Searching for Secrets Read Online Free PDF Page A

house."
    "Tell her not to be a stranger. People here are real friendly." Christa sensed that Kirk Reynolds had stopped himself from saying more about Frances, but she supposed it wasn't any of her business.
    She opened the door and walked across the narrow hallway to her own unit. "Your only business," she said to Brandy as she stooped to pet her, "is to sleep quietly on the foot of my bed. None of this waking me up at 5 a.m. for some extra food." She kicked off her shoes and walked toward her bedroom. She was too tired to eat.
    USUALLY CHRISTA WAS OUT OF BED by seven on Saturday, eager to begin a day when she could do almost anything she wanted. But, this Saturday she lounged in bed until almost eight, then got up and made herself some tea and carried it back into bed with her. She didn't want to sleep any more, but she felt as if she needed more time simply to rest.
    "What a wimp you are," she said aloud, as she turned on the TV that sat on the bureau opposite the foot of her bed. The Saturday morning talk show was presenting ways to recognize if your teenager was on drugs. She didn't want anything that serious. Channel surfing turned up only cartoons and nature shows, and she ended back at the talk show. Now it was almost eight-thirty, and they were doing the short local news segment.
    "Iowa City police have not yet made an arrest in last night's murder. The body of the former University of Iowa student was found near the university power plant, with a single shot through his heart. The victim, Chas Johnson, was a computer science major whose friends believe that he dropped out of school because of increasing dependence on the drug methamphetamine." Christa looked at the formal photograph of a very young man and judged it to be his high school yearbook picture. He looked like somebody you'd love to have live next door. "Frederick Chambers, known on the streets as 'Fast Freddy' was the last person seen with Johnson. Chambers was questioned at police headquarters this morning, and later released. No weapon has been found."
    "Ugh!" The mug shot showed a scowling man in his late twenties, with a thin face. His lower lip jutted out in defiance. "He could pick a fight with the Great Pumpkin," Christa said, and turned off the television. She'd pampered herself enough. She swung off the bed and picked her bathrobe off the floor as she headed for the shower. Brandy had obviously dragged it there from the foot of her bed, probably trying to play with the cord that went around her waist.
    Christa had just finished putting the conditioner on her hair when the doorbell rang. She intended to let it go, but on the fourth push of the buzzer she decided the caller must have something important to say. She turned off the water and quickly wrapped the large towel around her. "Coming," she yelled. She plodded down the hall and peered through the peephole. Kirk Reynolds, his hair tousled by the fall wind, peered back at her.
    What could he want on a Saturday morning? "Yes. What is it, Kirk?" she asked.
    "Can I come in for a minute?"
    "Uh, sure. But I have to...I'll be right back." Christa ran the short distance to her bedroom, threw the damp towel on the foot of her bed, and grabbed her burgundy sweat pants from their hook on her closet door. She pulled them on, sans underwear, and found the matching top in a bureau drawer. She gave her wet hair a quick brushing and started for the front door, then stopped.
    What was she doing? Just because Kirk Reynolds came to her door she was running around like a wild woman. She turned and walked slowly back to the bedroom, took off her sweats and dressed as she had planned to do for the day. Tan jeans with the narrow cuff at the ankle, a beige turtle neck with a pullover vest that had shades of deep purple and tan throughout. And underwear, of course. She added gold earrings and put moisture lotion on her face before applying her makeup base. OK, she wouldn't do her eyes or blow-dry her hair, but Christa