Eyes by Joanne Fluke Read Free Book Online Page A

Doug was married or whether he had a girlfriend, or even where he lived. The only personal thing she knew about him was that he liked his coffee strong, with three sugars and two creams.
    When Jill turned around to go back to her desk, she was smiling. Doug Lake was a mystery, and she liked mysteries. Perhaps he was married to a wonderful woman. If so, she could invite them for dinner one night. But would that work? Neil liked to choose his own friends, and he wasn’t interested in meeting any of hers.
    After her marriage, Jill had stopped inviting coworkers to her home. She never knew when Neil would be sarcastic. At times he’d actually been rude to her friends. There was no way Jill could anticipate, with any degree of certainty, how Neil would treat their guests.
    She sat down in her chair and switched on the light. As she picked up her brief and started to read it again, she found herself hoping that Doug wasn’t married. It was a lot safer that way. If Neil was in one of his moods, he might try to hit on Doug’s wife. Doug would react as the other husbands had, and then she’d lose him as a friend. No, it would be much better if Doug weren’t married. And, to be perfectly honest with herself, it would be better if she weren’t married.
    * * *
    Connie smiled as she walked down the corridor and approached the door to three eighty-one. She was home and she could hardly wait to take a shower and crawl into the bed she’d shared with Alan. Of course she’d be lonely; she knew that. But she could slip on one of Alan’s shirts, smell the aftershave he’d always worn, and for a few hours at least, she could pretend that he was still alive.
    There was something wrong with the lock. Her key didn’t seem to fit. Connie wiggled it around and tried to force it into the slot, but she couldn’t get the door to open. Now she’d have to go down to the office and call for a locksmith.
    As she rang for the elevator, Connie glanced at her watch. It was almost one o’clock. She hoped the office hadn’t closed for lunch. She could never remember the schedule. Did they take their lunch hour from twelve to one . . . or from one to two? And was it different on Saturdays? The elevator doors opened and Connie stepped in, thankful that it was empty. She didn’t want to accept the condolences of the neighbors yet. If anyone said a kind word to her, she was sure she’d break down in tears.
    The office manager had just closed up for lunch, but when he saw Connie he unlocked the door. He looked worried, almost nervous at seeing her, and at first Connie was puzzled. In the past he’d always been very friendly. Perhaps he was just one of those people who didn’t know what to say when tragedy struck.
    â€œHello, Harry.” Connie stepped into the office and waited for him to speak. Surely he’d offer some sympathetic word, tell her how sorry he was about Alan. But Harry didn’t say anything at all. He just sat there silently, avoiding her eyes.
    â€œThere’s something wrong with my lock.” Connie held out her key. “This doesn’t go in all the way, and it won’t turn at all.”
    Harry nodded, but he still didn’t meet her eyes. “I didn’t know you were coming back today, or I would have put a note on your door.”
    â€œA note? But why?”
    â€œI’ve got some bad news.” Harry pulled out a chair and motioned for her to sit down. “Please take a seat. This isn’t going to be easy, Miss Wilson.”
    Connie seated herself, and this time Harry met her eyes. He looked very upset, he was frowning. “You’d think they’d have the guts to tell you themselves, but they left it to me!”
    â€œTell me what, Harry?” Connie’s hands started to tremble. “What’s wrong?”
    â€œThe Stanfords. They sent in a moving crew this morning. There’s a whole pile of boxes that