We'll Meet Again Read Online Free PDF

down his pen and take off his reading glasses. Black had a thick head of dark brown hair, prematurely gray at the temples, and large gray eyes, and conveyed a friendly demeanor that newly hired members of his staff found comforting-that is, until they made the serious mistake of crossing him.
    At 7:32, the event he’d been anticipating began. With somber gaze he watched Molly walk beside her lawyer’s car to the gate of the prison. When she spoke into the microphones, he pulled his chair closer to the set and leaned forward, intent on taking in every nuance of her voice and expression.
    As soon as she began to speak, he raised the volume on the set, even though he could hear her words perfectly. When she was finished, he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. An instant later he picked up the phone and dialed.
    “ Whitehall residence.”
    The maid’s slight English accent always annoyed Black. “Put me through to Mr. Whitehall, Rita.” He deliberately did not give his name, but there was no need to-she knew his voice. He heard the phone being picked up.
    Calvin Whitehall did not waste time in greetings. “I saw it. At least she’s consistent about denying she killed Gary.”
    “That’s not what worries me.”
    “I know. I don’t like having the Simmons woman in the picture either. If necessary, we’ll deal with it,” Whitehall said, then paused. “I’ll see you at ten.”
    Peter Black hung up without saying good-bye. The prospect of something going wrong haunted him for the remainder of the day as he attended a series of high-level meetings concerning Remington’s proposed acquisition of four other HMOs, a deal that would make Remington one of the major players in the remarkably lucrative health maintenance field.

6
    When Philip Matthews had driven Molly home from prison, he’d wanted to go into the house with her, but she wouldn’t allow it. “Please, Philip, just leave my bag at the door,” she’d directed. Then she’d added wryly, “You’ve heard that old Greta Garbo line, ‘I vant to be alone’? Well, that’s me.”
    She’d looked thin and frail, standing on the porch of the handsome home she’d shared with Gary Lasch. In the two years since the inevitable break with his wife, who was now remarried, Philip Matthews had come to realize that his visits to Niantic Prison had become perhaps more frequent than was professionally appropriate.
    “Molly, did you arrange for anyone to shop for you?” he’d asked. “I mean, do you even have any food in the house?”
    “Mrs. Barry was to take care of that.”
    “Mrs. Barry!” He knew his voice had risen two decibels. “What’s she got to do with it?”
    “She’s going to start working for me again,” Molly had told him. “The couple who have been checking on the house are gone now. As soon as I knew I was getting out, my parents contacted Mrs. Barry, and she came over and supervised sprucing up the house and stocked the kitchen. She’ll begin coming in three days a week again.”
    “That woman helped to put you in prison!”
    “No, she told the truth.”
    All through the rest of the day, even when he was in conferences with the prosecutor about his newest client, a prominent real estate dealer accused of vehicular homicide, Philip could not shake off his growing sense of apprehension over knowing that Molly was alone in that house.
    At seven o’clock, as he was locking his desk and debating whether or not to call Molly, his private phone rang. His secretary was gone. It rang several times before curiosity overcame his initial inclination to let the answering machine pick up.
    It was Molly. “Philip, good news. Do you remember my telling you that Fran Simmons, who was at the prison this morning, went to school with me?”
    “Yes, I do. Are you okay, Molly? Do you need anything?”
    “I’m fine. Philip, Fran Simmons is coming over tomorrow. She’s willing to do an investigation into Gary ’s death for a show she works on