Death at the Wheel Read Online Free PDF

nodded. What else could I do? I didn't approve. I thought it was folly. But I did understand. Each of us has our own forms of comfort. I turn to work, and occasionally to my friend Jack Daniel's, and now I have Andre. But Julie didn't have anything. So if an armload of blue silk made her happy, who was I to criticize?
    We walked out to our cars together, two girls on a night out, strolling through the chilly April darkness. To look at us, you would have thought we didn't have a care in the world. I had an African beaded wrap to tie up my hair and Julie had a full bag and an empty heart.
    Julie's car was an expensive green Lexus. Another thing she would have to maintain on a diminished income. She put her packages in the trunk, slammed it shut, and turned to say good night. In the harsh yellow glow of the streetlight, I saw tears on her cheeks. Instinctively I put an arm around her. "I'm just so scared, Thea."
    "Scared about what?"
    "The police. Questioning me. About Calvin's death. They're acting like they think I did it."
    "Did what?"
    "Killed him," she said, her voice trembling. "Because the car was tampered with. They wanted to know if I was in Connecticut with him. But, Thea, I wasn't with him!"
    I slipped automatically into interview mode—I do it so much—and asked the next obvious question. "Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to kill your husband?"
    "Everyone," she said. "Calvin was not a very nice person."

 
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    Chapter 4

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    I grabbed her elbow, steered her back inside, and found the nearest bar. Once we were settled in the darkest corner and supplied with bourbon and Scotch, I asked the question that had been perched on the tip of my mind for ten minutes. "What do you mean by everyone?"
    Her answer was slow and hesitant. "I hate to say this—I know you're not supposed to say bad things about the dead—but my husband Cal, while he had many good qualities—he was charming and handsome and a good provider—well, to be honest... he was... could be... an absolute stinker, Thea."
    She was already halfway through her drink, whether for courage or from habit I couldn't tell, and she was drinking on an empty stomach. I signaled the waiter and asked if they had anything to munch on. His weary acquiescence told me two things—that they had snacks for their customers and that they served them only grudgingly. It's one of the many things in life I don't understand. Why have snacks available and then act like it's a chore to serve them? I also don't understand people slowing down to stare at an accident and why I always chose the longest line in the grocery store. But a life without things to learn is an empty life.
    She picked up her glass and took another drink. "He was so charming and romantic when we were dating. I was swept right off my feet. I'd never met a man who made me feel so safe, so cared about. All the little details of my life were important to him. I thought it was sweet that he paid so much attention to what I wore, to what I said, to other people's reactions to me. It's true what they say, you know, about love being blind." The Scotch was leveling her out. Where before her conversation had revved and dipped, now it was running at fairly high, but steady, rpms.
    The waiter put a bowl of mixed nuts on the table and Julie seized a handful. "What I thought was so romantic," she said, chewing hungrily, "was obsessive control. He had opinions—inflexible opinions—about what I should wear, who I should socialize with... I mean, with whom I should socialize, what I should say, how the house should look. He wanted to remake me in his image of the perfect wife. At first, I tried to humor him... to make him happy. I loved him so much! He wanted me to be the mother of his children... to quit my job and stay home and have his babies."
    She stopped. "You don't have children, do you?" I shook my head. "Well, have you ever met a man who wanted to have children with