Killing Time. Leslie Kelly

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ me in.”

      

      IN HER SMALL room in her brother’s rectory, Hester Tomlinson sat on her narrow bed. She stared at her black-and-white television as a commercial for Killing Time in a Small Town came on. She recognized the street scene, seeing familiar buildings as a man’s voice talked about bucolic small-town life.

      “Some heavenly place,” she said with a snort.

      The fellow doing the voice-over made Derryville sound like some Norman Rockwell painting. It wasn’t, as Hester knew better than anyone. “This town has secrets,” she mumbled, keeping her voice quiet since Bob was praying in the next room.

      Praying for her, most likely, as he’d undoubtedly done every day of the nine hundred and sixty-two days since she’d come to live under his roof. Not that she was counting or anything.

      She’d been doing some praying of her own lately. She prayed for practical things. A decent steak for once. A big fat emerald necklace that would look much too gaudy for a God-fearing woman.

      And she prayed for more secrets. For the power that came with those secrets. For the money that came with the power of those secrets. Yes, indeed, she knew all about secrets, how to spot them, how to figure them out and how to benefit from them.

      Hester considered herself a fine judge of character, in spite of her brief lapse in figuring out what was going on with that trashy Winchester girl. “Spiteful, ungrateful little wretch.”

      The idea that Sophie Winchester had said what she’d said…had done what she’d done…had given Hester more than a few sleepless nights lately. Because if she could so completely misread a mealymouthed girl like that, what else might she have overlooked going on right beneath her nose here in Derryville?

      A lot. Perhaps a profitable amount.

      All that seemed somehow unimportant now. She turned her eyes to the TV again, unable to stop the dart of fear that made her quiver in her 3X cotton high-necked Sears nightie—the one she’d had to order from the catalogue since this lousy little town didn’t even have a decent department store. One more example that she was the queen fly on a dung heap.

      But it was better than being queen of nothing.

      Coming here to live with her younger brother after his spineless wife had died three years ago had given Hester something she’d never had before. Status. Respect. A position of authority. She wanted to keep it. So the minute she’d heard TV people were coming to town, she’d begun to panic. Bob had worried, too. The two of them had done what they could—him preaching in the pulpit, and her working the more insidious gossip lines.

      It had happened anyway, thanks mostly to those Winchesters. That was one family even the powerful standing of the first lady of the local church couldn’t touch, as Sophie Winchester had already proved. No matter what Hester had done to spread rumors about the girl living in sin with the police chief, the thrown mud had slid off her like butter off Teflon.

      Sometimes there was no justice. Sophie got away with her disrespect. Her brother Mick…well, he was fine to look at, Hester wasn’t too old to note that. But he was a sinner. One had only to look at him, at the way he smiled at women, at the way he wore his pants and the way he walked. Wicked.

      Not that it mattered, because now the town was going to be filling up with wicked people. Those Hollywood types, with their prying eyes and their prying cameras. People who liked to learn secrets, just like Hester.

      What if one of these sneaky newcomers, by remote chance, recognized her? It seemed doubtful. She’d changed in the past thirty years, Lord knew. But it wasn’t impossible.

      And that was the only thing in the world that scared Miss Hester Tomlinson.

      Exposure.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CAROLINE HAD LEARNED how to play poker from her Uncle Louie, who was almost as much of a no-gooder as her own father. Uncle Louie had finally settled down and married Aunt Luanne; they were now affectionately called Loulou by everyone who knew them. He’d become a perfectly content husband, unlike her father, who was living someplace in Florida with his third wife.

      One thing was sure. Uncle Louie had been a good teacher, beating Caroline out of every last penny in her piggy bank whenever he came to visit.

      Thank you, Uncle Louie. She just loved being able to kick ass at cards. One ass, in particular. Mick’s.

      “Hell, Caroline, if I’d known you were a card shark I would’ve charged you higher rent,” he muttered as he threw down another hand in disgust two hours later.

      She shot him a disbelieving look, amazed that he had the nerve to bring up the subject of rent and renters. That conversation was coming, no doubt about it. But not now, not in front of witnesses who could be used to testify against her in the trial: the one she anticipated after she killed the guy.

      She sipped at her now very watery scotch on the rocks, staring at her cards and humming the Alias theme under her breath. Kick-butt woman. That was appropriate tonight. Because she was going to kick Mick’s butt all over the place once they were alone.

      But it’s such a nice butt.

      No. No thinking of how Mick had looked while naked in his office a few weeks ago. Even as she ordered herself to get him out of her head, however, she knew she’d be unable to do it. The picture of Mick had remained in her brain every minute of every day since she’d seen him again.

      The other men in the room were wonderfully good-natured about losing their money to her. Which was a good thing, since two of them were going to be extras on Killing Time in a Small Town. Finally, when the eleven o’clock news came on in the background, the one named Eddie leaned back in his chair and gave an exaggerated stretch. “Workday for me tomorrow.”

      Yes, it was, even for her. Unfortunately, she still had no idea where she was going to sleep tonight. But it was worth it to see the way Mick was squirming, wondering when she was going to erupt, and how she would handle her rooming situation.

      She knew the answer to both questions: when they were alone, and, at the rent-by-the-hour no-tell motel out by the interstate.

      “It was grand, boys,” she said as she accepted her pile of money and tossed her final hand toward Mick. “I think I’ve earned back a week’s worth of the rent this snake slimed out of me.”

      Mick sipped his water. She’d noted he’d switched to nonalcoholic drinks after Caro had announced she was staying. Probably for the same reason Caro had nursed just one scotch all evening. She needed all her wits about her. Not so much for the game, because Mick’s friends, while they might have been all-stars on the baseball field, really stank at cards. But no, she needed to keep clearheaded to deal with Mick once they were alone.

      Which looked like it was going to be very soon.

      “Night, Caroline,” Eddie, a thick-waisted Italian guy with a shaggy mustache, said.

      “It’s Caro,” she murmured.

      “Like the pancake syrup?”

      She shot Mick a glare as she heard him chuckle.

      “Welcome СКАЧАТЬ