Vanishing Act by Fern Michaels Read Free Book Online Page B

God, I’m going to die if I don’t get some food.” She was so pitiful she couldn’t stand herself.

Chapter 6
    L izzie drove her car into the garage and locked it with the remote on her visor. She entered the house through a door that led to the kitchen, where she stopped in the middle of the floor. This was the part that she hated, entering an empty house where there was no sound, no pet running to greet her. It was at times like this that she realized how alone she felt in the world. Oh, yes, her days and the early part of her evenings were filled with people and things to do, but at the bitter end she was still alone.
    Lizzie looked around at her neat, tidy kitchen. Cosmo Cricket would not fit into this little house, he just wouldn’t. Until they finalized their living arrangements, she would be commuting to Las Vegas on weekends. Not that Cosmo was averse to coming here to Washington; he wasn’t. They both recognized that the house either needed to be renovated or they needed to buy a new East Coast home.
    Sound was what she needed, so she turned on the under-the-cabinet Bose radio she had ordered last year. Then she turned on the television sitting on top of the counter. A jumble of noise, to be sure, a far cry from the bells and whistles of Las Vegas, but it did make her feel better.
    Lizzie’s thoughts ran in all directions as she made her way through the house to the stairway that led to the two bedrooms on the second floor. The minute she stepped into the hallway, she started to shed her clothes.
    Ten minutes later, her suit was hanging neatly in the closet, her shoes were on the shoe tree, and she was dressed in a pair of sweats and sneakers. She rummaged for combs in the vanity, piling the shimmering silver hair on top of her head. Her two cell phones went into her pockets. As soon as she got dinner under way, she would call Cosmo, and they would talk until her guests arrived. She brightened immediately at the thought of talking to her new husband.
    Downstairs in the kitchen, Lizzie hummed to herself as she banged pots and pans, opened jars, and got out her cutting board.
    Lizzie was the first to admit that she was no great shakes as a cook, but she did watch the Food Network from time to time. She especially liked the program where the host and cook prepared what she called semihomemade dinners. She’d paid attention, and now was able to prepare spaghetti that tasted like she’d slaved for hours. Thank goodness, for that was precisely what she was going to prepare for her guests.
    Lizzie dumped a huge jar of store-bought spaghetti sauce into a pot, squeezed some tomato paste right from the tube into the mix, and stirred. A can of fire-roasted tomatoes went in next. She chopped garlic and onions and sautéed them in a small frying pan, and the moment the onions were translucent, she spooned them into the sauce. In the blink of an eye she chopped basil and parsley and scooped it into the pot. She frowned as she remembered who her guests were. Maggie Spritzer could eat the whole pot of sauce on her own, so she added two more jars of the bottled sauce, squeezed in some more tomato paste, then chopped and sautéed more garlic and onions. Cosmo said his favorite scent in the whole world was the smell of frying onions and garlic. She had to admit she loved the aroma herself.
    Continuing with the semihomemade theme, Lizzie preheated the oven, took a berry pie out of her freezer, and waited ten minutes before crimping the edges and making fork marks all around. What’s-her-name on the semihomemade show said guests always looked at the edges to see if they were cookie-cutter or homemade. Fork marks made it look homemade. Then Lizzie brushed an egg white over the top, covered the crimped edges with tinfoil, slid the pie into the oven, and set the timer.
    The kitchen clock told her she had ninety minutes before her guests arrived. Time enough to set the dining room table, cook the pasta, and get a salad ready. Five