The Silent Boy (Emma McPherson Book 1) by A.J. Flynn (early reader books .txt) 📗

Robb had never understood this side of her. He’d been nasty about allowing them into the house on those rare occasions when he came home early to dinner.

“You refuse to learn to entertain my friends properly, but you expect me to trip over a pile of brats every time I come home,” he had raged.

It wasn’t true, of course. She’d tried again and again to please his whims, but nothing was ever good enough for him.

She didn’t see anything odd about serving cream-cheese-and-pineapple sandwiches and angel-food cake during a cocktail party. It was good food, well served, and was always acceptable in its presentation, and if Robb’s guests didn’t want to eat it, it wasn’t her fault.

It was true that she didn’t know very much about cocktail parties; as a matter of fact, she didn’t even like them, but he somehow found fault with everything she did, even going so far as to find fault with her dinners on the few occasions he’d asked her to entertain for him. One thing she knew for sure was that if there was anything she could do well, it was cook.

Everyone who showed up either seemed to be on a diet or suffering from stomach trouble. Whipped mashed potatoes and rich cream gravy were always eaten sparingly, or passed up entirely, until it began to seem like everyone she catered to lived on steak and green salad.

While she waited for the coffee to drip, she got dressed and arranged the many curls she’d affected. Once finished, she poured a small ladle of heavy cream over a bowl of cereal and started her toast. Then she walked out to the mailbox. She preferred to read the morning paper while she ate.

“No confirmed motive,” the black headlines read. She permitted herself a ladylike shudder, and began avidly reading the published account.

It read that there were no mutilations, that the boy had been strangled, and that they knew of no reason for him leaving his home so late at night.

The police were working tirelessly around the clock and were expecting a break in the case to come soon.

She knew they were lying, of course. It was only reasonable that it must have been the work of a man with a deranged mind. Robb’s reaction when she’d voiced her opinion had only served to embolden her confidence. There was nothing wrong with Robb’s mind, but even he had to agree that he was a man of nearly uncontrollable passions, and she knew from personal first-hand experience that some men sought out the company of a woman for nothing more than pleasant conversation, and the restful feeling they could provide, away from the restless bustle of the outside world.

Robb wouldn’t care to admit it even to himself, but the vivid memory of shock and disgust she’d felt when he’d shown that bestial side of his nature stuck with her.

To this day, she could still look at him and feel the same revulsion she’d felt during those horrible nights when they had first married.

For some reason she’d never been able to fully understand, Robb had blamed her for the way he acted, but she had soon made it clear that she was not the sort of woman to tolerate such nonsense, and he finally left her alone.

He was never home, but she was perfectly content with her hobbies, and her neighbors. She had a position as a married woman with few responsibilities, and so she was close to being completely content.

Once she had finished her coffee, she drew back the curtains. It was a beautiful day outside, but the street was completely deserted. Usually, she could make out wives trimming their roses or setting out for the store, but this morning the desolation gave her a lonely feeling. It seemed important for her to talk to someone, so she dialed Marla’s number.

The phone rang several times before a voice finally answered. There was strain in it, and something like fear.

“This is Colleen, dear. Why don’t you come on over, and we can have some coffee? I’ve been feeling lonely all morning.”

There was a brief pause, then Marla said quickly, “I can’t right now, Colleen. I have too much to take care of,” and hung up.

Colleen’s breath hitched at the rebuff. They had always been great friends, going out shopping and visiting each other almost every day. It was difficult for her to understand such treatment.

She hung up slowly then looked out again at the deserted street. The lonely feeling she had was nearly physical. With heavy steps she checked over the locks, then gathered up her housekeeping equipment. The vacuum was hooked up and ready to go, when the doorbell chimed.

She paused at the door, then called out loudly, “Who is it?”

“Lieutenant Emma McPherson from the police department. I’d like to talk to you. May I please come in?”

After unlocking the door, Mrs. Johnson pushed it open a crack and peered out. The badge, pinned to the woman’s billfold, was clearly visible, so she opened the door further.

“I’m sorry to seem so inhospitable, but after a murder like this, one can’t be too careful. Please come inside, Lieutenant.”

McPherson took off her coat and entered. “I can see why you would be nervous.”

As she stepped into the room she was taken aback by the clutter. The lady of the house had more curls than she cared to count, more make-up than she thought anyone would have cared to pay for, and every spare surface in the room was covered with doilies, miniature figurines and house plants. Her first thought was that it must be a chore to keep dusted.

“Would you like some coffee, Lieutenant?” The words came out sounding cordial, but there was a cloying sweetness to her manner that irritated McPherson.

“No, thank you. I would just like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, of course not. Please take a seat and I’ll answer everything I can.”

Once they were seated, McPherson asked