ShadowsintheMist by Maureen McMahon Read Free Book Online Page B

real waste. Leo had expected to fill the house with
lavish entertainment—grand parties and regular gala festivities like those held
by upper classes in the bigger cities of Chicago, Los Angeles or New York.
    It obviously didn’t occur to him that grand parties meant
little to the simple folk who lived in this neck of the woods. Of course there
were parties but nothing so often or extravagant as to require permanent staff.
    Martha sat down companionably in a chair near my bed. “I
didn’t really have a chance to welcome you back, Suzanna. Things have been so
hectic.” She frowned and looked down at her hands folded neatly in her lap.
    She wasn’t a small woman. Despite her plumpness, she exuded
a solid strength, developed from years of manual labor. Her face was pleasant,
falling into the gentle folds of age and lined delicately around a thin, liquid
mouth usually set in patient determination. Her hair was a soft crown of silver
waves. Behind thinly framed glasses, her eyes were a sparkling gray and
magnified by the lenses, attested to a beauty muted only by time.
    “It’s just not the same without your father,” she said
quietly.
    I played with my scrambled eggs. “I find it all so
unbelievable. Maybe you could shed some light on what happened that night?”
    She looked up, surprised. “Why, surely you’ve been told?”
    “Yes, yes. David told me the facts and the others, well—it
still doesn’t seem possible Dad could be so careless. Did he seem upset to you?
Was he drinking a lot?”
    “No.” She hesitated. “I mean, not like before but… Well,
that night he did seem a bit tipsy. You know he always liked to have a drink after
dinner. He said it relaxed him.” She looked up at me thoughtfully, then added, “I
don’t know for sure, dear but I think something was bothering him. He seemed so…so
restless.”
    “The business?” I queried.
    She shook her head. “No. Well, maybe. I don’t know. I guess
it’s just a feeling I had.” She plucked nervously at her apron for a moment,
then stood up abruptly.
    “But listen to me ramble on!” She smiled. “How we do prattle
when we get older. It was an accident, that’s all. Just a horrible, senseless
accident. Can I get you anything else, dear?”
    She didn’t sound very convincing but I knew it was pointless
to pursue the issue. I’d only alienate her and I wanted as many people on my
side as I could muster.
    “No, Martha, everything is lovely. Thank you again.”
    She smiled and left, obviously anxious to get away. Puzzled,
I watched her go. Perhaps she wasn’t as open and honest as I assumed.
    It was nearly eleven o’clock when I finally went downstairs
and wandered into the rear parlor. This was one of my favorite rooms and I
often came here to read or write or just think. Sunlight streamed in through
the sliding glass doors that accessed the stone-paved patio and pool. Plush
cream rugs were scattered about a buffed hardwood floor and a comfortable
two-seater sofa and twin chairs, upholstered in a refreshing peach-and-cream
floral, were grouped in front of a white marble fireplace.
    In the winter, heavy draperies were drawn across the doors
to keep the warmth from escaping. Now, however, only the fly screens were shut
and a warm breeze swirled in carrying the scent of chlorinated water and damp
earth.
    I glanced at the mirror over the hearth, self-consciously
fingering my dark hair. There was no doubt I was Leo Dirkston’s daughter. I had
his stubborn chin and Greek coloring. My eyes, however, were my mother’s—a rich
brown flecked with gold. They tended to show my emotions too readily, so I
learned early in life to veil them discreetly with my thick fringe of lashes.
Still, I’d always secretly envied Alicia, who was as fair and glamorous as I
was dark and unsophisticated. I often tried to convince myself practicality and
intelligence were traits far superior to sexiness and physical beauty but I
still coveted those pouting lips and that