Danse Macabre

Начало книги

IT WAS THE middle of November. I was supposed to be out jogging, but instead I was sitting at my breakfast table talking about men, sex, werewolves, vampires, and that thing that most unmarried but sexually active women fear most of all — a missed period.

Veronica (Ronnie) Sims, best friend and private detective, sat across from me at my little four-seater breakfast table. The table sat on a little raised alcove in a bay window. I did breakfast most mornings looking at the view out onto the deck and the trees beyond. Today, the view wasn't pretty, because the inside of my head was too ugly to see it. Panic will do that to you.

«You're sure you missed October? You didn't just count wrong?» Ronnie asked.

I shook my head and stared into my coffee cup. «I'm two weeks overdue.»

She reached across the table and patted my hand. «Two weeks — you had me scared. Two weeks could be anything, Anita. Stress will throw you off that much, and God knows you've had enough stress.» She squeezed my hand. «That last serial killer case was only about two weeks ago.» She squeezed my hand harder. «What I read in the paper and saw on the news was bad.»

Читать дальше →