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Denise eased her car up against an empty stretch of curb in front of the Foxworth house. She shut off the headlights. After dropping the keys into her purse, she raised her left wrist and turned it until the face of her watch caught the faint light coming in through the windshield. |
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She'd made pretty good time, she thought, considering that she'd had to change clothes and brush her hair before leaving home. |
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If Lynn and John don't dawdle around, they shouldn't have any trouble at all getting to the restaurant for their seven o'clock reservations. |
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She climbed out of the car, locked its door, and hurried toward the house thinking she really should've worn a jacket. |
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It's not that cold, she told herself. She unclenched her teeth and tried to stop shivering, but the night air seemed to be sliding right under the hanging tails of her chamois shirt, rising like chilly water against her skin. If she wasn't going to wear a jacket or tuck in the shirt (who on earth tucks in a chamois shirt?), she could've at least worn a T-shirt under it. Too late for that now, she thought. |
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On the front stoop, she jabbed the doorbell, then pressed the heavy shirt against her belly to keep out some of the chill. She stood rigid, waiting. |
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