The Deadly Neighbors (The Zoe Hayes Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF Page B

my father, my abridged family history. I rehearsed assurances that my father wouldn’t disrupt our lives any further, that I had no desire to maintain a relationship with him. Good. I was ready to face Nick. But Nick was working nights, still wasn’t home.
    I turned on the television but couldn’t focus. The images flickering on the screen transformed into a dark basement, a blood-spattered kitchen, an old man brandishing a carving knife. A gaping wound in a woman’s throat.
    Eleven o’clock came and went, then twelve. Nick still wasn’t home, hadn’t called. I got up, ate another pizza slice. A banana. Swallowed a glass of milk. I waited for Nick in every room of the house. I logged on to the computer to check e-mail, shut it down even before entering my password, distracted. I kept seeing my father poised over Beatrice’s bleeding neck, and I watched myself fly across the room, knocking over furniture, fighting him for the knife. Scenes replayed on an endless loop in my mind, and I lamented that alcohol was verboten to pregnant women. I longed for a big fat Scotch on the rocks. Or maybe a tall cold vodka with cranberry juice. Anything to ease my aches and shut down my mind.
    When Nick finally came in, it was after one. I was in the bedroom lying down, revising my speech. But I didn’t want to face Nick lying down. Lying down was too vulnerable. So I got up and went downstairs, meeting him in the kitchen.
    He was rooting around in the refrigerator. He looked wiped out. Wilted. He made no move to kiss or hug me. He glanced over his shoulder. “You’re still up?”
    Of course I was. How could I sleep? I went to kiss him; he accepted my lips automatically, without energy. Maybe he was too tired to respond? He took a swig of orange juice, right from the container. I tried to remember my speech. How did it start again?
    “You okay? They checked you out?”
    “Fine. We’re fine.”
    “Your father’s in the psych ward. He’s getting a complete psych workup as well as a physical. The works.”
    The psych ward. Was my father actually crazy? “Okay. Good.” I didn’t know what else to say. Nick drank more juice. Something was off. He kept his distance, his eyes avoiding mine.
    “Did you have dinner?” That hadn’t been how I’d planned to begin my speech.
    “Cheese steak about eight.”
    I nodded. “Want me to fix you something? Or there’s leftover pizza—”
    “No, I’m good.” He took the half gallon of mocha-almond out of the freezer. Good, I thought, eyeing the carton. We’d cuddle and talk over ice cream. Nick took spoons from a drawer and offered me one, but there was a shadow in his eyes. Reflexively, I shook my head—no, thanks—backing off. Damn. What was wrong with me? Why was I holding back? Why didn’t I go to him, grab the spoon, lean against his chest? It was my own guilt, I told myself. Nothing else.
    Nick replaced my spoon and sat across the kitchen on a stool, casually, as if nothing were wrong. He opened the ice cream and dug in. I could almost taste it. Change your mind and ask him for the spoon, I thought. Or get it yourself.
    “Turns out your dad was right.” He sucked on a cold mouthful. “The victim, Beatrice? She was choking, just like he said.”
    Choking? I’d been completely focused on bittersweet mocha; it took a few seconds to digest what he’d said. “Is that what killed her?”
    Nick nodded, swallowing. “Her windpipe was completely blocked off.”
    So my father hadn’t killed Beatrice, after all. She’d choked to death from swallowing too much or too fast. Maybe she hadn’t chewed long enough—I made a mental note to warn Molly about that. Remember to chew each mouthful until it’s mush. The ice cream on Nick’s spoon gleamed softly, promising to require no chewing at all. “So what was she eating?”
    “Thing is, she didn’t choke on food. Her throat was stuffed with paper.”
    Paper? “She swallowed paper?” Why?
    “Wads of it. Small pieces,