Killing Her Softly Read Online Free Page B

lasted even through his revelation that Jason had had a daughter.
    He certainly got a reaction. She paled, and edged away from him, standing up and hugging her arms around her waist. “You killed her,” she said slowly, deliberately, looking at him as if she expected him to pull out an axe and start hacking her into small bloody pieces.
    "You would have found out soon enough anyway. Plenty of people here say I did kill her.” He stroked the cat, his movements gentle and easy. “Just between me and you, I don't think she's dead."
    Some of the color seeped back into her cheeks. “What happened to her?"
    "The official version is that she drowned. I think she left, went back to England or something. It would have given her a perverse satisfaction, knowing I was left to face the questions the police asked. But there wasn't enough evidence to make the charges stick, no matter how much Jason ranted."
    "Jason?” She looked sick and, for an instant, he felt sorry for her.
    "Yes, Jason. He came to me, accusing me of sexually harassing his daughter. When she supposedly drowned, there were those who believed she committed suicide because of me, and others who said I murdered her to keep her from bringing charges in court. In their minds I killed her, either directly or by driving her to it."
    A tense white line formed around Leslie's mouth. The only thing was, he couldn't tell if she was feeling fear and disgust with him, or merely sympathy for the unfortunate young woman.
    "Her body was never found,” he said flatly.
    The tendons on the backs of her hands stood out as she gripped her elbows. “Just like Jason's."
    "And Jason's parents. As they say, the sea took them and didn't give them up."
    Leslie sank down on a wicker chair that stood near the open door. “What about Jason's wife?"
    "I'm not sure. Some kind of accident, I think, but I was in England then, and she hadn't lived here for a long time."
    "Was Jason with her when it happened?” Leslie didn't like what she was hearing. She didn't like it at all. It seemed that everyone around Jason had died in an unnatural manner.
    "I don't know,” Simon said. “Why?"
    She hesitated, her stomach cold and hollow. “Curiosity, I guess,” she finally said, knowing her reply sounded lame. Her mind went back to the shot last night. Was Jason dead, or had he brought her here to kill her, for whatever insane reason? Except that he hadn't brought her. She'd done that all by herself, driven by memories and curiosity.
    "How did you get mixed up with a man like Jason in the first place?” Simon's words were a welcome interruption to her disturbing train of thought.
    What she would have replied died on her lips as a scream made the hair at her nape stand on end. It was followed by a cackling that echoed through the house. The cat launched himself from Simon's lap, skidded across the polished marble floor, and vanished out the open door.
    "What was that?” Leslie gasped.
    The maniacal laughter came again. To her astonishment, Simon laughed and stood up. He walked past her into the living room. “Here, Pretty Baby,” he called softly. “Come here.” She heard an indistinct crooning sound, followed by, “How did you get out? Don't you know a cat will get you?"
    Leslie frowned, Cecil Weatherby's words jumping into her mind. A bird? The neighbor's, perhaps? She was about to join Simon when an odd figure came through the open doorway. A stout woman of indeterminate age brushed past her as if she were invisible, trailing a fringed scarf and clouds of Je Reviens.
    "Oh, Simon,” the woman trilled. “You've caught him."
    Leslie entered the room in time to see her visitor gently pluck a bird that resembled a crow from Simon's grasp. Obviously he'd flown in through the window she'd opened earlier. “Bad Baby,” the woman scolded, shaking her finger next to the creature's yellow beak.
    "Pretty Baby,” the bird squawked, tilting its head to one side. It stared straight at Leslie, and let out