What She Doesn't Know Read Online Free

your arguments against my trying to get the case reopened. I understand your fears, but believe me, I know how to take care of myself.” Theron grabbed his mother’s hand and squeezed tenderly. “I realize there are remnants of the Klan still around these parts, but the days when they could get away with murdering a black man are long gone.”
    “It’s not so much the Klan that I’m worried about.” Yvonne looked deeply into her son’s hazel eyes—eyes identical to her own. “Since we know that Lemar wasn’t the murderer, that means the real murderer might still be alive and still living in Sumarville. Don’t you think he’s going to feel threatened? If he believes there’s any way you can unearth the real truth, he’s going to try to stop you.”
    “Good.” Theron hit the table with his fist, rattling the dishes and silverware. “I’d like nothing better than for my investigation into the Desmond sisters’ murders to smoke out the real killer.”
    “Son, why now?” Yvonne asked. “It’s been twenty years and—”
    “You know I’ve wanted to prove Uncle Lemar’s innocence all these years, but I needed enough time so that I could reach a point in my life where I felt confident that I could do it without being stopped by the local authorities. I’m a wealthy respected lawyer, with a lot of powerful connections. The time is finally right. That’s why I’ve come home. The time is now.”

    Jolie Royale locked the door of her condo, then tossed her purse and keys on the table in the small foyer. As she meandered slowly into the living room, she kicked off her red three-inch heels and padded barefoot across the beige carpet. Her date with Gene Naughton had ended on a sour note. She’d been seeing the Atlanta investment broker for over a month now and he expected their relationship to move on to the next stage, which for Gene meant sex. She liked Gene well enough and enjoyed his company, but she thought of them more as friends than lovers. He was attractive and virile for a man of forty-five, but he didn’t arouse any unbridled passion in Jolie. Maybe she expected too much; maybe she had always expected more from relationships than she’d ever found. It wasn’t that she was a simpering virgin, but even at thirty-four she didn’t have a long list of former lovers. In fact the exact opposite was true. Not counting any girlhood infatuations, she’d been in love twice. Or thought she had. Both relationships had ended years ago. The first affair had occurred when she’d attended Instituto Marangoni in Milan, Italy. She’d been twenty-one when she’d lost her virginity to a gorgeous young Italian named Arturo.
    She’d been in love the way only the young and foolish can be in love. He’d broken her heart, of course, when she’d discovered him in bed with another woman. Five years later, while still working in New York, she’d convinced herself that she was in love with a brilliant, struggling actor who swept her off her feet. Paul Judd had sprinkled stardust in her eyes, and it had taken her nearly a year to realize she wasn’t in love with the man, but with the man she thought he was.
    After making her way into the kitchen, Jolie opened the refrigerator to retrieve a can of diet cola. She popped the lid and lifted the drink to her lips before returning to the living room. Sinking down into the overstuffed white damask sofa, she felt between the cushions for the remote control and punched the ON button. The nightly newscast appeared on the TV screen. Jolie hit the MUTE button, then lifted her feet to rest atop the glass and wrought-iron coffee table.
    What was the matter with her? Why hadn’t she just invited Gene home with her? What horrible sin would she have committed by sleeping with a perfectly charming man who wanted to advance their relationship to a more intimate level? Remember what Cheryl says, “You’re just going to have sex with the guy, not marry him.” But the trouble was that