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Crimson Rain. Meg O'Brien
Читать онлайн.Название Crimson Rain
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781474024297
Автор произведения Meg O'Brien
Жанр Приключения: прочее
Издательство HarperCollins
“I don’t know why you think I’ve seen Angela,” he said in as steady a tone as he could manage, “but even if I had, I’m your father, Rachel. I don’t have to report to you.”
“Obviously not,” she said, “given the number of times I’ve heard from you since summer.”
He stared. “Is that what’s really bothering you? Rach, I thought you were just as busy as I’ve been. I didn’t think you’d miss hearing from me. I’m sorry. Really, I am.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Rachel said. “It’s not about the e-mail, Dad. It’s about all those years when you didn’t have time for me because you were so busy fawning over Angela. You think that didn’t hurt? You think kids don’t see those things, no matter how young they are?”
“Rachel, that was years ago. Why are you bringing it up now? I thought—God, all that time working with Victoria, and you’re still hurting about those things? What does it take for you to get over it?”
“Maybe not having it start all over again,” she snapped. “Maybe getting her out of our lives once and for all!”
“If you like Mary Higgins Clark, you’ll love Meg O’Brien!”
—Armchair Detective
Also available from MIRA Books and MEG O’BRIEN
GATHERING LIES
SACRED TRUST
CRASHING DOWN
Crimson Rain
Meg O’Brien
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to…
Cathy Landrum, for her valuable research, and to Al Wilding, retired Seattle police officer, for checking my police scenes for accuracy.
Immeasurable thanks and love to my family, who generously helped me to finish this book during a period of immobility by shopping for me, cleaning for me, running to the post office, keeping my computer going and even seeing to it that my birds in the garden got fed. Bless you all…Kevin, Robin, Kaiti, Greg, Darrell, Tiffany and Scott. Thanks also to Peggy, who makes me proud, and to her mom, Amy, who recently put herself through college and deserves huge huzzahs! Finally, a very special hug and kiss to Courtney and Jonathan, whose visits add light to our lives, and to Emily, the “Little One,” who helps by just being here and keeping me laughing!
It seems I thank my MIRA editors in every book, but that’s only because I love every one I’ve ever worked with. Many thanks to Dianne Moggy and Amy Moore-Benson, and this year in particular to Miranda Stecyk, my editor through the Crimson Rain revisions. Her insight, hard work and enthusiastic support for this book made the job of revising seem easy, at a time when I wondered if I’d ever be able to finish.
Finally, I extend my utmost gratitude to my many wonderful readers who have written such beautiful letters about my books, and whose support for my writing keeps me going. Please stay in touch. I value each letter and e-mail, and even if my writing schedule keeps me from answering each one, I will always treasure your kind words. You can reach me now in two ways: by e-mail ([email protected]) or through my Web site (www.megobrien.com).
Contents
Prologue
Seattle, Washington
Christmas Eve, sixteen years ago
Life, some say, is only an illusion—an illusion we create ourselves, in our own minds, then project onto the screen of our days. Paul Bradley would wonder, later, if he had indeed, by some strange quirk of mind, created the hellish thing that happened to his family that long-ago Christmas Eve. Until then, he and Gina had seemed to have so much going for them. How, in one devastating moment, could it all have fallen apart?
A miracle might have saved them. Miracles, some say, are another thing we create ourselves. By choice, they say, we abide in either heaven or hell.
Paul might have made different choices in the years to follow. Gina might have, too. Neither of them could possibly know, however, the evil that lay in wait for them. Nor did they know that by the simple matter of making different choices, they might have been spared.
The vicious act that brought everything to a head—though no one could say it was the “true beginning”—took place sixteen years ago on a night that was supposed to be holy, but into which crept the very soul of sin. Paul Bradley stood that night with Gina, his wife of six years, in the kitchen of their historic home on Queen Anne Hill. Larger and with more property than most on the hill, it had the kind of architectural appointments the Bradleys loved. Finding it on Queen Anne Hill, one of the oldest and most desirable areas in Seattle, had been a bonus. Though some referred to the hill these days as a queen in a faded petticoat, there was talk of future