White Lies Read Online Free PDF Page A

remained seated cross-legged on the floor, trying to make sense of what she’d just heard. She knew it was a phone—the old-fashioned clanging of a rotary phone, not the musical jib of her cell—only she hadn’t installed a landline.
    She stood, knowing she would have to answer it, even though she knew it couldn’t possibly be for her. Curiosity demanded it. A third ring. As she narrowed in on the source of the noise, she decided the call must be for the old couple from whom she rented, now sunning themselves in Sacramento. They’d simply forgotten to cancel their service and an uninformed friend was trying to reach them. Maybe a friend counting down the days in an old-age home who didn’t know Monday from Friday. Or maybe it was nothing but a wrong number.
    Five rings. Six.
    Finally she found the phone, a maroon thing sitting on a dusty shelf near the back door. The cord was stapled into the wall before it terminated in the jack located in the footing that ran along the floor. She snatched up the receiver and said hello.
    There was no response.
    â€œHello?” she repeated.
    No reply.
    The obnoxious disconnect tone buzzed in her ear. Whoever it had been had hung up. She replaced the receiver on the cradle.
    Don’t overreact
, she told herself.
You simply missed the call. After all, it had rung
—
what? Six? Seven times? And don’t even start thinking about the hitchhiker. He’s not stalking you. He didn’t see you today. Even if he did, how the hell would he get this number
?
    She was right, of course. But knowing that didn’t ease her nerves.
    Shaking her head, Katrina went to the kitchen to make something to eat but found she was no longer very hungry. She eyed a bottle of Australian Pinot Noir on the counter top. It was a 2001 reserve from Panorama Vineyard in Tasmania. Supposedly expensive, a gift from a close friend after Shawn had passed. She’d been saving it for—she didn’t know. For something special, at any rate.
    Oh, what the hell
, she decided. It should probably be in a cellar anyway.
    She opened the wooden box it came in, lifted the bottle from the cushioned velvet, and filled a burgundy glass halfway to the rim. She returned to the living room, where she curled up with Bandit in the armchair and turned on the small TV that, along with the armchair and futon, had been one of the few furnishings left behind. She watched an episode of a syndicated sitcom, then flicked to
Dateline
, which was featuring a story about an allegedly dangerous fugitive on the run who was suspected to be in the Seattle area.
    Katrina only saw the first few minutes before her eyelids became heavy from the wine and she drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter 3
    Tuesday morning. The first official day of school.
    Katrina arrived early to get settled in and to meet some of her coworkers. Walking from her car to the main office, she passed a few senior boys huddled in a circle, smoking cigarettes. They eyed her but didn’t say anything. Probably wondering who the hell she was. Her students—the younger ones at least—liked to tell her she was too young and pretty to be a teacher, which always both embarrassed and pleased her. She got more looks inside, from early-bird kids already sitting at their desks, looking out their classroom doors when they heard her heels ringing on the tiles. No one was at the office yet, so she made her way to the English Department. She had a so-so idea of the school layout from when she’d visited for her interview. Skype would have saved her the two-hour-plus trip, but apparently the principal was a little behind the times when it came to technology. Only one teacher was in the staffroom, a mustachioed twenty-one-year veteran named Steve who showed her how to use the very basic coffee machine, then gave her a lowdown on the troublesome students.
    At quarter past seven the teacher’s room began to fill up. A