The Tempest by James Lilliefors Read Free Book Online Page B

said.
    â€œWell, it might. But let’s not compare this to the Bahamas.”
    â€œDo you know who lives down there?” Judy said, to Luke. “One of our neighbors?”
    â€œNo. Who?”
    Charlotte said, “Anna Nicole Smith used to live there, I know.”
    â€œSean Connery,” Lowell said.
    â€œReally,” Luke said.
    â€œReally. Good man.” He signaled for another drink. “But no, I’m just throwing the idea out, something to think about. Come down and have a look, if you’d like. You’re always welcome.”
    â€œWe will,” Luke said.
    â€œThink about it, that is,” Charlotte added.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI just wish we didn’t have to go back on Saturday,” Judy said, turning to Luke. “We so wanted to see your ser­vice.”
    â€œAnytime. We’d love to have you,” Luke said cheerfully. But, in fact, missing the Sunday ser­vice was as much a part of the Carringtons’ visits to Tidewater County as was dinner here at the Old Shore Inn.
    As they walked out into the parking lot, Luke saw more police lights down the coast. He clicked on his phone and checked messages. Nothing from Susan or Hunter. Nothing from anyone.
    â€œCan’t beat that breeze, can you?” Lowell Carrington said.
    Luke just nodded and they breathed it together. He had a point.
    S NEAKERS WENT INTO the usual gyrations as they came in the cottage, getting down on his side in the foyer, wiggling and thumping.
    â€œHe’s getting better at that,” Charlotte said.
    â€œYes, he must’ve been practicing.”
    Luke let him out the front door and they both jogged toward the bluff, Sneakers stopping periodically to sniff and to water the lawn. Coming back, Luke felt weighed down again by the previous night’s thoughts, recalling the pitch of concern in Susan Champlain’s voice, the haunted look in her eyes. The house was dark when he came in, except for the stove surface light in the kitchen. Sneakers was lapping energetically at his water; Charlotte’s classical music played very faintly from her office.
    â€œChar?” he said. Where was she?
    Luke checked the living room. He walked down the hallway to the bedroom, letting his eyes adjust, his heart tightening a little.
    â€œPastor?” a voice called. Luke stopped. “Is that you?”
    â€œYes.” He smiled. The voice sounded very much like Charlotte’s. “Who is it?”
    â€œIt’s me. Dr. Nicely.”
    â€œOh, yes. I thought I recognized you.” It was Luke’s sex therapist, who made house calls. He sat on the edge of the bed and undid his shoes. “I’m actually rather glad you’re here,” he said.
    â€œYes. I am, too,” said Dr. Nicely.
    Luke’s cell began to ring as soon as he got his shoes off, making the sound of an old rotary phone.
    Charlotte reached for it on the nightstand. “Hmm,” she said, glancing at the readout while she handed it to him.
    Amy Hunter .
    â€œInteresting timing,” she said.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œMaybe she’s watching through a telescope.”
    Luke glanced out at the Bay. “Not likely.”
    â€œI guess not.”
    â€œHi, Amy,” he said.
    Hunter exhaled, rather than say hello. Not a good sign.
    â€œBad news,” she said.
    Luke made eye contact in the dark with Charlotte.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œSusan Champlain,” she said. “They just found her on the beach. She’s dead.”

 
    Chapter Seven
    H unter got the call at 8:51. It was Gerry Tanner, who often monitored police radio traffic through the night, although there was, on average, less than one homicide a year in Tidewater County. “There’s a ten–seventy-­nine at Widow’s Point,” he said. “I’m heading over.”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œWoman in the surf. A ­couple walking their dog found her. Looks like she might