Trust Me Read Online Free PDF Page B

the phone down, then changed his mind and punched a number instead. He was relieved to hear his ex-wife’s answering machine pick up.
    “Janey, I’m at the office. Be here ’til four. I’ll come by to pick up Robbie at six. See ya.” It was so much simpler leaving a message.
    He had two hours worth of paperwork to do. A few calls, then gathering the files for Pool, would take him right up to four. Then, he thought with relish, he would get some time at the gym. His hand went automatically to his gut; he grabbed it and hated the way it filled his hand, pushed over his belt. He had powerful arms and legs but couldn’t get rid of the flab in his middle.
    A few hours later, Joe finished the paperwork and accessed the database. He entered the password “RAIDERS” and then the keyword “suicide.” A few more parameters narrowed the range to what Pool had asked for. The cursor blinked and then a message came up: “Search indicates 8 records.” He punched in the print command and walked over to the printer. Eight very lonely young women, eight desperate acts. He took the list down the hall to where the files were and started pulling the folders, getting more depressed as the stack grew.

CHAPTER 7
    ⍫
    Holly blasted up Roxbury drive. It was only a short hop to the Beverly Hills Playhouse; the evening was warm, she had the top down, the music turned up, and everything seemed just right: mysterious and full of promise.
    She had gone to bed the night before with a bag of ice clutched to her eye, angry with herself, hating Tony, and even angrier at Art, as if he had been responsible for what had happened. And that awful meeting—what in the world did they have to offer?
    In the morning, she had awakened thinking about the meeting again, only this time it seemed as though something had happened there that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It was vague, tenuous, and she couldn’t find it in any particular thing that she had seen or heard. It was just a sense she had of a promise of relief.
    The ticket to the lecture was in her purse on the passenger seat. She had found it on the floor in the living room—Tony had dropped it when he grabbed her hair. After he left, Arnie had come in and comforted her, telling her that Tony was a wanna-be, a has-been that never was, and that even though he was sexy he was too much of a loser for someone like her. Arnie had smoothed out her hair, talked to her in the bathroom as she undressed, and patted her blanket when she was in bed, turning out the light and whispering good night.
    She turned up Canon Drive and found herself in a long line of cars all waiting to get into the same parking lot. She drove around them, noticed the line at the Playhouse, and circled the block. A parking spot materialized for her on the next street over; she locked the BMW and walked back to Canon Drive, glancing at the expensive displays in the storefronts as she passed.
    The line on the sidewalk was long and she didn’t see a soul that she knew. Taking a place at the end, she picked fragments of conversation out of the general buzz:
    “. . . absolutely haven’t had a shouting match since we read her book”;
    “. . . It became clear as daylight I was in the wrong marriage”; and “. . . wonder what her own personal life is like.”
    Yes, she wondered, what can life be like when your ship comes in, your book is selling, people line up to see you at $45 each, and you have all this knowledge that helps others? Is it quiet at the center?
    “Holly!” She turned and saw Art, dressed in a dark blue suit this time, looking even tanner than before as he smiled at her. He took her by the hand and led her toward the theater door, saying, “I’m delighted you came. Let’s get you to a decent seat before I have to go running off to play stage manager again.” He whisked her past the line of waiting people, professional people, she noticed, well dressed and attractive, interesting looking. Many were