When Day Breaks by Mary Jane Clark Read Free Book Online Page A

watching her from inside the cabana.
    Back and forth, back and forth, Constance’s sleek body sliced through the water. Her toned arms reached out, hands slightly cupped. Her legs fluttered rapidly, propelling her forward. At every other stroke, she turned her head to the right, her mouth breaking above the waterline, able to take deep breaths to keep going.
    When Constance finished her laps, she flipped over onto her back. Her blond hair fanned out on top of the water, and she stared up into the night sky as she neared the shallow end of the pool. Her ears were beneath the water, and she heard nothing except the silence.
    She began to shiver, and, rubbing her fingertips together, she could feel that they had puckered. Constance stood up, her feet touching the pool floor.
    As she neared the steps, she sensed she was not alone. She turned to look just in time to see the object flying through the air. The light around the pool revealed the orange electrical cord as well. In that terrifying instant, Constance knew what was going to happen to her.
    The toaster hit the water, and Constance felt the current begin to run through her at the same moment she saw her killer’s face.

CHAPTER 11
     
    T he pool lights flickered and then went off, but there was no time to look around for the electrical box and try to reset them. Just enough illumination filtered down from the spotlights over the deck at the rear of the house to light the way. The three-pronged plug, which had been reduced to two when the grounding prong had been purposefully cut off, was pulled from the outlet on the cabana wall. The thick orange electrical cord was efficiently wound up, the toaster at the end of the cord was pulled out of the pool.
    All the while, Constance lay motionless, facedown in the water.
    When the Great Dane had been electrocuted yesterday, it had been essential to get the dog out of the pool, leaving no trace of the poor creature’s fate. What a job that was, hoisting the massive and soaking-wet animal and dragging it into the woods. But Constance could be left right where she was, ready to be discovered.
    The early-evening stillness was marred by a sound coming from the deck above, but a visual sweep of the area revealed nothing. Something glimmered, however, from the table at the side of the pool. Curiosity revealed the source of the faint gleam. The light was hitting the bright green gem in just the right way. It was the reflection from the emerald eye of the carved ivory unicorn.
    Constance’s good-luck charm, her talisman, her gold-crowned unicorn, was slipped into a pocket with hopes that it would bring its new owner the best of fortune.

CHAPTER 12
     
    S aturdays were busy at the Cloisters. On a hill overlooking the Hudson River, this place might have been the closest approximation of a monastic setting in an American city, and people flocked there in the spring. Children and adults streamed in for gallery talks and family workshops on subjects ranging from medieval motherhood to magic and medicine in the Middle Ages. Visitors listened to audio guides as they wandered through the chapels and halls of the museum, immersing themselves in the world of monks, kings, knights, tapestries, stained glass, and carved stone. Outside, picnickers and sunbathers spread their blankets on the lawn, enjoying nature and serenity.
    Today Rowena Quincy was scheduled to give a special lecture on the Unicorn tapestries. As she headed to work, Rowena wasn’t nervous. She knew her subject so well that notes were unnecessary. Sitting on the uptown bus, she relaxed and read the New York Times. She dutifully flipped through the first section before turning to her favorite part, the Arts.
    There, below the fold, was a picture of Constance Young. Rowena read the caption: “Constance Young trading one morning show for another.”
    The story went on to chronicle Young’s last day on KEY to America on Friday and the luncheon held in her honor at a restaurant in