Red Rain: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

window and sent rivulets of rainwater streaking down the glass.
    “Where do I put this?” A man in a brown rain slicker and canvas tennis hat shook his umbrella in a red-haired store clerk’s face, sending a spray of rainwater over the front counter. The young man pointed to the tall can by the door, already jammed with wet umbrellas.
    The store was small, narrow and deep with two aisles leading back through tall wooden bookshelves. Rows of low-hanging fluorescent lights sent down a pale glare, making everyone look a little green. At the back, a steep stairway led upstairs to the author event area.
    Mark felt his skin prickle. He rubbed his stubbled cheeks. The air in the store felt hot and damp despite the cold blasts every time the door opened. He could smell the ocean.
    In a few hours I’ll be home.
    He could hear a low mumble of voices from upstairs. A respectable crowd on a stormy Wednesday night in Easthampton. Please—let there be fifty people. That’s all an author cares about. A crowd big enough not to be embarrassing. Please—not four people who all choose to sit in the back row.
    To his relief, he saw several couples lined up at the cash register. They all had his book in their hands. Did they look happy? No.
    They’ve all come for a fight .
    He turned back toward the front door and felt his stomach rumble. Not from stage fright. He looked forward to another confrontation. If only he could keep them from shouting this time.
    He suddenly pictured the young woman in Boston who turned purple and started to tremble. That was awkward . And the angry couple who followed him to the parking lot and refused to let him get into the car until they had their say.
    His stomach churned again from the bacon cheeseburger he had eaten too fast at Rowdy Hall, the noisy, crowded hamburger joint across the street. He always ate too fast when he was alone.
    I’ll be home tonight.
    His house in Sag Harbor was twenty minutes away, maybe a little longer if the storm continued. He had driven to the bookstore directly from MacArthur Airport in Ronkonkoma. He hadn’t had even two seconds to stop at home and say hi.
    Ira and Elena. When did he see them last? Two weeks ago? He talked to them on the phone every night, and he Skyped them when he could. But the conversations were always forced and hurried.
    Elena was okay. Even at the gawky age of fourteen, she bobbed merrily through life like a kite in a strong wind. Ira was the sensitive one, always overthinking everything, so shy and serious. Poor guy. Sixth grade. His first year in middle school.
    Mark should have been there to help him get through it. Or Lea. But she was away, too. He hated it when they were both away at the same time.
    “When you write a travel blog, you kind of have to travel,” Lea had said.
    “I’m not accusing you of anything,” he had countered. “I’m just saying . . .”
    “That one of us should stay home.”
    “No. I’m just saying it’s a shame that one of us isn’t staying home.”
    That made her laugh. “I love your subtle distinctions. I wasn’t a psych major like you, darling, but I know when I’m being guilted.”
    Guilted?
    No way he could convince her to stay home till he got back. Travel & Leisure had let her go. Budget cutbacks. The usual thing. Now Lea was determined to produce the best adventure-travel blog in the universe, build a huge audience, collect millions in advertising, and show her old bosses what a mistake they had made.
    She was ambitious. And she was a fighter. The youngest of seven, with four brothers and two sisters, Lea was used to fighting for what she wanted.
    And so . . . they went their separate ways, and Mark’s sister, Roz, stayed with the kids.
    Mark had to admit, the ten-city book tour was not as glamorous as he had imagined. And he was taken by surprise by all the anger waiting for him at every bookstore. After all, he’d only written a book. He hadn’t murdered anyone.
    He wasn’t naïve. He knew