Shadow Notes by Laurel Peterson (cool books to read txt) 📗

from a nearby farm and a French teacher. Hetty looked incensed. “Hugh would never have hurt anyone,” Andrew wrapped up. “I, also, will do whatever I can to see that justice is served.”

Ah—the campaign pitch. He laid his rose in front of Hugh’s picture and returned to his seat. After him came a long line of women, including Winken, Drinken, and Nod, testifying weepily to Hugh’s amazing skill as a therapist.

I whispered, “Is every woman in this town in therapy?” Was it even possible that Hugh had that many patients?

Richard answered. “Pretty much.”

“Seriously?”

“You grew up here; you should be able to answer that.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“That’s why you left?”

The afternoon had gradually dimmed, and now at quarter to five, the room was nearly dark. Maria gestured and a girl started lighting the silver and white candles strategically placed around the room’s perimeter. Everyone watched the flames slowly create a sinister glow. Flashes from my dream in the police station flickered across my mind, and panic knotted my intestines. Someone was going to knock one of those candelabras over onto the white carpet; it would ignite and we’d be caught in the inferno, trampling each other in our efforts to get out. I started to rise, but Richard pulled me down.

Mother had appeared to a collective gasp.

She wore a white wool suit with a cream shell underneath, and her blonde hair was swept up into a chignon. Wasn’t she in jail? Why would they let her out? I looked around for Chief DuPont or a police escort.

Mother was speaking. “My daughter and I have many things to be grateful for. Hugh is one of them. He guided me through some of my lowest points and kept me functioning so I could be a mother to Clara.”

Well, that was startling. We obviously had different perspectives on what mothering was. “Hugh was my closest friend, and he told me everything. He told me who his enemies were. He told me what he was planning.” She paused. “I know who you are,” she hissed. “And I’m going to get you.”

The room went deadly still. The afternoon light had completely gone, and only candles illuminated the room, wavering as if they were on the Phantom’s pipe organ. I felt Richard tense just as a sudden crash sent the room into chaos. At the end of the row, Winken, in her sudden haste to leave, had knocked over her chair, which fell into one of the candelabras.

Locked in a panicked dream of a fiery explosion, I watched it wobble over that pristine and flammable rug.

At the last moment, Nod stabilized it before the candles loosened in their holders. Meanwhile, Winken clutched the scarf at her neck and skittered toward the foyer, her heels catching on the carpet so she stumbled every couple of steps. People kept reaching for her, then pulling back as she righted herself. Others twisted in their chairs and whispered to their neighbors. The man I assumed was her husband half rose, but then subsided, as if weary of such scenes. I heard Hetty squeaking with a sort of mouse-like glee. Seconds later, the front door banged shut. The startled crowd rose as one, as if to sing a final hymn. When I looked for my mother, she had disappeared in the melee.

My mother, the fugitive. Wouldn’t that be a pretty story on the front page of the local paper.

Maria got our attention by banging a baton on the music stand. “Thank you for your kind words. The reception is out the door and to your right.” The crowd, responding like Hetty’s sheep, crammed through the doorway, everyone at the same time. This was my chance.

“Why the hell isn’t she in a psychiatric institution?” Paul derailed me.

“How the hell did she get out of jail?” I said.

“Who the hell are we talking about?” Richard said.

“That woman that just ran out of here, hysterical and drugged to the gills,” Paul said.

“No, my mother,” I said.

“I see,” Richard said. “That is an interesting question to ask about your mother.”

“That would be my doing,” a wry voice said behind me. I turned to face the luscious Kyle DuPont. “Now I’ve got to find her.”

An image rose behind my eyes. “Master bedroom.”

The chief cocked his head.

I shrugged. “I just know that’s where she is.”

He turned without a word and made his way through the crowd. A few minutes later, when everyone had squished into the kitchen, he came back, towing her. He looked furious.

She had that way about her.

He nodded at Paul and Richard. “Would you gentlemen excuse us?”

Richard touched my shoulder. “We’ll be near the food.” I hoped it lasted long enough for me to get into Hugh’s office. With that crowd ravaging the buffet table, I might not have more than fifteen minutes, and I didn’t know how long it would take me to find what I was looking for. I couldn’t do many more sleepless nights, or nights where I drank enough to keep the dreams at bay. I had started to feel the darkness pressing at the edges of me.

The chief told my mother to sit and she did. “Your mother has something to say,” he growled.

Mother didn’t look the least bit cowed, but she didn’t like his anger, as if she found it an excess of emotion under the circumstances. She looked at him for a moment to indicate that she was speaking of her own free will. The chief was unfazed. Maybe she’d met her match. Wouldn’t that be fun to watch.

“Clara, Chief DuPont was kind enough to allow me to come this afternoon to say goodbye to Hugh, but it seems he frowns on my using myself as bait to catch a killer.”

I looked at the chief. “Which means what?”

“Your mother’s lawyer was attempting to negotiate bail, but her performance just now puts an end to that.”

“Do you really know who did it?” I said to my mother. “Why don’t you just tell them?”

“Stay out of this, Clara. You’re making