Cape Fear Read Online Free Page A

the office at four-thirty. He sat quietly and listened to Sam’s account. He was a square-headed, gray-faced man who could have been anywhere between thirty-five and fifty. There was a bulge of softness over his belt. His hands were very large and very white. His hair was no color, and his eyes were bored slate. He made no unnecessarymovements. He sat as still as a tomb and listened and made Sam feel as though he were being an alarmist.
    “Mr. Anderson gave you the rates?” Sievers asked in a faraway voice.
    “Yes, he did. And I promised to mail him a check right away.”
    “How long do you want Cady covered?”
    “I don’t know. I want … an outside opinion as to whether he’s planning to harm me or my family.”
    “We don’t read minds.”
    Sam felt his face get hot. “I realize that. And I’m not a hysterical woman, Sievers. It had occurred to me that by watching him you might get some clues as to what he has in mind. I want to know if he comes out to my home.”
    “And if he does?”
    “Give him as much leeway as you think safe. It would help if we could get enough evidence of his intention to convict him.”
    “How do you want the reports?”
    “Verbal reports will be adequate, Sievers. Can you start right away?”
    Sievers shrugged. It was his first gesture of any kind. “I’ve started already.”
    The rain stopped just before Sam left the office that Tuesday night. The evening sun came out as he edged his way through traffic and turned onto Route 18. The route followed the lake shore for five miles through a summer resort area that was becoming more built up each year. Then itturned southwest toward the village of Harper, eight miles away, traveling through rolling farm land and past large new housing developments.
    He drove into the village and around two sides of the central village square and, at the light, turned right up Milton Road Hill to his home just beyond the village limits. They had looked for a long time before they found the farmhouse in 1950, and hesitated a long time over the price. And had several estimates made on what it would cost to modernize it. But both he and Carol knew they were trapped. They had fallen in love with the old house. It sat on ten acres of farm land, all that was left of the original acreage. There were elms and oaks and a line of poplars. All the front windows overlooked a far vista of gentle hills.
    The architect and the contractor had done superb jobs. The basic house was of brick painted white and was set well back from the road. The long drive was on the right-hand side of the house as you faced it, and went back to what had once been and was still called the barn, even though it was primarily to house the Ford wagon and Carol’s doughty and honorable and purposeful MG. The barn was of brick too, painted white. The upstairs, which had been a hayloft, was the children’s area. Marilyn, never without a whimper of alarm, could climb the wall ladder, but had to be carried down, tail furled, eyes rolling.
    As Sam turned in his driveway he found himself wishing for the first time that they had close neighbors. They could see the peak of the roof of the Turner house, and some farms on the far hill slopes, but that was all. There were many houses along the road, but widely spaced. There wereenough houses so that at times it seemed as though the entire population of the central school descended on the Bowden place on weekends and holidays. But no houses very close.
    He drove into the barn. Marilyn came dancing, scampering and smiling in, pleading for the expected attention. Sam, as he patted her, made a bicycle count and saw that, of the three of them, only Bucky was home. It made him uneasy to think of Nancy and Jamie out on the roads. It was always a worry because of the traffic. But this was an extra worry. Yet he did not see how he could restrict them to the area.
    Carol came halfway across the back yard to the barn, met him and kissed him and said, “Did