Fatality Read Online Free Page A

startled Rose that he knew about swim class.
    Actually, she had skipped swimming that Friday because Aunt Sheila had been visiting. Rose’s family lived on the East Coast, and Aunt Sheila on the West, so they did not see a lot of each other. Aunt Sheila and Mom were on the phone a lot and e-mailed almost every day, but years could go by without a real visit. Rose used to wonder how Aunt Sheila could stand to be alone for Thanksgiving and Christmas. But Aunt Sheila did not seem to notice family holidays, either as family or as holidays. Sometimes she sent Rose and Tabor fabulous presents, and sometimes she forgot entirely.
    Aunt Sheila had been hurt that Rose had better things to do for the weekend than stay home and visit. If seventh grade taught Rose nothing else, it made clear the agony of being set aside for somebody better. She had decided to spend the hour of swim class with Aunt Sheila instead, to make up for deserting her.
    Rose walked home, thinking what to pack her clothes in. She had an adorable little suitcase of fake leather, covered with fake travel stickers of the kind used a century ago by ladies going to Cairo or Vienna. But Anjelica had probably really gone to Cairo or Vienna and her suitcases were probably real leather. She might laugh at Rose.
    In seventh grade, the very worst thing was to be laughed at.
    That left a backpack bought new for seventh grade, stunning, vivid purple, with a dozen zippered pockets and compartments. But lockers were back in style and nobody was using backpacks anymore. Rose carried it to school only once.
    Was a purple backpack a good choice? If you actually were a cool person, like Anjelica, as opposed to Rose, who hadn’t figured it out yet (and as it turned out, never did), would you think the backpack was cool? Rose dawdled on the road, recognizing that she had not the slightest desire to talk to Aunt Sheila. She wanted to be alone with her packing and her excitement.
    The voice of the policeman penetrated her mind once more. “Milton Lofft came for you about four-thirty, didn’t he, Rose?”
    Four years ago, when the police asked her about Milton Lofft, Rose hadn’t even known that was his first name. She told them she didn’t know anybody named Milton.
    “In a Lincoln Navigator, wasn’t it?” said the current policeman, just like the policeman of four years ago.
    Typical luxury SUV brute. It hadn’t even been a decent color. It was just brown. It lumbered over the road like a bear from the forest.
    Inside, the Navigator was huge, with a custom interior. Behind the driver were two swivel seats facing a VCR that was flanked by containers of movies, books, board games with magnetic playing pieces, and handheld computer games. Mr. Lofft listened to a book on tape while Anjelica had put a movie in the VCR. There were headphones, so they didn’t have to listen to each other’s choices, but they didn’t bother. Mr. Lofft smoked cigars, a habit Rose knew only from cartoons. The smoke had a sweet, woodsy scent, as if they were camping and somebody would soon bring out the marshmallows. Anjelica had a special blanket, pillow, and stuffed bear. She tucked up and fell asleep without once chatting with Rose.
    High above traffic in the bulky Navigator, Rose had stared out the window at the darkening shadows of early autumn. Ninety miles of driving ahead of them. The voices and plots of book and movie spun through Rose, all these dialogues later to mix crazily with the first round of police questioning. And now, sitting dizzily amid the clamor and anger of parents and police, Rose could hardly tell whether the police voice speaking so sharply was the one she remembered from four years ago or a voice in the present.
    But Mr. Lofft stopped on the way to the lake to talk to somebody, didn’t he, Rose? He went through a stone gate and up a private cobblestone drive. Tell us about the house on the hill, Rose.
    The house, imitating its site, had been steeply slanted, surrounded by