Venom and the River Read Online Free PDF

carpets so that she could get close to and look in the rheumy eyes of these men who had reigned in their financial, political, and industrial kingdoms and who now paid her well so they’d have one more dance in the spotlight.
    The Bancroft cottage was free, clean, comfortable, secluded, furnished with a mesmerizing copy of a priceless painting, secluded, and appeared to be the perfect place for retreat and writing. It should be a haven. Why then, Leigh wondered as she stood at the window in the study of the big house and gazed toward the copse, why did it feel like a trap?
    She turned and watched Terry read the chapter draft. He sensed her watching and lifted his head and smiled. “This is good, Leigh.”
    She knew that and only nodded.
    “You’re a wizard. I gave you all the details, but you’re finding the story. If the other chapters you’ve drafted are as good as this one, we’ll be finished in no time.”
    She sat in one of the two chairs opposite his and poured fresh coffee. “I’m glad you’re pleased. But now I need something clarified.”
    “Fire away.”
    “What’s the deal with the cottage, and why have you put me there?”
    “You don’t like it?”
    “Of course I do. Geneva filled me in a bit on the history of the place, but I think there’s a lot more going on. Want to help me out?”
    He yawned. “Maybe we’ve done enough today. When can I see the other chapters?”
    “I need to rework a few things. If I don’t have any more surprise visitors, tomorrow afternoon.”
    “Visitors?”
    Gotcha. Like every other politician she’d ever known, he was a born gossip, always thirsty for news of the comings and goings around him because those comings and goings mattered, made a difference in who was attending to business, who was full strength for fighting, or who was vulnerable and could be easily manipulated.
    Who’d lunched with whom? Whose wife had moved back to the district? Whose kids were in rehab? Whose husband needed a job? Who could help, who could hurt?
    Who had visited the cottage?
    “An intruder, would be more like it,” Leigh said, settling back. “Yesterday after we talked I went to the grocery store to get a few things and had a little problem. Do you know a Peach Wickham? I think she deliberately smashed into my car just to get into the place.”
    “Charlie Ewald’s daughter. Good god. The leader of the pack. Smashed your car? Geneva usually keeps me informed about what’s going on in town, but she hadn’t brought back that item. How bad is the damage?”
    “Might be totaled.”
    In an instant his expression changed from amused to pained to vacant.
    After a moment she realized she was holding her breath, matching his stillness with her own. This wasn’t the same nodding-off drowsiness she’d witness on their first morning together. “Terry?”
    He lifted his head slightly. Eyelids flickered as he reentered the room. “Charlie Ewald and I were born on the same day. Charlie was the world’s biggest donkey ass, and his daughter’s turned out just the same. It’s my fault your car got smashed, Leigh. Use mine when you need one. I can’t drive anymore, and Geneva prefers hers.”
    “It’s not your fault.”
    “It is. Geneva gave me hell for playing a trick on you. I didn’t think of it that way, but I guess she’s right. Of course it’s my fault that woman smashed your car. I put you smack in the middle with no warning.”
    “Middle of what?”
    Full color returned to his face as he studied hers. Finally: “Are you the only woman in America that hasn’t heard of those damn books or the wretched television show? My god, you must be. And you’re a writer. I thought it was a rule: All lady writers of a certain age were devoted to the Little Girl, Big River books . ”
    Lady writer. She’d once flung an ashtray at a leering city editor who’d called her that. “I’ve heard of them, of course. And there’s a connection to you?”
    “You’re staying in the