Memorymakers Read Online Free PDF Page B

stirred in a pudding of intriguing sound, with new words that had to be looked up. Today Emily could not resist the temptation to eavesdrop again, though it troubled her conscience just a little. What fascinated Victoria so much about this particular salesman, enough to make her late for the fashion show? It was almost a sacrilege for Victoria.
    A large potted philodendron on the living room side of the railing partially concealed Emily from view. It was from this spot that she crouched and watched.
    The man in the tweed coat smiled at Victoria. “Thanks for giving me the opportunity to make my presentation, Mrs. Harvey.”
    “Call me Victoria.”
    “Such a lovely name. And I’m Malcolm Squick of the Smith Corporation—catchy, isn’t it? Squick of Smith. Our computer profile shows you have a birthday boy here, and we’d like to cater his party gratis. That means—”
    “I know what it means!”
    They exchanged smiles, and he glanced at an index card in his hand. ‘Thomas Harvey lives here, doesn’t he?”
    “How did you get his name?” Victoria asked. “Our phone’s unlisted.”
    “Perfectly legitimate. There are lists for everything and everyone these days. You’d be surprised.”
    Mildly annoyed tone: “Still, it does seem . . .”
    The salesman’s smile broadened and seemed to disarm Victoria. She paused in mid-sentence and said, “You’ll cater at no charge? Did Thomas win a contest?”
    “It’s the way we advertise our catering business-random selection of people, free services to a few.”
    Victoria placed a manicured finger against her lower lip. “Is it word-of-mouth advertising? We’re supposed to tell our friends about you?”
    “Exactly. Your son is quite fortunate.”
    Victoria smiled her perfect smile. “As you can see, I’m too young to have an almost eleven-year-old child. Thomas is my husband’s son, not mine. And the older girl is his, too. I don’t allow them to call me mother. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”
    I’d never call you mother anyway, Emily thought.
    Squick leaned toward Victoria. “To tell you the truth,” he chuckled, “I thought the girl at the door was your younger sister.”
    Emily shook her head and grimaced.
    Victoria caressed her hair with a well-manicured hand. To Emily she looked like a department store mannequin—and so did he. They appeared to pause in mid-sentence, mouths frozen open, with eyes that held no light. The vision frightened her.
    Emily glanced away, and when she looked back, the mannequins had come back to life. “I see that Thomas’s birthday is the Friday after next,” Squick said.
    “We plan to have the party on Saturday.”
    “That can be arranged, Victoria.”
    Squick’s tone seemed insincere to Emily, and that crisp, toothy smile so similar to Victoria’s. On the surface he looked distinguished and friendly, but there were nervous little twitches around the edges of the mouth and a hard stare to the dark, luminous eyes. Freezing coldness there that bothered Emily, the way they moved around and seemed to take everything in . . . the way they flitted toward the general area in which Emily concealed herself, as if he knew she was there.
    She could almost hear those eyes, if such a thing were possible, grating in their sockets. Of course, she could never voice this thought, especially to Victoria. It would only provide the woman with another excuse to pounce and accuse Emily of having a sick, overactive imagination. And that tale would be carried to Emily’s father, adding to it other stories of Emily’s “mental problems,” stories that forced Emily to see a therapist every other Thursday afternoon. Victoria had set that up rather neatly.
    “What will you provide?” Victoria asked Squick.
    “Everything. You needn’t worry about a thing.”
    She’ll love that, Emily thought, for their live-in housekeeper wouldn’t be of much help. Mrs. Belfer hated parties about as much as she hated cooking. What an odd housekeeper, with