Presumed Guilty & Keeper of the Bride Read Online Free PDF

listens. No one believes me….”

    “Ms. Wood, I have more questions.”

    She was crying, not answering, not able to answer. The sound of her sobs was all that could be heard.

    At last Merrifield flicked off the recorder. “All right, then. We’ll take a break. One hour, then we’ll resume.”

    Miranda didn’t move. She heard the man’s chair scrape back, heard Merrifield leave the room, then the door shut. A few moments later the door opened again.

    “Ms. Wood? I’ll take you back to your cell.”

    Slowly Miranda rose to her feet and turned to the door. A young cop stood waiting, nice face, friendly smile. His name tag said Officer Snipe. Vaguely she remembered him from some other time, from her life before jail. Oh, yes. Once, on a Christmas Eve, he’d torn up her parking ticket. It had been a kind gesture, gallantry offered to a lady. She wondered what he thought of the lady now, whether he saw murderer stamped on her face.

    She let him lead her into the hall. At one end she saw Lieutenant Merrifield, huddled in conference with Chief Tibbetts. The polite Officer Snipe guided her in the opposite direction, away from the pair. Miranda had gone only a short distance when her footsteps faltered, stopped.

    A man was standing at the far end of the hall, watching her. She had never seen him before. If she had, she certainly would have remembered him. He stood like some unbreachable barrier, his hands jammed in his pockets, his shoulders looming before her in the cramped corridor. He didn’t look like a cop. Cops had standards of appearance, and this man was on the far edge of rumpled—unshaven, dark hair uncombed, his shirt a map of wrinkles. What disturbed her the most was the way he looked at her. That wasn’t the passive curiosity of a bystander. No, it was something far more hostile. Those dark eyes were like judge and jury, weighing the facts, pronouncing her guilty.

    “Keep moving, Ms. Wood,” said Officer Snipe. “It’s right around the corner.”

    Miranda forced herself to move forward, toward that forbidding human barrier. The man moved aside to let her pass. As she did, she felt his gaze burning into her and heard his sharp intake of breath, as though he was trying not to breathe the same air she did, as if her very presence had somehow turned the atmosphere to poison.

    For the past twelve hours she’d been treated like a criminal, handcuffed, fingerprinted, intimately searched. She’d had questions fired at her, humiliations heaped upon her. But never, until this man had looked at her, had she felt like a creature worthy of such disgust, such loathing. Rage suddenly flared inside her, a rage so fierce it threatened to consume her in its flames.

    She halted and stared up at him. Their gazes locked. There, damn you! she thought. Whoever you are, take a look at me! Take a good, long look at the murderess. Satisfied?

    The eyes staring down at her were dark as night, stony with condemnation. But as they took each other in, Miranda saw something else flicker in those depths, a hint of uncertainty, almost confusion. As if the picture he saw was all wrong, as if image and caption were terribly mismatched.

    Just down the hall, a door swung open. Footsteps clicked out and stopped dead.

    “Dear God,” whispered a voice.

    Miranda turned.

    Evelyn Tremain stood frozen in the washroom doorway.

    “Chase,” she whispered. “It’s her….”

    At once the man went to Evelyn and offered her his steadying arm. Evelyn gripped it with both hands, as if holding on to her only lifeline. “Oh, please,” she murmured helplessly. “I can’t stand to look at her.”

    Miranda didn’t move. She felt paralyzed by guilt, by what she’d done to this woman, to the whole family. Though her crime might not be murder, still she had committed a sin against Evelyn Tremain and for that she would always be tormented.

    “Mrs. Tremain,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry….”

    Evelyn buried her face against