Read Rehearsal for Murder (Maggie Ryan) for Free Online Page A

nibble of melancholy now; did all joys in life become flat eventually? He had been happy then. He’d thought it would last. And in a way it had; he loved Elaine deeply, loved his enchanting daughter, appreciated the good life they lived here. But somehow joy had succumbed to time, worn away by little daily frustrations, and by big ones. Catalog of the decline of joy: A bleak night at the hospital, the doctor’s professional sympathy: “I’m sorry, Steve, we couldn’t save the baby. Your wife needs your support now.” At the office: “I’m sure you’ll understand, Steve, Bill’s in a better position to take the assignment in Japan. No family to worry about. We all thought it would be better just now to send him.” At his own doctor’s office: “You’re in great shape, Steve, but we’d better keep an eye on that blood pressure. We middle-aged types can’t be quite as carefree as teenagers, you know.” At the target range, his father-in-law’s genial reiterated confidences: “I always told Elaine she and her family would make their own way. Advice, sure. Recommendations, sure. But no handouts. That’s how I was raised. It makes a man sharper, hungrier, ready for a little adventure.” And Steve, the Japan adventure so recently snatched from his grasp because he was married to this man’s daughter, could only nod soberly and blast away at a cardboard target. And yet—
    And yet, he knew the value of what he had. Count blessings: security, status, health, love, the beginnings of wealth.
    Rachel was letting herself out the kitchen door, saying something about dinner. He waved good-bye and wondered if love and wealth could survive in South America.
     
    Sarah’s waving fist smacked against the spoon in Nick’s hand and sent a dollop of oatmeal splattering onto the refrigerator door.
    “Thou clay-brained guts!” complained Nick.
    She stared in fascination at his face and breathed reverently, “Ah-yah!”
    His annoyance dissolved into addle-brained rapture. Nick the besotted. Gazing into her delightful brown eyes, he murmured, “Fond of Shakespeare, are you? How about, ‘thou knotty-pated fool?’”
    “Ah-yah!”
    “Obscene, greasy tallow-keech!”
    Sarah chortled and slapped the tray of the high chair.
    “All right, now, enough of this idle banter.” Nick succeeded in getting most of the last spoonful into her mouth, then mopped her chin, dropped the unspeakable bib into the pile of souring laundry in the corner, called the dog to lap up the spills on the floor, and got out her bathtub.
    She had just dropped off to sleep and Nick was swabbing down the refrigerator when Maggie returned from work. “Hi, love,” she said. “How’s it going?”
    “The usual. Gracious surroundings, scintillating conversation, impeccable linen.”
    “You’re right. Time for the laundry.” She dropped her briefcase and coat in the butler’s pantry and picked up the armload of soiled bibs and blankets. “Any word about Ramona?”
    “No. I called Derek to tell him. He said he’d go to the hospital and ring me back when he heard something. But he hasn’t called.”
    “I’m worried, Nick.”
    “So am I, love.”
    “And I can’t figure it out.” She was stuffing things into the washer.
    “What?”
    “Why did she go into that building? Why was she shot? Why there?”
    “Carlotta said Ramona seemed to think someone was hurt in there.”
    “Okay. So her soft heart overcame her street smarts. But someone grabbed her, right? Made contact? Carlotta saw that?”
    “Yes.”
    “Grabbed her, threatened her with the gun, got the bag. Okay, I’m with it so far. But next?”
    “Shoot her and run.”
    “Shoot her where?”
    Nick nodded. “You’re right. The guy is close enough to grab her. He’d probably have the gun against her head. Maybe her heart.”
    “Couldn’t miss.”
    “You’re sure the only wound was the one at her waist?”
    “Yeah. I kept checking for trouble somewhere else because there’d been