Not Guilty Read Online Free PDF Page B

with Richard, living as they did in a university environment. A pot of chili and a big bottle of Gallo red had sufficed for their dinners. Besides, with Richard’s headaches, they weren’t able to plan ahead for a party. Every invitation was impromptu. But this—this was different. She couldn’t help seeing this kind of party as more of a test. People would be looking her over, sizing her up. Mark’s wife. The woman he married instead of the attorney he’d been engaged to.
    Oh well, she thought. It’s your idea. No one’s forcing you to do it. And the first time is the worst. Just get it over with, and before you know it, you’ll have friends dropping by for chili again, even in this fancy neighborhood. Distracted by the logistics of hostessing, Keely almost missed the turn that led to their secluded street. Just as she slowed the car down and put on the signal, a police car, its light flashing and siren wailing, sped up from behind her and wheeled around the corner.
    I wonder what that’s all about, she thought. She could hear them now—more sirens in the distance. Instinctively, her heart began to pound. As she rounded the curve that led to her house, she saw a cluster of flashing lights and a congregation of vehicles in the distance. No, she thought. Oh no—it can’t be us. She mentally counted the houses that stood on the street. There weren’t too many. Each house had a large lot around it. Next door to them was Dr. Connelly, an elderly widower who lived with his daughter Evelyn. That’s probably it, Keely thought. The retired physician was in his eighties and suffering from Alzheimer’s. Why, even his daughter had to be nearly sixty.
    Keely was actually hoping it was Dr. Connelly. Anything, she thought, but my house, my kids. There was no smoke in the air, no fire trucks. Just police, and an ambulance. A heart attack. It has to be, she thought, although she, of all people, knew it might very well be something else. Keely’s car crawled up the street, hampered by the arriving emergency vehicles. She gripped the wheel fiercely. As she drew closer, she counted the houses and she knew. It was not the Connellys’ house. It was one house farther up. Her heart thudding, her mouth dry, she pulled the SUV up, stopped it short behind a patrol car with a squeal of brakes, and jumped out. There were groups of people standing in knots on the front lawn, looking curiously up at the house. They turned to stare at Keely. Mark and the children were nowhere in sight. Keely began to run up the lawn toward her house. Even more than the emergency vehicles, there was something chilling about the sight of that front door, which was gaping open, as if privacy no longer mattered.

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    A young patrolman tried to block her entry by gripping her forearm. “Let go of me,” she hissed. “I live here.” The young man dropped her arm as if it were hot and stepped back, averting his eyes. Keely saw that he wanted to avoid her gaze, and his obvious discomfort was chilling. She looked around her house as if it were a foreign place. It was filled, as if in a nightmare, by people she didn’t recognize. “Mark,” she cried, and then looked at the young cop accusingly. “Why are these people here? Where is my husband? My children?”
    “Are you Mrs. Weaver?” he asked.
    “Yes,” said Keely. “What are you doing here?”
    “You’d better come with me, ma’am,” he said softly.
    “Why? What is this all about?”
    “Right this way, ma’am,” he said. He cleared a path for her through the uniformed strangers who were clustered in her living room.
    She could hear a baby crying now. Abby. “Where is my husband?” Keely demanded. “My son?”
    “The sergeant will explain,” the young officer said stiffly as he escorted her through the French doors to the patio. The patio was lit by fairy lights on the trees and by the light that filtered out from the house. Beyond the patio, the pool was illuminated. It glowed, gemlike, a