Read Online Whispers at Midnight by Karen Robards - Free Book Online
Authors: Karen Robards
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her housecoat at that very moment to send him on his way, she had merely smiled up at him.
“ ’Night, Matt,” she’d said. Then she’d turned away and gone inside the house.
Glowing. In love. Sure that he was The One, her soul mate, destined to be at her side for the rest of her life.
The no good dirty rotten son of a bitch.
Scowling at the memory, Carly thrust it forcefully from her mind and started walking again, a little faster this time, looking under bushes and up trees and behind clumps of drooping, rain-heavy flowers as she went. A pampered only pet, Hugo surely wouldn’t have gone far. Although being lost was actually no more than he deserved. She could still feel the imprint of his claws in her side.
“Hugo. Damn it, get your furry buns over here. If you think I’m going to spend the rest of the night searching for you, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“I may have to pee a lot, but at least I don’t swear at my cat,” Sandra said, falling in beside her. “Anyway, there he is.”
Carly followed Sandra’s gaze to find Hugo sitting high and dry on the porch. His white coat made him easy to spot. Carly heaved a sighof relief. Losing Hugo would have fallen into the category of Too Much. Clearly unconcerned about having lost her, he was having a leisurely bath. Which, besides sleeping and eating, was basically how he spent most of his time. For cats as well as people, bright white outerwear required a lot of maintenance.
“Come on,” Carly said wearily, and led the way up the steps. Trimmed in peeling gingerbread and supported by half a dozen slender posts, the porch ran the entire length of the front of the house. Hugo, with a luxurious stretch, rose to greet her. Carly cast him a withering glance and walked on past. With Hugo as well as Sandra trailing her now, she set the box down on the wicker settee that had taken pride of place against the center of the white clapboard wall for as long as she could remember, opened the creaky screen door and fumbled to fit the key into the old-fashioned lock. Beyond the small, leaded glass insert set at eye level in the ornate oak door, the house looked dark as a cave. Turning the key, Carly opened the door. The scent of the house rushed out to greet her. Stuffy from being shut up for weeks with its window units off, it nonetheless smelled just as it always had: old, with a hint of lemon furniture polish and the faintest underlying note of mustiness. Stepping inside, she wrinkled her brow and thought, Something’s missing. Then she realized what it was: her grandmother had always kept sachets of dried verbena tucked away in every room. The smell of verbena was gone.
A wave of nostalgia hit her: She missed it. She missed her grandmother. She missed being a child in this house.
“So where’s the bathroom?”
Sandra was practically breathing down her neck. Hugo darted between her legs to disappear into the darkness with a wave of his tail. Beyond the porch, rain began to fall in shining silver sheets. From deep inside the house, she could hear a faint plop, plop. Some things never changed: The ancient tin roof had clearly sprung yet another leak.
Forget nostalgia, Carly thought with a grimace. Present circumstances were almost more than she could handle.
Just to make sure Matt had been telling her the truth, she flipped the light switch by the door. Nothing happened.
“This way,” she said to Sandra, surprised that her voice was scarcely louder than a whisper as she headed down the dark center hall. The hush of the house seemed to call for quiet. As if something inside lay sleeping and shouldn’t be disturbed—which was ludicrous, of course, and could be chalked up to too much imagination coupled with too many Stephen King books. Shaking off the feeling, she continued on, but left the front door standing wide open behind them. For the light it admitted, of course, and definitely not as a possible escape route. Granted, the light in question was gray and
“ ’Night, Matt,” she’d said. Then she’d turned away and gone inside the house.
Glowing. In love. Sure that he was The One, her soul mate, destined to be at her side for the rest of her life.
The no good dirty rotten son of a bitch.
Scowling at the memory, Carly thrust it forcefully from her mind and started walking again, a little faster this time, looking under bushes and up trees and behind clumps of drooping, rain-heavy flowers as she went. A pampered only pet, Hugo surely wouldn’t have gone far. Although being lost was actually no more than he deserved. She could still feel the imprint of his claws in her side.
“Hugo. Damn it, get your furry buns over here. If you think I’m going to spend the rest of the night searching for you, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“I may have to pee a lot, but at least I don’t swear at my cat,” Sandra said, falling in beside her. “Anyway, there he is.”
Carly followed Sandra’s gaze to find Hugo sitting high and dry on the porch. His white coat made him easy to spot. Carly heaved a sighof relief. Losing Hugo would have fallen into the category of Too Much. Clearly unconcerned about having lost her, he was having a leisurely bath. Which, besides sleeping and eating, was basically how he spent most of his time. For cats as well as people, bright white outerwear required a lot of maintenance.
“Come on,” Carly said wearily, and led the way up the steps. Trimmed in peeling gingerbread and supported by half a dozen slender posts, the porch ran the entire length of the front of the house. Hugo, with a luxurious stretch, rose to greet her. Carly cast him a withering glance and walked on past. With Hugo as well as Sandra trailing her now, she set the box down on the wicker settee that had taken pride of place against the center of the white clapboard wall for as long as she could remember, opened the creaky screen door and fumbled to fit the key into the old-fashioned lock. Beyond the small, leaded glass insert set at eye level in the ornate oak door, the house looked dark as a cave. Turning the key, Carly opened the door. The scent of the house rushed out to greet her. Stuffy from being shut up for weeks with its window units off, it nonetheless smelled just as it always had: old, with a hint of lemon furniture polish and the faintest underlying note of mustiness. Stepping inside, she wrinkled her brow and thought, Something’s missing. Then she realized what it was: her grandmother had always kept sachets of dried verbena tucked away in every room. The smell of verbena was gone.
A wave of nostalgia hit her: She missed it. She missed her grandmother. She missed being a child in this house.
“So where’s the bathroom?”
Sandra was practically breathing down her neck. Hugo darted between her legs to disappear into the darkness with a wave of his tail. Beyond the porch, rain began to fall in shining silver sheets. From deep inside the house, she could hear a faint plop, plop. Some things never changed: The ancient tin roof had clearly sprung yet another leak.
Forget nostalgia, Carly thought with a grimace. Present circumstances were almost more than she could handle.
Just to make sure Matt had been telling her the truth, she flipped the light switch by the door. Nothing happened.
“This way,” she said to Sandra, surprised that her voice was scarcely louder than a whisper as she headed down the dark center hall. The hush of the house seemed to call for quiet. As if something inside lay sleeping and shouldn’t be disturbed—which was ludicrous, of course, and could be chalked up to too much imagination coupled with too many Stephen King books. Shaking off the feeling, she continued on, but left the front door standing wide open behind them. For the light it admitted, of course, and definitely not as a possible escape route. Granted, the light in question was gray and
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