The Devil's Wire Read Online Free
Author: Deborah Rogers
Radley in the kitchen with a Korean couple.
"May I have a word?" she says.
"Certainly."
They leave the couple to inspect the size of the pantry and go into the hallway.
"This is highly inappropriate, Radley."
"They asked to see it, what could I do?"
"I'm going to lay a complaint."
"This isn't personal, Lenise."
"You owe me."
"I don't owe you anything."
"I could've had your license revoked after your get together in the Clarkson property."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You were in the client's bed," she smiles. "I saw you."
A sheen develops on his forehead. He glances at the kitchen.
"So that's the way you're going to play it?" he says.
Then he pauses and looks past her shoulder.
"Dirty business, this real estate," he says, walking off.
Lenise turns. The Texan couple stares at her from the doorway.
"It's not what you think," she says. "He slept with a prostitute."
But they won't listen and get into their trendy SUV and drive away, along with her commission.
Lenise waits out the rest of the hour but no one else shows. As she's returning the sign to the trunk, her cell phone rings. She looks at the phone, buzzing in her hand like an electric razor, but can't bring herself to answer it. Five more pulses and the hum stops. She gets in her car and stares out the windscreen. On the road, a black-backed gull plucks at the smashed carcass of a hedgehog. Lenise starts the engine and heads to the clinic.
4
It's difficult to concentrate and Jennifer's hoping Mrs. M won't notice she's distracted. Her mind is on last night's disaster. Was it three or four, the number of drinks she'd had? Jennifer can't recall. And just when she's settled on the idea it was three, doubt creeps back in and it's more like four, maybe even five. The fact she can't remember without struggling is probably a good sign it's five. But even if that's the case, they were weak, hardly any tequila all. More sugar than tequila, in fact.
Jennifer keeps telling herself it could've happened to anyone. It was dark, the dog was dark. How was she meant to see? That's what she plans on telling police. She's been waiting for them. It feels like she's been holding her breath since last night. But so far, nothing, which was almost worse. Then again maybe it wasn't so bad, because the more time that passed, the more chance the liquor would dilute in her bloodstream, the more difficult it would be to test. She can't believe she's thinking like this. A criminal. A shirker of responsibility. And what if the dog hadn't made it? God.
Now she's got the pitiful state of the dog inside her head as she tells Mrs. M to lean into the chin rest of the ophthalmoscope. The woman's a trooper because she has a small roll of Cert mints tucked inside her fist, and she's been sucking on two at a time because she doesn't want her breath to stink for Jennifer.
"That's it, just relax," says Jennifer, directing the pin point of light into Mrs. Mendoza's left eye.
Jennifer tries not to yawn because Mrs. M will think she's bored when it's actually due to lack of sleep. After she got in from the accident, Hank was not waiting up as expected. She had braced herself for an argument, the slamming of doors, recriminations, but he was in bed, asleep. She slipped in next to him, which was probably a mistake, because she was so wired and it must have shown because Hank murmured "Jen, you're shaking, what's wrong?" and she said "nothing, just cold" and then he held her, engulfing her in his arms, until she stopped the post-traumatic shudder thing.
"Sometimes I love you so much it scares me," he said.
She was going to tell him then, pour it all out, about the dog, even the reckless kiss, that she was sorry for ignoring him lately and all this crazy midlife shit, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.
And this morning he asked again if she was all right and she said "It was Rosemary's birthday and I didn't mean to be so late" and he said "I thought something had
"May I have a word?" she says.
"Certainly."
They leave the couple to inspect the size of the pantry and go into the hallway.
"This is highly inappropriate, Radley."
"They asked to see it, what could I do?"
"I'm going to lay a complaint."
"This isn't personal, Lenise."
"You owe me."
"I don't owe you anything."
"I could've had your license revoked after your get together in the Clarkson property."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You were in the client's bed," she smiles. "I saw you."
A sheen develops on his forehead. He glances at the kitchen.
"So that's the way you're going to play it?" he says.
Then he pauses and looks past her shoulder.
"Dirty business, this real estate," he says, walking off.
Lenise turns. The Texan couple stares at her from the doorway.
"It's not what you think," she says. "He slept with a prostitute."
But they won't listen and get into their trendy SUV and drive away, along with her commission.
Lenise waits out the rest of the hour but no one else shows. As she's returning the sign to the trunk, her cell phone rings. She looks at the phone, buzzing in her hand like an electric razor, but can't bring herself to answer it. Five more pulses and the hum stops. She gets in her car and stares out the windscreen. On the road, a black-backed gull plucks at the smashed carcass of a hedgehog. Lenise starts the engine and heads to the clinic.
4
It's difficult to concentrate and Jennifer's hoping Mrs. M won't notice she's distracted. Her mind is on last night's disaster. Was it three or four, the number of drinks she'd had? Jennifer can't recall. And just when she's settled on the idea it was three, doubt creeps back in and it's more like four, maybe even five. The fact she can't remember without struggling is probably a good sign it's five. But even if that's the case, they were weak, hardly any tequila all. More sugar than tequila, in fact.
Jennifer keeps telling herself it could've happened to anyone. It was dark, the dog was dark. How was she meant to see? That's what she plans on telling police. She's been waiting for them. It feels like she's been holding her breath since last night. But so far, nothing, which was almost worse. Then again maybe it wasn't so bad, because the more time that passed, the more chance the liquor would dilute in her bloodstream, the more difficult it would be to test. She can't believe she's thinking like this. A criminal. A shirker of responsibility. And what if the dog hadn't made it? God.
Now she's got the pitiful state of the dog inside her head as she tells Mrs. M to lean into the chin rest of the ophthalmoscope. The woman's a trooper because she has a small roll of Cert mints tucked inside her fist, and she's been sucking on two at a time because she doesn't want her breath to stink for Jennifer.
"That's it, just relax," says Jennifer, directing the pin point of light into Mrs. Mendoza's left eye.
Jennifer tries not to yawn because Mrs. M will think she's bored when it's actually due to lack of sleep. After she got in from the accident, Hank was not waiting up as expected. She had braced herself for an argument, the slamming of doors, recriminations, but he was in bed, asleep. She slipped in next to him, which was probably a mistake, because she was so wired and it must have shown because Hank murmured "Jen, you're shaking, what's wrong?" and she said "nothing, just cold" and then he held her, engulfing her in his arms, until she stopped the post-traumatic shudder thing.
"Sometimes I love you so much it scares me," he said.
She was going to tell him then, pour it all out, about the dog, even the reckless kiss, that she was sorry for ignoring him lately and all this crazy midlife shit, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.
And this morning he asked again if she was all right and she said "It was Rosemary's birthday and I didn't mean to be so late" and he said "I thought something had
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