Read The Woman for Free Online Page B

an opened box of facial tissue. Cynthia’s normal morning routine would have included bringing in yesterday’s paper to compare her puzzle work against the completed version shown in the next day’s paper. But the paper with the puzzle solution had still been on the landing outside the front door.
    The only furniture not straight out of Aunt Bea’s home in Mayberry was the 55-inch TV that helped Cynthia watch her favorite shows. Like a larger-than-life buccaneer, wearing a black eye patch, the large dark-screen silently watched Linda as she moved through the condo.
    Despite having been in Cynthia’s home on many occasions, Linda felt like an intruder. Still, she had to get to the bottom of her friend’s disappearance so, thinking that maybe Cynthia was asleep, Linda tiptoed toward the rear bedroom where Cynthia slept with a high window ajar to let in the sounds of the sea.
    She found Cynthia.
    Linda’s heartbeat eased, she had reasoned it out correctly. Cynthia had apparently taken ill, and not had her cell phone. Her friend, lying on her side, appeared asleep. The covers pulled up over her shoulder. Relieved that all appeared to be okay, Linda looked around and saw a large crack in the dresser mirror, a broken piece having fallen onto the dresser top.
    Confused by the broken mirror, she approached the bed. She had to be certain Cynthia was okay, and didn’t want some company or need anything, perhaps a cup of tea.
    When she touched her friend’s shoulder, Cynthia rolled onto her back. And Linda instinctively pulled back her hand, holding her breath. Cynthia’s face was a patchwork of dried blood. Her eyes were open. Her stare was blank.
    A fly crawled out of Cynthia’s open mouth.
    Linda wanted to scream, but no sound came. Her eyes welled. She sat on the corner of the bed, just looking at her friend. The only portions of her face which looked normal were the drooping folds of skin below her eyes. Unable to look any longer, Linda turned away.
    After what seemed to be forever, she again looked. It was clear now that her friend had suffered greatly before her death, likely even prayed for it to come. Those last minutes had to have hurt beyond description. Linda guessed Cynthia had been shot, but Cynthia’s face had been brutalized to such an extent that Linda was unsure she could recognize a gunshot wound to the head. Linda’s father had taught her to shoot quite well as a youngster, but after a childhood friend was accidentally killed by an unidentified hunter, Linda had never again touched a gun.
    Linda gathered her hands on her lap without conscious consent. She just sat staring at a drop of crusted drool on her friend’s wrinkled chin. She couldn’t just walk out. She couldn’t just leave Cynthia lying there. She had to call Chief McIlhenny.
    What should I say? She asked herself. Should I also tell him about my being attacked? About the stranger who saved me? That I saw a stranger pausing as he passed SMITH & CO.? That the man had reappeared near the bus stop? That all three of those men could be the same man? Was it time to tell all of it? Should I tell none of it? Or, should I just admit I may be nuts.
    The one thing certain, she could not just leave Cynthia dead in her bed. She had to report the death of her friend, the rest she would figure out when the time came. Long ago, Linda had put the police department, along with the fire department and the local hospital and ambulance service in her cell phone. She highlighted “PD” in her directory and hit the call button.
    “Hi, Pamela, this is Linda Darby. I need to talk with Chief McIlhenny.”
    “Hi Linda, how’s things? The chief just checked in by phone. He’s at a domestic disturbance on the far side of town. His deputy is off today.”
    Linda explained the reason for her call, gave Cynthia’s address, and said she would wait there until the chief arrived. After Pamela cautioned her about crime scene contamination, Linda said she would wait