Carolyn Hart [Death on Demand Dead Days of Summer (retail) (e

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.Max called after her.“And the check.” He wouldn’t have ordered another beer, but he was thirsty enough to drink it.He lifted his glass and drained it.Bridget was frowning.“Can’t we stay for a while? Danny might come later.”Max added a dash of hot sauce to his hamburger.He picked it up, didn’t like the greasy feel of the bun, but took a bite.The message that had accompanied the photographs of Danny had been vague: Check out Dooley’s Mine most evenings.Max had no intention of returning here on a regular basis.There was more than one way to discover if the missing man ever visited Dooley’s Mine.Max took another bite, chewed slowly.He blinked, put the hamburger back on his plate.He didn’t think he’d eat any more.Something was making him feel sick…food poisoning wasn’t that quick…couldn’t expect the food here to be very good…he swallowed…his throat felt thick…everything looked funny…muzzy…out of focus…Bridget moved closer and away…her voice came from a long distance…arms so heavy…2Annie turned on the faucets full force.Bubbles coalesced into glistening mounds as water thundered into the bathtub.The sweet scent of roses was enticing.The water would be warm and silky, help her relax.She was ready to climb the two broad steps into the oversize bath.Yet she stood unmoving, her tense body reflected in a wall of mirrors.She was scarcely aware of the mirrors, her eyes locked instead on the tiled counter.She’d placed the portable phone next to her cell phone.Surely the cell would ring any minute now.It was her link to the world.A link to Max…She turned off the water.The only sound was the slap of her bare feet as she hurried across the bathroom, grabbed the clothes she’d dropped in the hamper.She pulled them on, the pale blue silk tee and cream-colored shorts.She grabbed up the phones, slipped into huaraches, and left the water to grow cold, the bubbles to dissolve.When she reached the main hallway downstairs, she skidded to a stop.It was silent, frightfully silent.No bang or clang in the kitchen, no Max deciding to whip up a batch of double chocolate brownies, no salsa swelling from the CD player.“Oh, Max.” She spoke aloud, her voice lifting as if in a question.She looked at the grandfather clock.All right.He’d said he might be late.It was just a little past eleven.Certainly, that was still a reasonable time of night.But where was he, what was he doing that she’d had no word? He’d said he would call.It was unlike him to not be in touch.Unlike him? It was completely contrary to his nature.He was always thoughtful.Max.She massaged the tight muscles in his throat.He would have called if he had been able.Therefore, something unexpected had happened, something that prevented him from contacting her.She took a deep breath.Steady.It was as if he were here.That’s what he would say.Steady, honey.Okay, she’d figure it out.He’d taken on an assignment.When he phoned, he said he didn’t know when he’d get home.Wherever he was, he was still on the job.Perhaps he was on a stakeout and couldn’t call because he must make no sound.Perhaps he’d lost his cell and there was no available phone.Annie walked into the terrace room, flipped on all the lights.Dorothy L., their plump white cat, lifted a startled head.Dorothy L.had a tendency to nap until very late at night.Her favorite time to ease outside was around three o’clock in the morning.Annie put the phones on the coffee table.She flung herself on the rattan sofa, picked up a small cushion, rubbed her fingers across the tasseled fringe.For some reason that she truly couldn’t fathom, Max couldn’t get in touch with her.Max was in danger.She gripped the cushion so hard her hands ached.She might have been carved from ice.Deep inside, she felt sick.The sensation was beyond thought.The dreadful burgeoning horror within her was instinct.Max was in danger.The only sounds in the room were her quick breaths and the thump as Dorothy L.dropped to the parquet floor and padded toward her.Annie stared at the phones, willing one to ring.She jumped to her feet.She had to find Max.She grabbed her cell and ran toward the kitchen.Quickly, she scribbled a note—Out looking for you.Call my cell if—she scratched out the word, wrote—when you get home.She propped the note in the middle of the kitchen table, grabbed her car keys and purse.She turned left on Laughing Gull Road.They always laughed about their commute, three minutes total from their house to the harbor and her bookstore and Max’s office.Why hadn’t she gone to his office earlier? Why had she waited, stewing and fretting? She’d find out about his job.He always created a file.She’d find out who hired him and why and what his objective had been tonight.She drove too fast, knew she should slow down.Deer were often abroad at night.Coming around a curve too fast, a driver could end up with a dead buck or doe and a smashed car.She flew through the stop sign at Sand Dollar Road, screeched left.Tall pines blocked the moonlight.Her headlights speared into the gloom.There were no other cars.She came around a curve.Usually lights sparkled at the country club, but it was closed on Mondays, contributing to the lack of traffic.Even though it was August and the height of the tourist season, this portion of the island was quiet.The shops on the boardwalk overlooking the marina closed at ten.Broward’s Rock nightlife was confined to the north end of the island, primarily Parotti’s Bar and Grill, a jazz club, and a couple of beer joints [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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