Killing Her Softly Read Online Free PDF

Bodies of relatives strewn all over the seabed.
    What kind of a life had he led here? It was beginning to appear that on Corfu Jason had been a vastly different man from the one she'd known, a man up to his ears in controversy.
    Their marriage had been uneventful. Jason had been preoccupied with his import-export business, which he had never discussed. When he was home, he'd eat dinner, read the paper, then go to bed precisely at eleven.
    Only in the last years of their marriage had things changed. Jason's behavior had become erratic. Mysterious phone calls late at night. Ever more frequent trips away, from which he returned days later, looking as if he'd been in a war.
    Once he'd gone out at midnight, in response to a call, and returned in the morning with a black eye. He said he'd had a flat tire on a country road and had stumbled into a ditch in the dark while changing it. When she asked him what kind of people he was mixed up with, his mouth had tightened and he'd said it didn't concern her.
    But it did concern her; she'd had phone calls after he'd moved out of their house, the house they later sold. The callers had never spoken but had left the line open just long enough to make her nervous. Not exactly a threat, but somehow a kind of intimidation.
    Which was why she was here now. She needed to find out exactly why and how Jason had died. Maybe his death was an accident. But maybe it wasn't.
    Jingling the two key rings in her hand, she followed Simon down a path composed of flat, square stones in shades that ranged from tan and gray to the more exotic pink and mauve. He took the keys from her hand, inserted the largest one into an ornately carved lock, and threw open the garage door.
    Cautiously she peered inside. The air inside was cool, the dirt floor giving off a musty smell. The building contained the usual clutter, rusting garden utensils, and a work bench with assorted tools hanging above it.
    A sailboard stood against a small, dusty white car. The edges were battered, one end gone, leaving a huge gouge like a shark bite.
    This must be the craft that had killed Jason. Regret and an unexpected grief tightened Leslie's chest and, for a moment, tears burned in her eyes. Such a flimsy thing to trust your life to on the sea. Why had he done it? Had he indeed been trying to recapture a lost youth?
    She let out a little shriek as something small and furry ran over her foot. The cat rushed out of the bushes and streaked after it. “What was that?"
    "Only a mouse, city girl,” Simon said, giving her that rare smile she'd seen only in his dealings with Eugenia and her mynah. The smile transformed his face, crinkling his eyes at the corners and softening the habitual austerity. He looked almost friendly, and she wondered if she had been too quick in jumping to uncharitable conclusions about him.
    Perhaps it would be wise to cultivate his friendship; he might prove helpful to her. Even if his relationship with Jason had been less than amicable, he must know things she would have difficulty discovering on her own.
    She stepped into the garage, gingerly putting one foot ahead of the other. “Do you think the car will start?"
    "I'll give it a try.” He handed the door keys to her, reaching for the ring with the car keys. His eyes narrowed, and he took her hand in his. “You're shaking,” he said, not unkindly. “I'm sorry. I should have thought you'd be upset when you saw the sailboard. The police brought it back. I forgot it was here. They never found the sail. It must have blown out to sea."
    At his touch, her control shattered. She blinked away fresh tears. Why was she crying? For the good times perhaps, long ago, when she'd been young and thought she loved Jason? Or was it grief at the waste of a life? “He should have known better,” she whispered.
    "Yes, he should have,” Simon said.
    He gently stroked her hand, his fingers warm, comforting. Touched by his kindness, she regained her composure. And let her opinion