and she had loved watching old movies together. His collection of classic films still filled the shelves.
She thought of the people she had to call to ask them to cooperate with Fran Simmons. She was unsure of one of them. She did not want to call Peter Black in his office, but she
did
want him to agree to talk to Fran, so she decided to call him at home. And rather than putting it off, she’d do it tonight. No, she’d do it right now.
She had scarcely thought of Pedro in nearly six years, but when she heard his voice, memories of the small dinner parties Peter used to have came rushing back. Often they included just the six of
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