Free A Cold Dark Place by Gregg Olsen Page B

the pasta. “Well enough to know he didn’t kill his family, if that’s what you’re asking.” She set the stainless steel colander in the sink and retrieved the heavy pot of water.
    The steam rushed from the sink as the water drained into the colander.
    “I really don’t know that much about Nick except I just can’t believe he’d kill anyone. He was an artist. He looked a little creepy but his art was always sweet. Birds and nature stuff. He wasn’t drawing death avengers or violent images of women being stabbed and bound like half the other guys in the class.”
    Emily knew exactly what she was talking about. The schools did a good job about being PC and tolerant when it came to every other group besides women. It was still all right for boys to run around with images of tied-up women on their T-shirts.
    “That looks great, sweetie,” said Emily as her daughter transferred the pasta to a bowl and began pouring on the sauce. “I’m getting to bed early,” she said. “Sheriff’s going to be on Diane Sawyer tomorrow and I don’t want to miss it.”
    Jenna’s eyes widened and she started to laugh. “Oh wow! That would be worth seeing. I’m calling Shali. The girl will think your boss is a superstar.”
    Wednesday, 6:39 A.M.
    The bed held her like a coffin. Despite all that had gone on in Cherrystone, Emily slept more soundly that night than she had in a week. She’d laid her head on the pillow and the next moment the alarm clock beeped to wake her. The merlot, she thought. Better than knockout drops. She put on the thinning white terry robe she’d taken home from the hotel in Cabo San Lucas where she and David had honeymooned. They’d been so happy. It hadn’t all been fury and vitriol. The man that made her angrier than any other had also been the love of her life. She couldn’t bear to toss the robe, even though it was frayed at the cuffs. Her wedding ring was buried deep in her jewelry box, never to be worn again, but not the robe.
    She padded down the hall toward the kitchen. Passing her daughter’s room, she knocked once. “Jenna, get up! Kiplinger’s on TV in ten minutes or so. I’ll make coffee.”
    The kitchen was still a mess, but Emily could deal with that. She turned on the burr grinder and it made its interminable racket. Fresh ground coffee never smelled so good. She imagined Kiplinger getting his big handsome face powdered by some assistant provided by the Spokane ABC affiliate, where he was going to appear via satellite.
    “Jenna!” She called once more, as she filled the filter with the dark roast that smelled heavenly at that hour. Always did. She poured distilled water in the reservoir and flipped the switch. The machine rumbled.
    Diane Sawyer, all sunny and blond, was on the tube, talking about Cherrystone and the twister that miraculously had killed no one, but now the town was the scene of a murder investigation.
    The show broke for the local Spokane weather.
    Good, it was just a tease, telling the audience what was coming after the next commercial break. She hadn’t missed the sheriff.
    Emily hurried down the hall and pushed open the door. Jenna’s room was empty. The bed made. She looked at her watch. It was almost seven. Shali must have come to get her early. It passed through her mind that earlier this week Jenna had mentioned something about posters and banners needing to be put up at school.
    “First a devastating tornado and now a small town in Washington State is reeling with a mysterious homicide.”
    It was Diane Sawyer talking.
    Emily, her robe flapping as she ran to the living room, fixed her eyes on the TV screen.
    Brian Kiplinger stared into the camera. Or stared at something . Emily couldn’t be sure what he was looking at. His eyes looked around nervously. He nodded like a doll with a spring neck as Diane coolly asked what was known about the Martin family.
    “This is a good family. The kid was troubled. We’re not sure what happened, but we think the