The Deadly Neighbors (The Zoe Hayes Mysteries) by Mery Jones Read Free Book Online Page A

glanced behind me and, at eye level, I saw a row of polished pearls, ten of them, round and iridescent, her toes suspended in the air. I ran, breathless, tripping, falling, but before I hit the floor, of course, I sat up, sweating and suddenly awake.
    And I stayed awake for the rest of the night, listening to Nick’s soft snoring, touching his chest for reassurance, hanging on to the arm that he’d unconsciously wrapped around me. Unable to shake the terror of my dream, I watched the sky out the window, waiting for rays of sun to rise and deliver me from darkness, if not from dread.

N INE
    S USAN STOPPED KNITTING HER sweater and gaped at me in disbelief. “Wait. Back up. You went to Mount Airy why?”
    I swallowed with a dry mouth. “To see my father.” My voice sounded small and tired.
    “Wait,” she said again. “Excuse me. I must have heard you wrong.”
    “No. You heard right. Molly and I went to see my father.” I looked away, watching a gaggle of girls, including Molly and Susan’s youngest daughter, Emily, scamper across the soccer field. It was the next day, Sunday, and we sat under a tree near the bleachers in Fairmount Park, watching the kids’ mini-team play an away game of soccer. Nick had been gone when I woke up; weekend mornings he rowed his shell on the Schuylkill River. I’d called the hospital to check on my father, but by 8 a.m. he was already off the floor for tests, and they said he’d be gone most of the day. So, as I always did when I needed grounding, I’d turned to Susan. I needed to tell her what had happened to my face, but she cut me off right at the start.
    “Your father.” She said it as if it were an accusation.
    I nodded, exhausted, dreading having to make yet another explanation.
    “You’re telling me that you have a father, right here in Philadelphia. And you never once in all the years we’ve known each other mentioned him?”
    Bingo. Correct. I hadn’t.
    “And while you were hiding your family from me, I completely let you into mine. You’ve been to all the holiday dinners. The barbecues. The Christmas extravaganzas. And you’ve seen our dirty laundry: my dad passing out after too much bourbon; all four of my brothers’ ugly divorces; Uncle Bill’s transvestite lover; Aunt Sybil’s hypochondria…You even have my nana’s recipe for roast duckling with drunken cranberry sauce—not that you ever use it.” She was indignant, sputtering, but she stopped to breathe and forced herself to resume her knitting, trying to appear calm. “Then again, maybe I’m not being fair. A person can’t be expected to remember everything. Probably, you just forgot to mention him. I mean, it’s not like he’s important or anything. He’s only your father.”
    I took the punches without flinching. What could I say? She was right. “Susan, please. It’s not like I deliberately kept him secret—”
    “No, of course not. It was an accident. You accidentally, never in over a decade, thought of mentioning him. It’s totally understandable.” She closed her mouth and counted stitches, completing her row. When she was done, she set the knitting down on her lap and put on her sunglasses, staring out at the field. Shutting me out. Angry.
    Great, I thought. First Nick, now Susan. Everyone close to me was mad at me, and all because of my father. Susan was hurt that I hadn’t told her about him. But why was that such a serious offense? It wasn’t as if I’d deliberately hidden him from her. We’d simply had no relationship. He hadn’t been part of my life, so I’d never talked about him. I’d had no reason to. Besides, given what I’d been through in the last twenty-four hours, couldn’t she cut me some slack?
    Of course I knew the answer: No slack. Not an inch. Not a smidgeon.
    And, in a way, I understood. Susan Cummings was my best friend. We shared just about everything. Openness was a given. Our friendship had grown and thrived on admitting the truth to each other, no