Murder Crops Up by Lora Roberts

Author:Lora Roberts [Roberts, Lora]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Mystery
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 1998-04-13T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

It was not quite eight when I got in. Amy was drowsing on the couch, headphones on, book open. The book, I was interested to note, was The Investor’s Guide to the Stock Market, although she had Bridget’s book on the couch next to her. She sat up straighter when I came in, and asked around a yawn, “Is it late? How was your service?”

“It was fine. I was thinking about going over to Drake’s place to check the messages and see if he’s called. Is that okay?”

“You’re getting a lot of mileage out of his house while he’s gone, aren’t you?” Amy yawned again. “God, I’m so sleepy. I haven’t slept this much since I can remember.”

“Sleep as much as you want.” I turned with one hand on the doorknob. “Will you be okay? Should I hang around?”

“Heck, no, don’t stay on my account.” She smiled at me and flopped back onto the couch. “I don’t want to get in your way. Just pretend I’m not here.”

As if I could.

I let myself into Paul’s house and looked at the blinking light on his answering machine. I hoped I hadn’t missed his call. Then I caught myself. Was this me, getting so hung up on the importance of telephone calls?

I played back the messages on the answering machine, wanting to hear some reassurance from Drake about his future plans, dreading that he might have just left a message saying, the movers are coming, give them the keys. Of course, he wouldn’t do that. But having so much emotional dependence on one person was infuriating. I preferred to slip through my life, hindering no one, finding no impediment myself. This policy, though it had served me well for many years, was no longer working. The thought of never seeing Paul again, of living without him, was not just an impediment, it was a total roadblock.

The first message was someone from the city, reminding Drake about a deadline for filing some kind of paperwork. I made a careful note of caller, subject, and phone number in Drake’s phone log. The second message was a hang-up. The third was a woman with a cool, authoritative voice and a tone of casual intimacy I found shocking.

“Paul, it’s silly to call long-distance to leave you a message, but in case I can’t reach you at the hospital, you might pick up your messages from home. Daphne says your dad is better, so I assume we’re on for dinner after all. Please give me a call.” She didn’t give her name or phone number.

I switched off the answering machine. Though I hadn’t written anything down, every word of the last message was engraved in my recollection.

My hand holding the pen trembled too much to form letters. I set the pen down on the notebook and found myself standing by the living room window with no thought of how I’d gotten there. Staring blindly into the night, I took deep breaths until the panicky beating of my heart slowed.

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