Suspicion of Malice Read Online Free PDF Page A

toast with cinnamon. You'll make yourself sick on just tea.
    Strange, living at home again at thirty-four. Home. That concept had been rather fuzzy lately. The house she'd lived in with her fiancé— former fiancé—was empty and on the market. Before that, she'd been married, living with her husband and their daughter. Dave now managed a marina in the Virgin Islands, and Karen was visiting him for the summer. When she came back, where would home be? Gail wanted to find a house in a good neighborhood, but it would have to wait until her savings account recovered.
    Sweat tickled the back of Gail's neck. The air was too heavy, too warm. She fanned herself slowly with the program, wondering if she could last till inter mission.
    At last the music ended, and applause swept through the audience. The dancers came forward, each man leading his partner by the hand, each woman making a low, graceful bow, costume glittering. Someone in the front rushed forward with five cellophaned bouquets of roses and tossed them awk wardly onstage. In the center, Diane Cresswell picked hers up, blew a kiss, and curtsied.
    Gail stopped applauding, afraid to jostle the bubble that threatened to burst into nausea. If she were very still and breathed slowly it might go away. The curtains closed. The house lights came up slightly, and Irene held the program in front of her mouth. "Gail. Five rows ahead. The couple on the aisle. She's chair man of the Heart Fund. At intermission I might go speak to them. Want to come along?"
    "I don't know them."
    "I do. They're good contacts for you to have. I could introduce you."
    "Not tonight."
    The lights dimmed, and bright, lively music lilted from the speakers. A moment later the curtains opened on a painted olive tree and a hanging bit of tile roof. Two dancers came out dressed as Italian peasants, the girl in a short striped tutu, the man in a loose white shirt and black tights to the knee. Rib bons decorated their tambourines. They smiled at each other coyly, like lovers. Their feet were blurs.
    Elbow on the arm rest, Gail leaned her forehead onto her fist.
    The young man leaped into the wings, leaving the girl to her solo. Her striped tutu bobbed and dipped, and she pirouetted around and around. The ribbons on her lacy white hat swung out behind her. A minute later the man soared back into view. A series of spinning leaps took him across the stage.
    The music pounded straight into Gail's head. Her skin was cold and damp, and her stomach had climbed to the back of her throat. Fumbling for her purse, she whispered, "Mom, let me out." She stum bled over Betty's foot and nearly fell on Verna. Glares and huffed exhalations came from people farther along the row. "Sorry," she murmured. "Excuse me." She hurried up the aisle, through a black velvet curtain, past the disapproving frown of the usher, then across the lobby and into the ladies' room. She threw up in the nearest stall.
    A minute later heels tapped across the tiles. Gail guessed who it was before seeing a confirming flash of red hair through the space in the door. She flushed the toilet, patted her mouth with a tissue, and un wrapped a breath mint.
    "Gail? Honey?"
    When she came out, her mother was standing there. "Were you sick?"
    "I had to go to the bathroom." She washed her hands. "Go on back. I'm fine."
    "No, it's a short dance, and the second intermis sion is coming." Her mother watched her in the mirror, worried.
    Gail uncapped her lipstick. "I know, I look like hell."
    "A little pale, that's all." Irene drew a yellow silk scarf through her fingers. "Do you want to leave, darling? I could take a cab home with you. They won't mind."
    "I'm sure they'd understand." Gail tossed her lipstick into her purse. "They know all about it, don't they? You gossip about everything. Were they shocked?"
    "Shame on you for such an attitude. I didn't have to tell them. They aren't blind. They care very much for you."
    Gail leaned on her hands, bowing her head.