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furthest corner of her closet, and still with a grain of rice clinging to one outdated, pointed toe. A 'e rushing to meet no bridegroom. She wanted something of Danny's, some last garment that had belonged to him, and she found a silk scarf, white 345 too, a gift from her mother that he had worn once to be polite. She twisted it around her and found that it covered the place where she could not fasten the skirt at her waist. She thought she had caught the faintest wafting of Danny's odor when she shook the scarf out. Joanne had not looked directly at her own face in a mirror since Elizabeth had driven her carefully home from the hospital. She gazed at her image and saw a strange woman with pale lips and lost, faded eyes, such sallow, yellowish skin. She touched her cheek in wonder, and traced the sunken places beneath her eyes. She brought herself backùthe self that she remembered ùwith an application of liquid foundation, Brace under her eyes, and heavy dusting of Indian Earth blusher. And because it was part of an old ritual, she sprayed her throat and wrists with cologne. When she was ready, she left the house without looking back. The wind was blowing off the river and she could smell the water the moment she shut the back door behind her. She looked up at the sound of a heavy footfall and saw them coming toward her. The woman and Sam and Captain Moutscher and the other man that she didn't recognize. And knew she was trapped. The terror rushed back in as if her body was a shell surrounding a vacuum. They were staring at her, not surprised, but only curious, perhaps, to find her dressed and coiffed and smelling of roses and on her way to nowhere. 4O "Could we go inside, Mrs. Lindstrom?" Moutscher broke the silence, and Sam saw that Moutscher's hand reaching out to touch Joanne made her shrink back in something very close to panic. "What?" 346 "I asked if we could go insideùwhere we could talk. We're sorry to interrupt you, but something has come up. You look very nice. Were you expecting someone?" "No ... no one." She made no move to welcome them in, only stared beyond them toward the river path. "Then you have a little time for us?" "My mother isn't home." Nina's voice cut in, washed of its imperious edge, and Sam breathed more easily. "We know that, Joanne. If you like, you could call your mother and Page 227 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html have her come home. We could wait for thatù" "No!" Joanne moved away from the door and held her arm out in an odd wooden motion, seeming to indicate they could enter. Sam ducked his head at the back door and stepped into the kitchen, and wished instantly that they had chosen some other place for the confrontation that must come. He had been welcome here and was not now. The room was the same still, and he saw ghosts sitting in the empty chairs. He was relieved when Joanne led them into the living room; they had never sat in the "parlor" together. Only at the long kitchen table where Joanne had laughed at them, and with them, and fed them, and rarely spoken beyond her gentle counterpoint to their voices. She seemed to be aware of his presence in the group, although she had not yet looked directly at him. He could not tell if she was frightened of him or ashamed to face him. She looked like herself now and yet unlike the Joanne he remembered, more uncertain and somehow disjointed. He studied her covertly, this tired, thin girl in white, tried to superimpose the image upon that of the wild brown woman on the mountain and could not. "... coffee?" Joanne's voice was so slight that the ticking clock overrode it. "Would you all like coffee?" "No thank you," Nina answered. "We've all just had coffee." And enlightenment and a lot of discussion on how you lied and how they can trap you, Joanne. Joanne looked at Sam, startled, as if she had read his mind. He looked away. 347 "Does having Mr. Clinton here upset you, Mrs. Lind-strom?" Malloy asked. Joanne looked at the prosecutor. "IùI didn't want to see him anymore. Excuse me, but I don't know who you are." "I'm sorry. My name is Martin Malloy. I'm the chief criminal deputy prosecutor from Chelan County. You might say I was your attorney." "Is this something official?" Joanne started to rise from her chair, as if to take flight, saw that her way was barred, and sat down again. "I need to know if this is official." "Not really official, Mrs. Lindstrom," Malloy said smoothly. "It's in the nature of a conferenceùall interested parties meeting by mutual agreement. Is that all right with you?" "I don't know." [ Pobierz caÅ‚ość w formacie PDF ] |