Hard Rain Read Online Free PDF Page B

woman’s voice, then punched 92–356. Nothing happened. She tried again, punching 92–365. The tape whirred.
    A man said, “No one home? Shit. Call you later.” Beep. Whir. A woman, the same woman who’d recorded the answering message, said, “Pat? Hi, listen honey, something’s come up and I can’t make it. See you when you get back. Don’t get wet.” She made a kissing sound. Beep. Whir. A man said, “Pat? Donnie. Did you get the sheets? Rehearsal’s changed from two to two-thirty. At the Barn.” Beep. Whir. Norman Wine said, “Patrick. Hey, let’s go. We’re all waiting.” Beep. Whir. There was a long pause. Jessie thought she heard an intake of breath. Then another woman spoke; her voice was tense, but faint, as though she were talking to herself. “Fuck, can’t you answer your phone?” Another pause. Then, more loudly, she said, “Listen: you’ve got to split. I’m a—” Beep. The woman’s time had run out. Whir. Jessie listened to the rest of the tape, wondering whether the woman had called back, but there was only one more voice, and it was her own: “This is my message. You were expected here at three this afternoon. Where is Kate? Where the hell are—Just call me.”
    Jessie stood up. All at once her legs were weak, her mouth parched. She got the key to Pat’s house and started downstairs.
    The doorbell rang. Jessie’s heart fluttered. She raced down the stairs and threw open the front door, her arms already positioning themselves to wrap around Kate.
    But it wasn’t Kate. A plump young man and a middle-aged woman stood on the threshold. Jessie didn’t know the man; it took her a moment to recognize the woman. She had a too taut face and wore a short ermine jacket against the morning chill: Mrs. Stieffler.
    â€œOh God,” Jessie said, looking at her watch. 10:15. “I for—” A long explanation unreeled in her mind. She kept it there. “Come in,” she said. “Please.”
    Mrs. Stieffler strode in. The man trailed after her. They eyed the living room. It hadn’t been straightened up. It hadn’t been cleaned, dusted or vacuumed either.
    â€œThis is Dr. de Vraag, from Berkeley,” said Mrs. Stieffler. “Ph.D. He knows everything there is to know about Rubens.”
    â€œWell, I—” began Dr. de Vraag.
    â€œEverything,” said Mrs. Stieffler. “So let’s see the baby.”
    Jessie didn’t move.
    â€œAre you sure this is convenient?” asked Dr. de Vraag. “Perhaps—”
    â€œMrs. Rodney set the time herself,” Mrs. Stieffler said. “I wanted to make it earlier, but she had to take her son to school.”
    â€œDaughter,” said Jessie and turned from the door.
    She led them along the hall, under the Calder mobile, which Dr. de Vraag looked at closely and Mrs. Stieffler ignored, and down to the workroom. Her feet wanted to go the other way.
    Orpheus and Eurydice lay on the worktable under the five-hundred-watt bulb. Mrs. Stieffler and Dr. de Vraag bent to examine the canvas. In the bright light Jessie could see the tiny scar under Mrs. Stieffler’s hairline where the plastic surgeon had cut.
    Mrs. Stieffler looked up. A smile spread across her face, the smile of a sugar lover who has just seen the dessert cart. “I love what you’ve done so far,” said Mrs. Stieffler. “Love it.”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œThe colors! Look at those tones! Look at that pink!” She pointed to Eurydice’s pudgy arm. It was much like her own. “Doesn’t that remind you of the Helena Fourment we saw in Antwerp last week, Dirk? I knew it. I just knew it all along. Instinct.” She tapped her nose, a perfect object, untraceable to any ethnic group that ever walked the planet.
    Dr. de Vraag looked uncomfortable. “Well, of course, we can’t make judgments