Retribution Read Online Free PDF Page A

bottom drawer – cotton, oversized, and not at all sexy. Outside, the hedge branches scrapedagainst her bedroom window, making a desperate, screeching sound, and a spatter of raindrops dotted the glass. The forecast had called for intense thunderstorms tonight. She stood at the window for a moment and watched as the trees bent like straws under the wind, then she closed the blinds and flipped on the television for some company. An old Brady Bunch episode came on the screen.
    She flopped on the bed with the day’s mail and hit the Play button on the answering machine. Bills, bills, advertisements, People, and more bills. It never ended.
    The female computer-generated voice spoke: You have no new voice messages in your mailbox .
    She looked over at the answering machine. That was funny. The number 3 flashed red in the machine’s message box, indicating three messages. And she had emptied her mailbox messages before leaving for the city. She hit the Replay button on the machine.
    You have three stored messages in your mailbox.
    First message: Today, seven-nineteen P.M. Her mom’s frazzled voice. ‘Chloe, it’s Mom. You must be out studying tonight.’ Chloe’s stomach flip-flopped with guilt again.
    ‘Call me when you get in. I need to talk to you about our visit next month. Your dad and I think maybe we should stay in a hotel, you’re just so cramped in that apartment. I need to know some hotels in Manhattan that are nice, but not too expensive and are in a good neighborhood. Call me.’
    Yeah. Good luck finding that short list in New York City.
    She went back to the mail. Another bill. When hadshe found the time to buy all this stuff she was being billed for?
    A credit card solicitation. Great, so she could get even more bills.
    Finally on the bottom of the never-ending bill pile, an ivory envelope with the familiar chicken scratch of her father’s handwriting on it. Chloe smiled. Since she had moved to New York from California for law school her dad wrote her faithfully at least once a week, and his warm, funny letters were a welcome break. Sometimes there were pages and pages, and others only a few short lines, but they all began with the same salutation: ‘Hey, Beany! How is my big girl in the big city?’ Beany had been his nickname for her since she was five, a reference to her sweet tooth for jelly beans. Even at twenty-four, she was still his little girl. She set his letter aside for later and leafed through People .
    Second message: Today, eight-ten P.M. It was Marie. ‘Thanks for blowing us all off tonight, Chloe. It was a blast. It really was. You missed our round-robin discussion about the Rule Against Perpetuities. Now that’s a lot more fun than Phantom of the Opera . Hey, don’t forget the practice multistate is tomorrow, so I’ll be at your door at eight-thirty instead of eight forty-five. Don’t be late! Hmmm… Maybe I should have told you eight o’clock, then. See ya.’
    Damn. She had forgotten all about the practice test. Another reason to be mad at Michael.
    Third message: Today, eleven thirty-two P.M. A long silence. In the background Chloe could hear a rustle, like the muffled sound of paper tearing. Then, a male voice in a taunting singsong whispered low, ‘Chloe. Chloe. Where are you, Chloe?’ More crackling silence. She could hearbreathing for just a moment and then the line hung up.
    That was bizarre. She stared for a few seconds at the machine.
    End of messages.
    It must have been one of the guys from her study group. Their study sessions were known to go on until the wee hours anyway. It was probably Rob or Jim just joking around with her. They probably figured that she was home by then and having a good ole time while they studied, and they were just spoofing her for blowing off the study group, hoping to bug her with a message while she was in a compromising position. That was probably it. She hit the button on the machine.
    Messages erased .
    She got under the covers and