The Deepest Water Read Online Free PDF Page A

box and carried it to her room, and placed it on her own desk.
    Standing with both hands on the box, she knew that she would find a way to prevent Brice’s going to the cabin the following day. She did not want him to go through her father’s papers, not until she had sorted them all out. She didn’t want him to read her father’s short stories, his novel, which might be completed by now. First she had to read the new novel, and then she might decide to bury it with her father’s ashes.
    3
    Brice came home late, looking tired and harried. “The market goes up, they want to sell; it goes down they want to buy. Those who aren’t on the phone yelping are in the office yelping. Buy at ten, sell at noon, buy again at two… Stacks of unanswered calls to get to…”
    She put her fingers on his lips, aware that he had to talk about the office; he was trying to put the past week behind him, behind them, trying not to think of the coming visit to the cabin. “We have to start getting our lives in place again,” she said. “You have to take care of your clients, or they’ll do their yelping to the head office, and I have to go to the cabin tomorrow. I’ll drive the van home and bring Spook with me. Then we’ll have the weekend to get some rest.” She began to tell him about Christina Maas, the Hollywood contract she was negotiating. “I’ll tag along tomorrow,” he said, interrupting her.
    “You’d just be in the way,” she said. “There’s nothing there for you to do. I’ll be safe enough with a couple of cops at my elbow.”
    His grin in response to hers was weak, but he agreed.
    Now, driving on Highway 58, with Caldwell at the wheel, Abby in the front seat and Detective Varney in the back, they were passing through the small dying town of Oakridge. They had not yet reached the high mountains, but the road was curvy and there was a lot of traffic, people getting an early start on a weekend outing, logging trucks, RVs, commercial trucks. It was one of the most dangerous routes across the Cascades, with fatal accidents year after year; today it would take longer than the two hours Abby had predicted.
    “How did your father stumble across such a remote cabin?” Caldwell asked, picking up speed again outside the town, along with everyone else on the road.
    “It was his father’s before. Grandfather was transferred down to Santa Rosa, and he was going to let it go for back taxes, I guess, so Dad bought it for what was owed the state. He spent every summer and most weekends up there when he was a kid. I did too.”
    Caldwell muttered a curse as an oncoming driver pulled out to pass; there was nowhere to move over, no room to pass either. The idiot driver pulled back in line.
    Abby had hardly noticed. She was remembering the scene when Lynne learned that Jud was taking over the cabin. “You’re paying his taxes! What with? We can’t even afford to get our own place.”
    “I told you, I took the job with Aaronson. Dad will carry a loan for a few months.”
    “For a lousy cabin you’ll get a job! Look at that bathroom! Look at that kitchen sink! We live like dogs and you want to buy a cabin in the woods!”
    “Wait ’til you see it. You’ll love it as much as I do. And pudding face here will, too. Won’t you?”
    Abby had nodded. “Why is it called Two-Finger Lake?” She was coloring pictures.
    “Make a fist,” Jud said. “Here, put your hand down on the paper first. Now, trace around it with your crayon, all around.”
    She traced her fist, then looked at him. She was four.
    “Okay. Good. Now stick out your first two fingers.”
    She put out her little finger and her ring finger, and he laughed. “Wrong two. This one, and this one.” He touched her forefinger and middle finger and she extended them, keeping the rest of her hand fisted on the outline she had traced. Jud took the crayon and drew around the two fingers. “And there it is! Two-Finger Lake. See?”
    She studied the object they had