Chosen by Paula Bradley Read Free Book Online Page A

believed him; his reply was candid, his eye contact never wavered, and his responses were concise and matter-of-fact.
    Several times Manzetti caught Sapitnaski glancing toward Carpenter who smiled at him, causing him to smile back. The fool , Frannie fumed. His admiration was an infantile response to Mariah’s good looks and potential celebrity. That wide-eyed innocent look of hers would do it every time. But I’m not so easily taken in, missy. No fucking way .
    Frannie was a proficient enough interrogator to know that this interview was over. She gave her business card to both, requesting they contact her if they thought of anything else.
    On the drive back to her office, Frannie’s mind wasn’t on the abduction of Amanda Forrester. Those two (and the circumstances that surrounded this case) excited her. What began as a recognizable occurrence—the kidnapping—suddenly had taken a left turn into Bizarroville with a preposterous explanation that pointed to mysticism. It went against her nature and her law enforcement background to accept, at face value, something so outlandish.
    Nevertheless that’s exactly what she was doing. Her instincts about people were usually dead on: her gut told her that Mariah Carpenter and Michael Jenkins were telling the truth, God help them all. They were not the typical publicity freaks; at least their backgrounds checked out and their whereabouts at the time of the abduction were acceptable.
    Maybe Frannie Manzetti would have to rely on faith, something she thought buried along with her Catholic upbringing. Maybe there were things that could not be explained using facts and figures.
    Maybe she’d have to keep a real close eye on those two.

Chapter 10
    During the drive home, Mariah tried to concentrate on the traffic, the scenery, anything that would keep her from thinking about the Finding of Amanda Forrester. It was a battle she lost.
    At home, she turned on the shower and shed her clothes. The steam rising from the hot water trapped in the shower stall made her feel like she was stepping into some eerie, foggy movie (the kind where you scream at the stupid person to stop, knowing something evil is inside the fog waiting for the stupid person).
    The hot water felt wonderful and soothing. Her mind began to relax... floating in a sea of calmness...
    A long-buried memory surfaced, and she watched it play out.
    There she was, all decked out. Blue skirt with matching sweater made of some cheap, irritating acrylic; straw hat festooned with dusty plastic strawberries on the brim, tied under her chin with starched ribbons that made her neck itch; and those awful white gloves, stored in the back of her sock drawer, too small for her hands even last year, smelling faintly of feet. She hated Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year .
    She plodded along next to her older sister, Judith, scuffing the toes of her patent leather shoes. It was a total waste of time she griped, because God didn’t even like girls. When Judith’s eyebrows rose, nine-year-old Mariah said, Well, if he did, why do the girls hafta sit upstairs? The boys get to sit downstairs so they can kiss the Torah when Rabbi Shapiro takes it out of the ark and brings it up and down the aisles!
    With an automatic fast-forward, she was now leaning over the short wall in the first row of the temple’s balcony, the better to watch the men below just in case something interesting happened. Rachel kibitzed with Mrs. Landau, assuming her daughter’s preoccupation would keep her engaged for the duration. She would forever label this erroneous assumption “The Most Embarrassing Moment of My Life.”
    And then began The War of the Alien Twins. Mariah pulled off her gloves and splayed the fingers of one so it lay flat then bunched up the other into a ball. In the battle for control of Temple Balcony between the twins from planet Cotton, Closed Fist pummeled Flat Palm until Flat Palm had enough... whereupon it kicked Closed Fist. As the battle