Carolyn G. Hart_Henrie O_02 Read Online Free

kindergarten instructor. “Call him.”
    Craig massaged his temple. “He doesn’t like me.”
    I waited.
    “He—he thought Patty Kay and I got married too quick.” He didn’t look at me.
    Something interesting there. Why shouldn’t Patty Kay’s lawyer like him?
    “You must know other lawyers.”
    Craig’s head jerked up. “Oh, yeah, sure. One of the guys I play poker with. I’ll call him.” He looked around the room.
    “I’ve got a cellular phone in my car. I’ll get it.”
    When I came back into the cabin with the phone, he took it obediently.
    He held the handset tightly, punched in the numbers.“Desmond, this is Craig. Listen—” He broke off, his eyes widening.
    When he spoke again, his voice shook. “No, no, I haven’t seen the news. No. Oh, God … no, no, I didn’t do it, I tell you. I didn’t kill her. I don’t know what happened. I found her this afternoon, and”—he swallowed and nodded—“yeah, yeah, I want to come home but”—he shuddered—“no, no, I didn’t run away. I—I was supposed to—I came to see my aunt. She has a cabin near Monteagle. I was upset, I didn’t know what to do. So I thought I’d talk to my aunt.”
    He carefully did not look my way.
    I watched him with a good deal of interest. Quite a nifty little liar under pressure.
    “… in the morning at your office? Yeah, I can be there by nine. You’ll talk to the police for me?”
    I could imagine the lawyer’s call: “My client is quite willing to cooperate with the authorities … in shock from the brutal slaying of his beloved wife … fled the scene of such horror to seek family support … surely that’s an understandable human reaction, nothing sinister at all … will be willing to talk with the police at my office at …”
    Unaware, of course, that Patty Kay’s husband’s clothing was bloodstained, and dealing with an obviously affluent member of the community and without eyewitnesses, the police would be patient.
    When he ended the connection, my visitor reluctantly turned to face me.
    “Your aunt?” I asked quizzically.
    His eyes slid away. “Sorry.” Then he visited me with a rueful, studiously charming glance. No doubt it had worked for him for a long time. Now it was habitual. Onlywith women, of course. “Aunt Margaret’s all the family I have. I wish you were my aunt too,” he said in a rush.
    It was designed to evoke sympathy.
    It didn’t.
    But Margaret is my friend. There was no way she could help her nephew now.
    I could.
    He took a deep breath, started to push back his chair. “Well,” he said awkwardly, “thank you for helping me. I’ll go now. There’s a motel—”
    “That’s all right. You can sleep on the couch.”
    He accepted. Which didn’t surprise me.
    And stood by while I made his bed. Which didn’t surprise me either.
    As I turned to go to the bedroom, he said, “Listen, thanks for everything, Mrs….” He didn’t remember my name. But then, he had plenty on his mind.
    “Mrs. Collins. My friends call me Henrie O.”
    “Henrie O. That’s nice. Good night, Henrie O.”
    This time I did close the door to the bedroom behind me. I also wedged a straight chair beneath the knob. I may sometimes be a soft touch.
    I’m not a damned fool.

3

    I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d slipped away in the night. That was my first thought when I awoke. I had no confidence in Margaret’s nephew. But Craig Matthews still slept heavily on the couch, his hair tousled, one arm flung over his face, the blankets dragging the floor. He looked vulnerable and utterly innocent.
    Isn’t that true of all sleeping creatures?
    I can shower, blow-dry my hair, and dress in twelve minutes. When I came out into the living area, Craig was struggling awake.
    “I’ll get breakfast,” I told him briskly. “You’ll find shaving cream and a fresh disposable razor in the bathroom. All I can offer in the way of clean clothes is a sweatshirt.” It would be large enough because I like