Summer Garden Murder Read Online Free Page A

thought.”
    â€œRenaissance man indeed!” scoffed Sarah. “It takes more than a mention of Botticelli to make a Renaissance man. This man’s an utter scoundrel.”
    â€œI see that must be true,” amended the earnest Hilde, “if he killed a woman in such a terrible way.” Her wide shoulders trembled in a little shudder. “I do not think I would like to meet him again.”
    Louise nodded. “It would be better for you, Hilde, if you didn’t.” Then she glanced at Bill, but he’d already set his napkin beside his plate preparatory to leaving. Suddenly, their hostess appeared. Nora slipped into the empty chair beside Louise and leaned over and hugged her, her eyes wet with tears. “Louise, I’m so sorry. I know how that monster hurt you. I had no idea he would show up here, or even hear about our party.”
    Bill, his face grim, said quietly, “He heard it from Cunningham, no doubt. Nora, we don’t blame you and Ron in any way. It only shows how brazen Peter Hoffman is. I intend to keep a close eye on the bastard. There’s no way I’m going to let him harm my wife again.” He stood up and pulled Louise to her feet. After another round of goodbyes, he swept Louise down the patio steps and took her home.

3
    B ill and Louise walked down the woodsy path to the street, as the cicadas continued their racket in the sticky night. It was a familiar late-summer sound in Washington. She only wished she could enjoy their cacophony the way she usually did. It reminded her of the powerful natural world surrounding her, more powerful than any that flawed mankind could create.
    Bill seemed to pick up the thought from her mind. “A string orchestra,” he said, “just for us.”
    She squeezed her husband’s hand. She was grateful for Bill. She was also grateful to be going home, only a short walk across the cul-de-sac. That was why neighborhood parties were so welcome; there was no long car trip home. She imagined cuddling up in bed next to her spouse in the spoon position and drifting off to sleep, forgetting everything, especially Peter Hoffman.
    When they reached their front yard, Bill’s cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and looked at the unfamiliar local number. “I bet it’s Janie,” he said. Indeed it was. Their seventeen-year-old, who’d driven to a party in Louise’s car, told her father that the car wouldn’t start.
    â€œI’ll come and get you,” he said, and listened to the directions that Janie gave him.
    â€œHumph,” grumbled Louise. “That car is only two years old. I wonder if she just flooded it.”
    â€œHoney, you can’t flood cars anymore. It has to be something else. Probably the battery and it just needs a jump.”
    They opened the gate to their yard, a tiresome task, but fencing the property had been necessary because of a growing deer population. Moon-shaped and rustic, the gate appeared to stand alone, set as an accent in the landscape. Actually, it was attached to fine mesh fencing that was almost invisible in the random forest shrubbery.
    At the garage, Bill veered off so he could get in his car and collect their daughter. Louise continued up the moss-covered flagstone path and passed under the flower- and vine-covered pergola. In the pale moonlight, this overhead bower reminded her of gardens she’d known when they’d been stationed in Israel, though it was not nearly as exotic as those lily-and-rose-filled creations. Gardening in Washington, with its overheated summer nights and high humidity, was a challenge. Not every plant flourished here, as they seemed to do in the Middle East.
    She opened the two locks on the front door and went in and switched on the lights, not bothering to relock the door. Bill and Janie would be back soon. Exhausted despite the fact that it was not even midnight, Louise slumped down on the living room couch. She