Read The Prophet for Free Online

animation. “Do you live in the neighborhood?”
    I waved vaguely. “A few blocks over on Rutledge.”
    She peeled off her gloves and thrust a hand over the fence. “I’m Clementine Perilloux.” She used the more exotic French pronunciation—Clemen- teen.
    “Amelia Gray.”
    We shook, and then she knelt and put out her hand to my dog. “And who is this?”
    “Angus.”
    She said his name softly, and he moseyed over to sniff her hand. Apparently impressed by what he smelled, he allowed her to rub his head and scratch behind the ear nubs. I tried not to begrudge his enjoyment.
    “What a sweet face. Just look at those eyes.” She glanced up. “May I ask what happened to him?”
    “I was told he was used as a bait dog.”
    Her good humor vanished. “I assumed as much. I used to volunteer at an animal shelter when I was in college. We would see similar scars and mutilations from time to time. They cut off the ears to avoid unnecessary wounds.”
    “So I’ve read.”
    “Breaks your heart, doesn’t it? Although Angus seems to be in very good hands these days.” She gave him a few more brisk rubs, then stood. “Where did you find him?”
    “Oh, he found me.”
    “That’s always the best way.” Her eyes were hazel, I noticed, and as soft and limpid as Angus’s. Given what I’d seen last evening, I had been prepared to dislike her on sight, but I found it impossible to muster up even an ounce of animosity. She was so earnest and charming. So…wholesome. I would never have pegged her as Devlin’s type, but then if Mariama was the yardstick, I wasn’t even on the spectrum.
    “Do you know what I think?” she said crisply as she dusted her hands on her gray pants. “I think you and Angus should come around to the back garden and have some breakfast with me.”
    “We couldn’t possibly impose,” I protested.
    “It’s not at all an imposition. In fact, you would be doing me a huge favor. I don’t know anyone in the neighborhood yet, and I would love having a friend nearby. My family lives here in the city, but they tend to smother, if you know what I mean.”
    I didn’t, actually. My parents had always maintained a distance. Mama, because of the circumstances of my birth; Papa, because of his secrets. We were not a close family, though I had never once doubted their affection for me.
    Clementine Perilloux opened the gate with a hopeful smile. “Please,” she coaxed. “I’ve made scones. And there’s a fresh batch of muscadine jelly from my grandmother.”
    Her smile was infectious, and I had no ready excuse, so I merely nodded and followed Devlin’s brunette into the backyard with only a passing thought to the broken statue.

Chapter Six
    A little while later, I sat on the patio and waited for Clemen teen Perilloux to return. She’d come out once to bring freshly squeezed juice and a pot of steaming coffee, and now I could smell something delectable wafting from the kitchen doorway.
    “Are you sure I can’t be of some help?” I called yet again.
    “Everything’s almost ready. Just relax and enjoy the garden.”
    Angus certainly was. He had explored and sniffed and pawed to his heart’s content, and now he’d treed something behind the same azalea bushes that had hidden me the night before.
    Like Clementine herself, the garden appeared very different from my first impression. By dusk, it had seemed a place of enchantment—dangerous and ethereal—but now I could see that she had her work cut out for her in restoring forgotten flower beds and taming overgrown bushes. The house was a charming two-story with a peaked roof and dormer windows, but a closer scrutiny revealed peeling paint and missing window screens. The whole place wore an air of gentle neglect.
    The shards of the broken cherub still lay strewn across the stone pavers. I wondered if Clementine had even noticed. And I wondered why I hadn’t yet said anything. The delay was just going to make my confession and apology that much