Sound Of Fear. Marta Perry

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       CHAPTER ONE

      AMANDA CURTISS HAD hoped that going back to work would distract her from the grief that threatened to drown her. It didn’t work. Every person at the veterinary practice felt they had to commiserate with her on her loss.

      “So very, very sorry about your mother’s death. So shocking to have one of Boston’s most noted artists taken away by a random street crime.” Alicia Farber’s prominent blue eyes, so like those of her pampered Pekingese, welled with tears. “Pookie is sorry, too. Aren’t you, Pookie?”

      Pookie’s expression exhibited its usual disdain for lesser beings. The sight of Amanda’s white lab coat always brought out the worst in him, and he bared his teeth.

      “Let’s just see what’s going on with Pookie, shall we?” Amanda lifted the small dog to the exam table with gentle hands, careful to stay out of the way of his needle-sharp teeth.

      “He’s been barely eating a bite of his food.” Alicia hovered anxiously. “I just knew you’d want to see him. Tell me the worst. I can take it.”

      To do her justice, Alicia was genuinely apprehensive. They all were—all the owners of the pampered pets that came through the doors of one of Boston’s most successful veterinary services. Amanda’s job, one of the lowest rungs of the ladder, was to reassure the owners while treating their pets. And to refrain from pointing out that both pets and owners would benefit from more exercise and less rich food. No one took that kind of advice well.

      By the time Amanda was ushering Alicia and her pet out of the exam room, her head was throbbing and her throat was tight, as it had been since the police officers had come to the door with their grim news.

      Gracie, the receptionist, caught her as she passed. “Dr. Curtiss, there’s someone here to see you.” Lowering her voice, she added, “He said it was personal business, so I put him in an empty exam room. Number 4.”

      “Thanks, Gracie.” Brushing any stray Peke hairs from her lab coat, Amanda headed for the exam room, her stomach clenching. Personal business had taken on an ominous meaning lately, since it invariably had to do with her mother’s death.

      But when she opened the door, her face relaxed into a smile. Robert McKinley was not only her mother’s attorney but a longtime family friend, as well... Uncle Robert until she’d felt she was too old for the term.

      “Robert. I didn’t expect you...” She stopped, her brain catching up with her tongue. Robert wouldn’t come to her workplace on anything routine. “What’s wrong?”

      “Why should anything be wrong?” He kissed her cheek, and she smelled the faint aroma of musk that always advertised his presence. “Are you sure you should have come back to work so soon? It wasn’t necessary.”

      Maybe not financially, but it was for her mental health. “I’d rather be busy. I need something to occupy my mind.”

      “If you’re sure.” He didn’t sound convinced, and Amanda read the uneasiness behind his warmth.

      “You wouldn’t come here unless something had happened. Out with it.” Amanda fought to keep her voice steady. “Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than what’s already happened.”

      Nothing could be worse than losing her mother in such a brutal way...never again to see her forehead wrinkle in absorption over a new painting, never to feel the warmth of her hug, never to hear the laughter in her voice...

      Robert frowned, taking a step away. “I know.” His voice wasn’t entirely steady, either. He’d adored Juliet in his own staid way. “It may be nothing, but one of the detectives dropped by with the coroner’s report. It had raised some questions in his mind.”

      “Questions?” Her mind shied away from imagining a coroner’s report.

      “Perhaps I’m making too much of this. You might already know.” He shook his head slightly, as if to clear it. “The autopsy confirmed something that seemed...odd.” He held up a hand to silence her when she would have burst out with a demand to hear it, whatever it was. “It seems that Juliet Curtiss, your mother, never had a child.”

      Amanda froze, staring at him. The words were in English, all right, but they didn’t make any sense. “What do you mean? Of course she had a child. I’m standing right here.”

      “Juliet never bore a child,” he repeated. “There isn’t any doubt, Amanda. I read the report for myself, and then I called the coroner for confirmation. СКАЧАТЬ