Whispers and Lies Read Online Free PDF Page A

something less than I bargained for, and the man almost disappeared in the resultant blur. “Not a good idea,” I muttered, deciding to confront the man directly, ask him what he was doing standing there in the dark, staring at my house.
    I stumbled toward the front door, pulled it open. “You there,” I called out, pointing an accusing finger at the night.
    There was no one there.
    I craned my neck, peered into the stubborn darkness,twisted my head from left to right, followed the road to the corner and back. I strained my ears for the sound of footsteps in hasty retreat, heard nothing.
    In the time it had taken for me to get from the window to the door, the man had vanished. If he’d been there at all, I thought, recalling the apparition I thought I’d seen earlier.
    “What are you doing?” Alison asked, coming up behind me.
    I felt her breath on the back of my neck. “Just needed some fresh air.”
    “Are you okay?”
    “A bit too okay. Did you put something in my drink?” I joked as Alison closed the front door, then led me back into the living room, where she sat me down on one of the Queen Anne chairs and began dabbing at the gravy stain on my pant leg with a wet cloth until I felt the dampness clear to my skin.
    I reached down, stilled her hand. It lingered on my thigh. “Stain’s gone.”
    She was instantly on her feet. “Sorry. There I go again, everything in extremes, that’s the only way I seem to operate. Sorry.”
    “Why are you apologizing?” I asked, genuinely curious. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
    “I didn’t? That’s a relief.” She laughed, sank down into the other chair, her face flushed.
    “What happened with your marriage?” I asked gently, fighting a gnawing unease in my gut, a sensation that was undoubtedly trying to warn me that Alison Simms might not be the charmingly uncomplicated young womanshe’d first appeared to be when I’d handed over the keys to the cottage at the back of my house.
    “What usually happens when you get married at eighteen,” she said simply, lowering her gaze to mine, no trace of a smile. “It didn’t work out.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Me too. We tried. We really did. We split up and got back together a whole bunch of times, even after our divorce was final.” She impatiently pushed the stray hairs away from her forehead. “Sometimes it’s hard to stay away from someone, even when you know they’re all wrong for you.”
    “And that’s why you came to Florida?”
    “Maybe,” she acknowledged, then flashed the glorious smile that obliterated all traces of sadness or self-doubt. “What’s for dessert?”

T HREE
    “I was fifteen when I lost my virginity,” Alison was saying, pouring herself a second small glass of Baileys Irish Cream. We were sitting on the living room floor, our backs against the furniture, our legs splayed out carelessly in front of us, like two abandoned rag dolls. Alison had insisted on cleaning up after dinner, washing and drying the dishes by hand before returning everything to its proper place while I sat at the kitchen table and watched, marveling at the deftness of her touch, the speed with which she worked, the instinctive way she seemed to know where everything belonged, almost as if she’d been in the house before. She’d found the Baileys at the back of the dining room cabinet when she was returning the wineglasses to their shelf. I’d forgotten I even had it.
    I don’t know why we chose the floor over the sofa. Probably Alison simply plopped herself down and I followed suit. The same way with the Baileys. I’d certainly had nointention of having any more to drink, but suddenly the delicately sculpted liqueur glass was in my hand, and Alison was pouring and I was drinking, and there you have it. I suppose I could have said no, but the truth is I was having too good a time. You have to remember that my days were normally spent in the company of people who were old, ill, or in some form of acute