Hard Rain Read Online Free PDF

didn’t gild a soft, sleepy face. The bed was empty.
    Jessie picked up Kate’s Miss Piggy phone and dialed Pat’s number. “Hi. No one’s here right now, but just leave a message and we’ll buzz you back. Promise.” The last wisps of sleep vanished from her consciousness. It was all real.
    A little jolt went through her—a jolt of fear—but it triggered a hopeful image of Pat driving back from wherever they’d been and dropping Kate off at school. Jessie hurried into the bathroom. She jerked a brush through her hair. She splashed cold water on her face and rubbed it hard with a towel. She put on respectable clothes and went out.
    A million dollars’ worth of European cars were double-and triple-parked in front of the Santa Monica Children’s School. Jessie squeezed into their midst and increased the total by $3,240, the current book value of her car. She had no objection to public schools, but Pat had insisted on private education for Kate, and he was willing to pay the cost.
    Jessie didn’t see Pat, Kate or the blue BMW. Children filed through the front door. Cars sped away. At 9:02 a black man in a security guard uniform came to close the door. Jessie got out of her car and entered the building.
    Room 24 had a picture of the Great Wall of China on the door. Jessie opened it and went in. The children were settling at their desks. Kate’s seat was at the back of the first row. It was empty.
    At the next desk sat Cameo Brown, watching her with interest. Jessie tried to smile, but her face wouldn’t cooperate. She turned to go. A bony little woman came in. Miss Fotheringham. “Bonjour, classe,” she said, and then saw Jessie. “Miss Shapiro? May I help you?”
    â€œI’m looking for Kate. I thought perhaps her father had brought her. There’s been a mix-up.”
    Miss Fotheringham glanced at the empty desk, then at Jessie. She pursed her lips, then opened them and said, “Why don’t you try the office?” Jessie felt her name going up on Miss Fotheringham’s list of Bad Mothers.
    In the office, the secretary riffled through the phone message slips. Jessie surveyed the bulletin board. It was covered with work by the children. A poem caught her eye.
    My Mom by Cameo Brown
    Looks so good
    looks so nice
    always makes you
    pay the price
    lips so blue
    and eyes so green
    I only see her
    on Halloween
    My Malibu mom .
    â€œA,” Miss Fotheringham had written at the bottom. Jessie had her first insight into Kate’s and Cameo’s friendship.
    â€œSorry,” said the secretary, looking up. “No calls.”
    Jessie went home. She paced back and forth across the kitchen floor. Then she called Barbara Appleman.
    â€œYeah?” a sleepy man answered. For a moment Jessie thought she’d dialed the wrong number.
    â€œBarbara Appleman, please?”
    â€œShe left for the office. Should be there in half an hour or so.” He sounded very young. Jessie thanked him and hung up.
    She called Gem Sound. She called the Hollywood Recording Studio. She called Pioneer Air. She called Electric Wing Recording. She called Bright Things A&R. Pat wasn’t at any of them. No one expected him or knew where he was. There was no one else to call. She didn’t know his friends, and he had no family: he was an only child, and his parents had died in a car crash back east; he’d dropped out of high school and gone to California soon after.
    Jessie put the phone down. Then she picked it up again, toying with the buttons. Perhaps others had left messages on his machine, messages that might reveal where he’d gone. The machine had remote playback capability—Jessie had bought it herself, just after making her break from the Getty and going freelance. She searched her mind for the number code. It wasn’t there. She tried Pat’s number anyway, hoping her fingers would remember by themselves. She listened to the