The Hangman's Beautiful Daughter Read Online Free PDF Page A

terror, facing their own son turned executioner. Would there be room left in their brains to feel any

    emotion other than fear? Compassion, perhaps, for the boy's anguish? Or did the combat-trained major respond by fighting back against the enemy?
    The image of Nora Bonesteel and her lost playmate, Nellie, sprang unbidden to her mind, and she forced herself to stop thinking of the Underhills' final moments. It was a form of prying, she thought. Suppose they could "overhear" her thoughts? That was nonsense, of course, but it was pointless for her to dwell on the horrors of their ordeal. She lowered her gaze to avoid the reminder of violence, and saw that she had nearly stepped in a rust-colored footprint on the beige carpeting. Stifling her cry of surprise with a deep intake of breath, she fixed her eyes firmly on the back of LeDonne's khaki uniform.
    She must remember to pray for them, she was thinking as the deputy opened the door to the Underhill den.
    Mark and Maggie Underhill sat together on the beige sofa, staring at the only splash of color in the room—a late-night television program on the screen in front of them. The rest of the room shrank away from the beholder in timid beiges and passive browns, offering no clue to the occupants' personality except to suggest that they had none.
    On the wall above the sofa hung a family portrait of six people smiling selfconsciously at the camera. Paul Underhill, stiff and formal in full military uniform, seemed unaware of the others' presence. Beside him, in a dress of straw-

    colored linen, his wife, Janet, simpered, her eyes upturned to gaze reverently at the major. The three older children stood restlessly behind their parents. Josh, a sallow and gangly adolescent in an ill-fitting navy blazer, glowered as if daring anyone to ridicule his awkwardness. His sandy hair glistened with oil, and his hands, just visible in the space between his parents, were twisted together, showing white knuckles.
    The other two teenagers, Mark and Maggie, had inherited their father's classic features and dark good looks, and were so alike that one could mistake them for twins. Maggie wore a white lace dress, with a gold cross at her throat. Her long dark hair was tied back with a ribbon of red satin, revealing tiny gold crosses in her earlobes. A solemn expression and the unnatural tilt of her chin gave her the appearance of someone in an old sepia photograph, holding the long stilted pose of the daguerreotype. She stood directly behind her mother, forcing the viewer to see the unfortunate contrast between Maggie Underbill's youth and beauty and the dowdiness of the faded, negligible woman seated in front of her.
    Mark Underhill might have been his father at seventeen, but his expression lacked the determination radiating from the older man. The boy was sleekly handsome, almost pretty. His dark hair was well groomed and fell across his forehead in a flattering side part, emphasizing his dark eyes and prominent cheekbones. Surely this young man's adolescence had been more

    pleasant than that of his older brother Josh. He wore a white shirt and red necktie, in harmony with his sister's attire, but instead of looking at her or at the camera, he was glancing apprehensively to the right, toward Josh and Major Underhill.
    The youngest child, Simon, eight years old and still a cherubic blond, sat cross-legged at his parents' feet, looking sulky and impatient. One of Janet's hands was resting on the shoulder of his red blazer, as if to restrain him until the photo could be taken.
    No one in the picture was smiling.
    How odd that these ordinary, slightly dull people should die so suddenly, so dramatically. Laura realized that her detachment came from disbelief. The actuality of the Underhill murders had not hit her quite yet. She wondered if Mark and Maggie had realized the finality of it all. They were still staring at the television, oblivious to the presence of anyone else in the room.
    Maggie