Grave Intent by Deborah LeBlanc Read Free Book Online Page A

through the air,
cutting off Wilson’s words and nearly smacking Antony across the
face. He turned toward Wilson, his black eyes hard, cold
marbles.
    “This makes you hungry, no?” he asked,
pointing to the money on the desk.
    Wilson sucked in an audible breath as the man
crept closer to him.
    “Yes,” Ephraim said. The word hissed through
his teeth like steam from a kettle. “There is much hunger within. I
am but to wonder what planted such a seed.” His finger ran the
length of Wilson’s tie without touching it.
    Michael heard a crackle of static
electricity, and his father suddenly shoved a finger behind the
knot in his tie, his eyes widening. Wilson began to gasp as though
struggling for air.
    “Dad?” Michael took an uncertain step toward
him.
    Ephraim and Antony stood nearby with their
arms folded. They watched Wilson with casual amusement as saliva
escaped from the corners of his mouth and he abruptly dropped to
one knee.
    “Dad?” Fearing a heart attack, Michael
hurried to his father’s side. A loud rip sounded from
Wilson’s chest, and the tie he’d been struggling with fell to the
floor in halves. Wilson gulped air as Michael helped him to his
feet.
    “Are you all right?” Michael asked, puzzled.
He looked from his father to Ephraim, then back to his father.
“What happened?”
    Wilson grabbed onto the edge of the desk with
both hands. “I-I don’t . . .the tie—”
    Ephraim grunted loudly and rubbed his palms
together. “It is settled,” he said to Michael. “You will present
her in early morning.” With a brisk nod, he turned to Antony.
“Come, we have much to prepare.”
    Antony opened the door and held it ajar for
his cousin. Before he crossed the threshold, Ephraim turned to
Wilson.
    “Beware of such a hunger and where it will
lead you, Wilson Savoy. If you do not hold it in its place, this
greed will send most horrible death.” With that, Ephraim reached
into his coat again and pulled out a large pinch of white powder,
which he tossed across the carpet. Pollen-fine residue settled on
the desk, the urn shelf, and the picture of Ellie that rested on
the windowsill.
    “What the hell are you doing?” Wilson
demanded.
    Ignoring Wilson, Ephraim looked at Michael
and bowed his head stiffly. “A gift,” he said, “which your honesty
has earned. It will help carry your most heartfelt prayer to the
very gates of heaven.” Ephraim cocked his head toward Wilson once
again, eyed him gravely, then followed Antony out of the room,
closing the door behind him.
     
     
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER FOUR
    Standing in the northeast vestibule of
Riverwest Medical Center, Anna Stevenson took the knife she had
borrowed from someone she couldn’t remember and stared at the palm
of her left hand. Never again would this hand touch the cheek of
her beloved Thalia. It would never feel the warmth of her like it
once did when they had hugged. There would never be another time
when it would feel the smoothness of a brush gliding through her
daughter’s hair as she helped to brush it before a party.
    A party . . . a birthday party . . .
Thalia’s—
    Anna sliced an X into her palm with the knife
and watched blood pour between her fingers, then splatter to the
floor. She felt only a tingling sensation from the wound, so
minuscule to the torture that ravaged her heart.
    It seemed like only seconds earlier when she
had laughed and clapped as Ephraim promenaded their daughter before
friends and family. “Nineteen and so beautiful,” he had said with
so much pride, you would have thought he alone had given birth to
the girl. Thalia had held onto her father’s arm, glowing in the
congratulatory applause.
    Anna had wondered then about the passage of
time. Hadn’t it only been a year or two since Thalia turned four?
Wasn’t it only a month or so ago that her daughter had lost her
front teeth? Surely it was no more than days since she had tried on
her first bra. As she’d watched Thalia dance and sing, Anna