The Dark Door Read Online Free PDF

As she walked toward the house she saw that Charlie and an unknown man were in the garage. From the roof of the garage the gray tiger cat Brutus glared at her with slitted yellow eyes.
    Charlie came out to meet her. He was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt that emphasized his huskiness. His hair was crinkly black with enough gray to look distinguished, and, since moving out in the country, he had turned a rich mahogany color. She thought he was extraordinarily handsome and often told him so. He liked that. Now he kissed her and murmured, “The mountain has come to Mohamet.”
    Where he was dark, she was fair, her hair pale to nearly white, her eyes light blue—some thought gray—her skin a creamy ivory, touched so lightly with color it was as if she seldom spent time outdoors. Yet she was out even more than he was. She was tall and lean; she would be a stick of an old woman, she sometimes said, almost regretfully. They walked together to the garage where the visitor waited, looking ill at ease. A gray man with a tight mouth, she thought coolly, a city man who should stay there alone where he belonged.
    “Honey, Mr. Thoreson,” Charlie said. “My wife, Constance Leidl.”
    “Oh, ah, Mrs. Meiklejohn, or is it Ms. Leidl? How do you do?”
    She had known his handshake would be limp, she thought, still very distant and cool, if proper. “Either, or both at times,” she said. “Shall we go inside?” She watched with clinical interest to see if he would unconsciously wipe his hand on his trouser leg. He did. A gray man, with a gray, fearful soul. Sixty, sixty-two. Gray hair, sallow complexion, gray suit, discreet maroon tie. She started for the front door.
    “Honey,” Charlie said, “we can talk here.”
    “I apologize for parking like that,” Thoreson said almost simultaneously. “Cats were running everywhere. I thought it best simply to stop.”
    Just then Candy, the orange cat with butterscotch eyes, approached Constance with a melting legs walk, meowing. Constance started to pick her up, but she slunk away, looking nervously at Thoreson and Charlie, complaining.
    “Charlie, what’s been going on?” Constance demanded.
    “Nothing, not really. I opened the door and the cats all ran out just when Mr. Thoreson pulled in, and I came out to meet him, and then you got home.”
    She watched him, wondering what he was hiding, and then turned to enter the house. The front door stood wide open.
    “We’ll just wait here,” Charlie called after her.
    When she glanced back, he grinned his most engaging smile, and Mr. Thoreson looked more uncomfortable than ever. Cautious now, she entered the house and immediately choked on the thick, sharp smell of burning chili peppers. Her eyes teared, and she groped for the door and backed out again, coughing.
    “Charlie,” she cried, “why didn’t you warn me?” She continued to cough, fumbling in her purse for a tissue.
    “You would have wanted to find out for yourself,” he said reasonably. “I was going to make Hunan chicken. It starts with frying ten chili peppers.”
    Thoreson looked from him to Constance, back to Charlie. He examined the garage with disdain, then said, “Mr. Meiklejohn, is there some place we can talk? Phil Stern assured me that you would at least listen.”
    “I suppose it gets worse on in the house?” Constance asked.
    “Sure does,” Charlie agreed. “Kitchen’s uninhabitable. I turned on the exhaust fan and opened windows.”
    “Mr. Meiklejohn! Damn it, I drove all the way out from New York to see you! I apologized for not calling ahead of time. Stern promised he would call and explain the situation to you.”
    “He didn’t call,” Charlie said. He looked at Constance. “Benny’s?” At her nod, he turned to Thoreson. “There’s a roadhouse down the road, four, five miles. Let’s go have a drink there. And you can talk. I’ll listen.”
    Thoreson’s lips had drawn into a thin line.
    “You’ll have to follow us,” Constance said