If She Should Die Read Online Free PDF Page A

relationship to Ames. “I’m Christine Ireland. Mr. Prince was a good friend of my parents and took in my younger brother and me when they were killed seven years ago. Ames became our legal guardian.”
    “But he didn’t adopt you.”
    “No. But my brother, Jeremy, is now twenty and still lives with Mr. Prince and his wife, Patricia.”
    “Patricia Prince,” Winter said thoughtfully. “I believe I’ve met her. She’s not Dara’s mother, is she?”
    “Oh no. Patricia is far too young. She’s Ames’s second wife. Dara’s mother, Eve, died of cancer when Dara was twelve. Eve insisted on spending her last weeks at home, and Patricia was her nurse. She and Mr. Prince were married less than a year after Eve’s death.”
    “Did Patricia and Dara get along?”
    “They tolerated each other,” Christine said carefully, seeing a flash in the deputy sheriff’s eyes that meant he knew she was evading the complete truth. In reality, Dara and Patricia couldn’t stand each other and argued constantly.
    “You don’t still live with Mr. Prince, Miss Ireland?” Winter asked.
    “No. I have a house on Cardinal Way.”
    “Nice area. New. Not many houses.” Deputy Winter shifted from one foot to the other. Christine didn’t knowwhether to ask him to sit or to offer tea or coffee in this situation. It was hardly a social call. But he seemed weary.
    “I’ve just made a fresh pot of coffee,” she said. “You look cold. Would you like a cup?”
    He hesitated, then said with a grateful smile, “I’d love a cup if it wouldn’t be too much trouble. I take it black.”
    Christine went into the small closet they called a kitchen with its sink, microwave oven, coffeemaker, and miniature refrigerator. In a moment she returned and motioned for him to sit at the table where Ginger had been polishing silver. “Sorry I don’t have any pastry to offer. We always get a fresh selection from the bakery in the morning, but we’ve been so bored today, we’ve eaten it all. It’s a good thing every day isn’t like this or we’d be the pudgiest staff in town.”
    Winter rewarded her with his first genuine smile that even reached his eyes. He took a sip of coffee, muttered, “Good,” then asked, “Will you tell me more about these letters Mr. Prince has been receiving, supposedly from Dara?”
    “Well, the letters are brief and noncommittal, written on a small piece of stationery, usually something with flowers or cupids or bows. That
is
the kind of paper Dara would choose. But they’re typewritten except for an ornate
D
at the end, always done in ink.”
    “Was it Dara’s habit to type her letters?”
    “No. She hated to type. And she loved the name Dara. Ames says her mother chose it because when she first saw her daughter, she said the baby would grow up to be a
daring
young lady. Anyway, I’ve never known of Dara to sign anything with just a
D
.”
    “Mr. Prince said the last letter came from Phoenix, Arizona.”
    “They’re always from a different place, some large city where it would be hard to find her.”
    “What do they say?”
    Christine closed her eyes, trying to recall the letters. Ames hadn’t shown her one for over a year. “They’re vague. ‘Having a great time.’ ‘Doing well, so don’t worry.’ Terse, really nothing more than notes, although Dara was a chatterbox. Of course, the way people speak and the way they write aren’t always the same.”
    “What about requests for money?”
    “None that I know of.”
    “Reference to a job or a boyfriend?”
    “No,” Christine said. “And no explanation about where she’s living—apartments, houses, hotels.”
    “Did she have credit cards?”
    “No. She was only nineteen. But she had a sizable bank account accrued from bonds and cash gifts from friends and relatives. She’d withdrawn ten thousand dollars from it two days before she disappeared. She left a couple of hundred in the account, to keep it open, I guess.”
    Winter raised his