Unsafe Harbor Read Online Free

right,” I replied, and let a moment slide before returning to the topic of interest. “So, you were parked across the street last night? Then you must have seen what happened.”
    Magda slowly turned back again to face me. This time her expression was full of pain. “No. It was dark. The sound of a car woke me up and then there was the glare of the headlights. They were so bright.”
    “Did you hear anything? Voices, perhaps?” I continued to prod.
    Magda quickly glanced around once more, and then leaned over the counter. She motioned to me and I followed as if pulled by a string.
    “I did see two people get out and open the trunk. They dragged something from inside and carried it into the field,” she revealed in a whisper. “They stayed there for a while andthen eventually left. I waited a long time after that. Maybe two or three hours. I lay listening to the pounding of my heart until the sky turned light. Only then did I go and take a look.”
    It was now my turn to wait as Magda covered her face with her hands and drew a tremulous breath. I held my own, having become a captive audience.
    “What did you find?” I finally asked, unable to wait any longer.
    “I found a woman lying dead in the snow. Her skin was so white it didn’t look real. And then there were her eyes and that mouth…” Magda shuddered at the memory.
    “What about them?” I asked, dying to know.
    Magda’s eyes locked onto mine as if afraid to let go. “They’d been sewn shut with black thread. She couldn’t have screamed no matter how hard she tried.”
    We were both quiet, as if imagining her whimpering sobs locked in the back of her throat.
    “Could you tell if she’d been shot?” I asked, eventually breaking the silence.
    Magda continued to hold my eyes as if hanging on for dear life. “No. There were no bullet wounds.”
    “Maybe she’d been stabbed,” I proposed lightly.
    But Magda brushed aside the suggestion. “No. No knife marks. No blood. There were only purple bruises around her neck.” Her hand crept up to her throat, as if to make sure the blemishes hadn’t spread to her own skin. “I saw nothing else. After that, a police car drove by and I ran into the road and waved it down. That’s all I can tell you.”
    Purple bruises were something I knew about all too well. I’d nearly been choked to death while stationed in Texas. The experience had taught me an important lesson: Never wear a leather cord around my neck that could be usedagainst me as a weapon. Ligature marks would most likely reveal that Bitsy von Falken had been strangled.
    Magda’s elbows remained planted on the counter where she buried her head. Soon she was covered in a sea of claret. It was as if the shawl were beckoning to me. I couldn’t help but reach out and touch it. My fingers lingered on it, having never felt anything so luxurious in all of my life.
    “I’m so sorry you had so see that,” I quietly said.
    Magda raised her eyes and dried her tears. Then she grasped my hand.
    “Oh, you’re so cold. Here, give me your other hand and I’ll warm them up for you,” she offered.
    I didn’t protest, but let her wrap them in the stole.
    My hands floated inside material that was light as gossamer and sinfully sensuous. Ultrasoft and thin, the wool could have been a mound of downy feathers; it weighed no more than air. Yet within minutes, my hands were so toasty that they nearly began to sweat.
    “This shawl is so nice and warm. Where did you say that you got it again?” I asked.
    Magda softly giggled, as if about to reveal a secret. “I told you. A friend gave it to me. It’s good for the cold. Yes?”
    It was good for the cold. Which made me wonder why she hadn’t been wearing it this morning.
    “What kind of wool is it?” I asked, and gently rubbed the fabric against my cheek.
    Perhaps Magda felt I was being too forward, for she abruptly unwrapped my hands and pulled the shawl away.
    “I don’t know. Wool is wool. I have to