Nighttime Is My Time: A Novel by Mary Higgins Clark Read Free Book Online Page A

stranger on a stranger, whose only fault was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. That kind of crime was the hardest to investigate, and often went unsolved, something he hated.
    That train of thought inevitably brought him to Karen Sommers.
    But her death wasn't hard to
solve
, Sam thought; it was only hard to
prove
.
    Karen's killer was Cyrus Lindstrom, the boyfriend she dumped twenty years ago—of that he was sure. But as of next week, when I turn in my papers, I'll be off that case, Sam reminded himself.
    And I'll be off yours, too, he thought, as with compassionate eyes he studied a recent picture of blue-eyed, auburn-haired Helen Whelan, who was now officially listed as "missing, presumed dead."
    13
    Laura had been tempted to sleep in and save her energy for the pre-game luncheon at West Point, but when she awoke on Saturday morning, she changed her mind. Her goal of romancing Gordie Amory had achieved only middling success at the dinner after the cocktail party. The honorees had sat together, and Jack Emerson had joined them. At first Gordie was quiet, but eventually he had warmed up some and even paid her a compliment. "I think every guy in our class had a crush on you at some point, Laura," he said.
    "Why past tense?" she had teased.
    His answer had been promising: "Why indeed?"
    And then the evening provided an unexpected bonus. Robby Brent told the group that he'd been asked to do a situation comedy on HBO and he liked the script. "The public is finally getting sick of all the reality shows," he said, "and is ready to laugh. Think about the classic comedies: J
Love Lucy, All in the Family, The Honeymooners, The Mary Tyler Moore Show
. They had real humor, and, trust me, real humor is about to make a comeback." Then he'd looked at her. "You know, Laura, you really ought to read for the part of my wife. I have a feeling you'd be good."
    She wasn't sure if he was kidding, since Robby made his living as a comic. On the other hand, if he
wasn't
kidding and if she didn't get to first base with Gordie, it might be yet another chance at grabbing the golden ring—perhaps her last chance.
    "Last chance." Unintentionally, she whispered the words aloud. They gave her a funny, queasy feeling. All night she'd had troubled dreams. She'd dreamt of Jake Perkins, that pushy kid reporter who'd handed out the list of the girls who used to sit at their lunch table at Stonecroft and who had died since then. Catherine and Debra and Cindy and Gloria and Alison. Five of them. She'd dreamt that, one by one, he was crossing their names off the list, until now only she and Jeannie were still alive.
    Separately we both stayed close to Alison, she thought, and now we're the only two left. Even though we lived next door to each other in school, Jeannie and I weren't enough alike to ever be really close. She's too nice. She never made fun of the guys the way the rest of us did.
    Stop it! Laura warned herself. Don't think about a jinx or a curse. You have today and tomorrow to catch the golden ring. With one word from his newly sculpted lips, Gordie Amory could keep her on the series for Maximum. And suddenly Robby Brent was another one of the group who could make things happen. If he wasn't just pulling her leg about the series and if he decided he wanted her in his show, she'd have a real chance at the part. And I'm good at comedy, Laura told herself. Darn good.
    And then there was Howie —no, Carter. He could open doors for her as well if he wanted to. Not in his plays, of course. God, they were all not only depressing but impossible to figure out. His artistic obscurity, however, didn't make him less powerful when it came to helping her career.
    I wouldn't mind being in a hit play, she thought wistfully. Although, now that Alison was dead, she needed a new agent, too.
    She glanced at her watch. It was time to get dressed. She knew she had lucked out with her choice of an outfit to wear for the day at West Point—the blue Armani suede