Fear the Darkness: A Thriller by Becky Masterman Read Free Book Online

asked, scanning the list.
    “It’s near the soy sauce in Whole Foods. Do you have those here?”
    “I’ve never been inside one. How about if I give you my car keys and credit card instead?”
    An almost smile formed at the corners of her lips. “If you do the cooking I’ll do the cleanup,” I added. Then, not wanting her to feel like Cinderella, I added, “Just dinner, I mean. And maybe I can help and learn something.”
    Never look a gift horse in the mouth, Mom used to say.

 
    Seven
    Carlo and I were always on the go, me working private investigation cases I found interesting, him with his own passions du jour, like building an observatory so he could more easily use the eleven-inch telescope I bought him last Christmas. But Gemma-Kate kicked us up a notch with her youth and excitement about her new surroundings, coupled with anticipation of starting at the university and moving into a dormitory in the fall.
    On the plane ride back from Florida before she got sick, Gemma-Kate and Carlo had made a list of all the things she needed to explore. Sedona. Mount Lemmon. Tombstone. The Grand Canyon! They talked about some places I hadn’t even seen yet.
    That day I was coming out of my office after reporting to a client that the woman she had seen in her husband’s car was a silicone sex doll. That actually wasn’t as bizarre as finding out he had had it designed to look like his wife. I couldn’t advise her whether she should divorce him for infidelity with herself. It wasn’t my job.
    Carlo was sitting at his desk in the swivel chair facing Gemma-Kate where she sat at the end of the couch, her arms resting on a cushion. When she turned her head to say good-bye she looked like an old painting, that pose of serenity. They were going over to the Desert Museum to learn about Arizona flora and fauna while I went shopping.
    Mallory was the one who preferred shopping, while I preferred hiking. But I had discovered from being married to Carlo that sometimes the most friendly things happen when you compromise. It turned out shopping was a great way to talk without the pressure of being eye to eye, something that always made me think of having to convince someone I wasn’t lying. Plus I discovered that shopping and drinking often went together, especially when the item you were looking for was a bathing suit.
    We met at La Encantada, a split-level upscale plaza with Coldwater Creek on the bottom but St. John’s and a Tiffany’s on the top. After a couple of glasses of Chardonnay at North restaurant, Mallory was prepared to enter a small boutique called Everything But Water. We both faced the racks against the wall of the shop, pushing the suits back and forth, back and forth, talking. It was this motion that I found most therapeutic, with or without the wine.
    I had also found that women are fond of talking about two things: their children and their own hideous defects. Because neither Mallory nor I had had children, and were in agreement that we couldn’t see the use of them, the bathing suits made us default to our bodies.
    She said, “I look at these things and keep hearing a little voice in my brain saying, ‘You have no waist.’ You don’t have that problem. You’ve got no belly fat at all.”
    While gone are the days of pert thighs and rock-hard breasts, I have to admit I’m still pretty trim. But wanting to show solidarity, I said, “I have monkey-face knees.”
    Mallory snarfed as if I was bringing a knife to a gunfight. She took a black one-piece with a peplum off the rack and held it up. I shook my head. “Get one with the legs cut out more.”
    “Are you still sure you want to go to that fund-raiser?” Mallory asked, jumping to an entirely different topic, knowing I’d keep up with the mental mountain-goating that friends do.
    “Sure, why not?”
    “I’m not sure it will be fun. One of the couples I invited, their son drowned just before I met you.”
    I held up two fingers. This was the gentle