How Secrets Die Read Online Free

side of the hall led into a sunny living room—or maybe parlor was a better word, given the Victorian settees, marble-topped tables and grandfather clock. To her left, a drop-leaf table apparently did duty as a reception desk, and a heavily carved staircase wound upward behind it.
    No doubt alerted by the bell, a woman emerged from a swinging door that must lead to the back of the ground floor—probably the kitchen and private area. Plump and graying, the woman had a beaming smile for her visitor.
    â€œI hope I didn’t keep you waiting. I’m Grace Anderson. Passing through, are you? Were you looking for a room for the night?” She hurried to flip open an old-fashioned register on the table, sounding hopeful.
    â€œActually, I’d like to stay for a bit longer than that.” She paused, oddly reluctant to take the plunge now that she was here. “I’m Kate Beaumont. Jason Reilley was my brother.”
    â€œOh, my dear.” The smiling expression crumpled, and Mrs. Anderson’s eyes filled with tears. She came around the table, holding both hands out to Kate. “I’m so very sorry for your loss.”
    The woman’s obvious distress pierced Kate’s armor, and she fought back her own tears. “Thank you.” Her voice was husky, and she cleared her throat. “Jason spoke of your kindness.”
    Actually, Jason had seemed annoyed by her fussing over him, but coming from a young man finally out on his own, that was only natural. He wouldn’t have been eager to trade what he considered an overprotective big sister for a mothering landlady.
    â€œHe was a dear boy.” Mrs. Anderson wiped away tears with the back of her hand. She hesitated, studying Kate’s face and then glancing away. “Did you come...” She let the question fade away, obviously curious but hampered by good manners from probing a sensitive subject.
    Kate had a wry inward smile for that convention. It was one of the first things to go for a reporter. Well, the story she’d told Whiting had better stay consistent.
    â€œI’m taking a little time off before looking for a new job, which will mean relocating. I thought I’d like to spend some time in Laurel Ridge. This place seemed to mean a lot to Jason.” She paused, but she may as well go after what she really wanted. “I hoped your cottage might be available to rent for a few weeks, maybe a month.”
    The woman’s expression grew wary. “Are you sure that’s wise? Maybe it’s not...not healthy.”
    Was she afraid Kate would kill herself with drugs and alcohol, the way Jason did? The thought stung, and Kate had to force a smile.
    â€œThe cottage sounded so charming from the way my brother described it. And I’ll be writing several freelance articles while I’m here, so I’d appreciate having the extra space to work.”
    That seemed to mollify the woman, but there was still a trace of doubt in her eyes. “Yes, well, why don’t we take a look at the cottage first? Maybe it won’t be what you want at all, and I have several lovely rooms in the house.”
    â€œThanks. I’d like to see the cottage.” She waited, the smile pinned to her face, letting the silence grow between them. She’d guess Mrs. Anderson wasn’t very good with silences.
    â€œYes. Fine.” The woman gestured toward the door she’d come in. “We’ll go out the back.”
    A dining room lay behind the parlor, complete with built-in cabinets containing an elaborate china service. An oval cherry table was large enough to seat a dozen, making her wonder how many guests were in residence. The place seemed very quiet.
    The kitchen beyond was obviously Mrs. Anderson’s own domain, with a corner devoted to a computer and filing cabinet and another turned into a cozy nook with a television and a recliner. On the opposite side a glassed-in sunroom looked out on flower