Engaged to Die by Carolyn Hart Read Free Book Online Page A

“You didn’t tell him, did you?”
    â€œHim?” Annie, too, looked toward the dining room.
    Mrs. Foster’s words were hurried, desperate. “He’s in charge at night. Please don’t tell him. Please.” And she lurched away from Annie.
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    Annie placed her cup and saucer on the mantel, held out her hands to the fire, but the cheerful warmth didn’t touch the core of coldness in her mind. Despite a wonderful dinner—Max loved to cook, and tonight’s beef fillets with stuffed artichokes had been spectacular—Annie felt hollow. She stepped away from the fire, began to pace. “I’m going over there tomorrow and find out what’s what.”
    Max frowned. “We need more information, Annie. Why don’t you call Mrs. Foster? That protects her from anyone knowing she’s spoken to you. It seems pretty clear she’s scared of the guy who’s there at night. Let me get the number.” He strode to the breakfast room, reached for the telephone book drawer.
    Annie picked up the cordless phone.
    Max scanned the directory. “Okay.” He read off the numbers. Dorothy L., her white fur winter-thick, jumped up on the kitchen counter, batted at Max’s fingers. He picked up the chunky white cat, nuzzled her ruff.
    Annie punched the phone. It rang twice, then a faint voice answered, “Hello.”
    â€œMrs. Foster?” Annie spoke fast. “This is Annie Darling, Denise’s friend. Tomorrow I’m going to talk to the people in charge there—”
    Max cradled Dorothy L. in his arms, listened.
    â€œNo.” The cry was so sharp, Annie held the phoneaway. She reached down, clicked on the speaker, and the frightened voice spilled into the peaceful room. “Please, Mrs. Darling, don’t do that. Tonight after dinner, he demanded to know who you came to see. No one answered. He said that when he found out”—her voice broke—“he’d have a little talk with that person. When anybody does anything he doesn’t like, he comes to your room late at night. No one knows he’s there and—oh, it’s so awful. Don’t do that to me. Please.”
    Annie held the receiver so tightly her fingers hurt. “Mrs. Foster, that’s dreadful. He can’t get away with hurting you.”
    â€œYou don’t understand. He doesn’t hurt anyone. But he talks”—there was a shudder in her voice—“and he makes you listen. One night I went to dinner and I forgot my key. I had to ask him to open my door. You see, he has a master key. He can go in any room whenever he wants. I knew what would happen, but I had to ask. I didn’t have anywhere to go. When I asked him, he waited and waited, and then he said in this awful voice that he’d open my door, but I had to stop being so careless. He walked with me back to the room and he held onto my arm”—there was a sob in her voice—“and I hated the feel of his hot fingers, tight on my skin. He came into my room and closed the door and he started talking. He said I must apologize. I did, and he said I had to say I was sorry again. And he made me go stand in a corner, and he kept talking in that soft voice, and he said I was nothing but trouble, that I’d been trouble ever since I moved there, and people who caused trouble, sometimes they died in their sleep. And he rattled his chain with the keys, and he said he could come in my room any time. When he left, I couldn’t stop shaking.” There was a choking sob. “Don’t you see, there’s nothing to be done. It doesn’t sound like anything, but you don’t know how he acts or hear his voice. Sometimes I wake up in the night and he’s standing there at the foot of my bed. Once, I screamed, and the next morning they told me I’d had a nightmare. There’s nothing anyone can do. Please leave me alone. Don’t tell anyone what I told