The Beginning by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online Page B

it was from outside. Amabel said I’d imagined it. It’s true that I’d had a horrible nightmare, a vivid memory in the form of a dream, actually, but the screams pulled me out of the dream. I know that. I’m sure of it. Anyway, I went back to bed, but I know I heard Amabel leave the house after that. You’re a private detective. What do you make of that?”
    â€œYou want to be my client? It’ll cost you big bucks.”
    â€œMy father was rich, not me. I don’t have a cent.”
    â€œWhat about your husband? He’s a big tycoon lawyer, isn’t he?”
    She stood up like a shot. “I think you should leave now, Mr. Quinlan. Perhaps it’s because you’re a private detective and it’s your job to ask questions, but you’ve crossed the line. I’m none of your business. Forget what you saw on TV. Very little of it was true. Please go.”
    â€œAll right,” he said. “I’ll be in The Cove for another week. You might ask your aunt if she remembers two old folk named Harve and Marge Jensen. They were in a new red Winnebago, and they probably drove into town to buy some of the World’s Greatest Ice Cream. Like I told you, the reason I’m here is because their son hired me to find them. It’s been over three years since they disappeared.” Although he’d already asked Amabel himself, he wanted Sally to ask her as well. He’d be interested to see if she thought her aunt was lying.
    â€œI’ll ask her. Good-bye, Mr. Quinlan.”
    She dogged him to the front door, which, thankfully, was still attached to its ancient hinges.
    â€œI’ll see you again, Sally,” he said, gave her a small salute, and walked up the well-maintained sidewalk.
    The temperature had dropped. A storm was blowing in. He had a lot to do before it hit. He quickened his step. So her husband was off-limits. Was she scared of him? She wasn’t wearing a wedding band, but the evidence of one had been in that thick white line on her finger.
    He’d really blundered—that wasn’t like him. Usually he was very cautious, very careful, particularly with someone like her, someone fragile, someone who was teetering right on the brink.
    Nothing seemed straightforward now that he’d met Susan St. John, that thin young woman who was terrified of a dead man who had called her on the phone.
    He wondered how long it would be before Susan St. John discovered he’d lied through his teeth. It was possible she would never find out. Nearly everything he knew was in the file the FBI had assembled on her. If she found out he knew more than had ever been dished out to the public, would she take off? He hoped not. He was curious now about those human cries she’d heard in the middle of the night. Maybe her aunt had been right and she had dreamed it—being in a new place, she had every reason to be jumpy. And she had admitted to having a nightmare. Who knew?
    He looked around at the beautiful small houses on either side of the street. There were flowers and low shrubs planted everywhere, all protected from the ocean winds with high-sided wooden slats on the western side. He imagined storms off the ocean could devastate any plant alive. The people were trying.
    He still didn’t like the town, but it didn’t seem so much like a Hollywood set anymore. Actually it didn’t look at all like Teresa’s hometown in Ohio. There was an air of complacency about it that didn’t put him off. He had a sense that everyone who lived here knew their town was neat and lovely and quaint. The townspeople had thought about what they wanted to do and they’d done it. The town had genuine charm and vitality, he’d admit that, even though he hadn’t seen a single child or young person since he’d driven in some three hours before.
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    IT was late at night when the storm blew in. The wind howled, rattling the windows. Sally