Don't Go Home Read Online Free PDF

Max—“Meet me at Parotti’s for lunch.” “Hey, how about some afternoon delight?” “Missing you.” “Look under the cushion in the gazebo swing.” He was always fun. Besides, he had very good judgment. Maybe he would reassure her that the Griffith event was no big deal. But he and the guys had left their cells onshore, sworn to a week on the boat untethered to the world. She hoped they were having fun—fish and beer and rowdy buddy talk on the gulf without a link to land.
    Annie gave herself an impatient shake. Okay. Max wasn’t here. What was, was.
    The phrase reminded her abruptly of the quote in the
Gazette
feature on Alex Griffith. A character had observed grimly, “What is, is.”
    Since Ingrid had alerted her, Annie had read the article a half dozen times. Last night and in snatches today, she’d reread
Don’t Go Home
. This time she read the book with the
Gazette
story clear in her mind and with an understanding of how Griffith’s past was revealed in the story. The characters were based on people she knew. Okay, fine. If he wanted to write a nonfiction book claiming people he knew were the real-life counterparts to fictional characters in compromising situations, that was his right. What he wrote was up to him. But did he intend to divulge the gritty details at a talk sponsored by Death on Demand?
    The more she thought about the reception, the edgier she felt. She glanced at the book lying in her lap. Previously she’d found the stark black letters on the alabaster white tombstone hugely effective. Nowshe loathed looking at the book. She didn’t have good vibes about tomorrow night. If Griffith spoke about writing, his stature as a Southern author, anything on the book business, that would be fine. But a hard cold kernel of worry lodged in her gut. What if he used the talk, sponsored by her bookstore, to name names? What if he revealed the inspirations for the characters, many quite unsavory? What if he blatantly linked people on the island to several episodes that hinged on criminal conduct?
    Rae Griffith had insisted on a Wednesday-night event, making it clear that was a good night for news to break, both for TV and for print.
    Was Rae expecting a scandal-laced story that would make the tabloids, land on TMZ?
    Annie gave a push with her foot and the rocker moved. She looked again at the Sunday
Gazette
, reread Ginger Harris’s opening paragraph:
    Has Martin felt remorse for pressuring Regina before her death? Will Buck keep Louanne’s secret? Will Mary Alice ever tell Charles the truth? As he swings a golf club, enjoying power and pleasure, does Kenny think of a wasted form lying on a bed? Does Frances remember choking in the water, flailing to the surface, swimming to safety with no thought for her companion?
    Annie pressed her lips together. She would not be complicit in an attack on people she knew. Tomorrow she would confront Alex Griffith. If he intended to publicly embarrass island residents, she would withdraw. Death on Demand would not be involved.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    A nnie parked her Thunderbird in the shade of a towering rhododendron. She left the windows down in hopes the red leather seat that matched the red exterior didn’t feel like a griddle on her return. The late-July morning was as humid as a sweat bath. Her once crisp candy-striped blouse was wilting. She was glad she’d opted for linen Bermudas rather than a skirt. Anything to be a little cooler. She walked swiftly on the crushed oyster shell path toward the entrance to the Seaside Inn. The inn looked like an old Southern plantation in front with inviting wicker rockers on a wide verandah. Huge blue urns on either side of the broad steps overflowed with sweet-smelling hibiscus.
    In the lobby, Annie threaded her way around clumps of wicker chairs and potted ferns. Island visitors, uniformly casual in tees and shorts, were