Weep No More My Lady by Mary Higgins Clark Read Free Book Online Page B

his sanity by staying at his place in Maui, doing his own analysis of urban expansion and population trends, designing hotels and stadiums and shopping centershe would build when all this was over. Somehow he’d managed to make himself believe that something would happen, that Elizabeth would realize she was wrong about the time of the phone call, that the so-called eyewitness would be declared mentally incompetent . . .
    But Elizabeth was sticking to her story, the eyewitness was adamant about her testimony and the trial was looming. Ted had been shocked when he realized his first lawyer was virtually conceding a guilty verdict. That was when he had hired Henry Bartlett.
    â€œAll right, let’s put this aside until later,” Henry Bartlett said stiffly. He turned to Craig. “If Ted doesn’t want a drink, I do.”
    Ted accepted the beer Craig held out to him and stared out the window. Was Bartlett right? Was it crazy to come here instead of just working from Connecticut or New York? But somehow whenever he was at the Spa, he had a sense of calm, of well-being. It came from all the summers he’d spent on the Monterey Peninsula when he was a kid.
    The car stopped at the gate to Pebble Beach onto the Seventeen Mile Drive, and the chauffeur paid the toll. The estate homes overlooking the ocean came into view. Once he had planned to buy a house here. He and Kathy had agreed it would be a good vacation place for Teddy. And then Teddy and Kathy were gone.
    On the left side, the Pacific sparkled, clear and beautiful in the bright afternoon sun. It wasn’t safe for swimming here—the undertow was too strong—but how good it would feel to dive in and let the salty water wash over him! He wondered if he would ever feel clean again, ever stop seeing those pictures of Leila’s broken body. In his thoughts they were always there, gigantically enlarged, like billboards on a highway. And in these last few months, the doubts had begun.
    â€œQuit thinking whatever you’re thinking, Ted,” Craig said mildly.
    â€œAnd stop trying to read my thoughts,” Ted snapped. Then he managed a weak smile. “Sorry.”
    â€œNo problem.” Craig’s tone was hearty and genial.
    Craig had always had a knack for defusing situations, Ted thought. They’d met at Dartmouth as freshmen. Craig had been chunky then. At seventeen, he’d looked like a big blond Swede. At thirty-four he was trim, the chunkiness hardened into solid muscle. The strong, heavy features were more becoming to a mature man than to a kid. Craig had had a partial scholarship to college but had worked his backside off at every jobhe could get—as a dishwasher in the kitchen, as a room clerk in the Hanover Inn, as an orderly in the local hospital.
    And still he’s always been around for me, Ted reminded himself. After college, he’d been surprised to bump into Craig in the washroom at the executive office of Winters Enterprises. “Why didn’t you ask me if you wanted a job here?” He hadn’t been sure he was pleased.
    â€œBecause if I’m any good, I’ll make it on my own.”
    You couldn’t argue with that. And he’d made it, clear up to executive vice-president. If I go to prison, Ted thought, he gets to run the show. I wonder how often he thinks about that. A sense of disgust at his own mental processes washed over him. I think like a cornered rat. I am a cornered rat!
    They drove past the Pebble Beach Lodge, the golf course, the Crocker Woodland, and the grounds of Cypress Point Spa came into view. “Pretty soon you’ll understand why we wanted to come here,” Craig told Henry. He looked directly at Ted. “We’re going to put together an airtight defense. You know this place has always been lucky for you.” Then, as he glanced out the side window, he stiffened. “Oh, my God, I don’t believe it. The convertible—Cheryl and