Free The Judas Child by Carol O'Connell

had only requested William’s presence, but of course Myles would come along. The Penny brothers lived together, ate together and practiced medicine in the same clinic.
    Myles moved a few steps closer to the conservatory. Pure white thinning hair and poor posture made the general practitioner seem a decade older than his fifty-eight years. And because he had never learned how to sit down in a suit, his pants bagged out at the knees, and his jacket wrinkled at the midsection.
    The elder brother, Dr. William Penny, stepped out from behind the wheel of his sports car. This doctor’s hair was still a luxuriant brown, not a single strand of gray. His jowls and all the deepest wrinkles had been removed, but the surgically shortened nose had been a grave mistake. It was too pug, like a canine breeding error, giving William the carnival aspect of an aged dog-faced boy. And though this glaring flaw sat in the middle of his face, the heart surgeon seemed unaware of it as he preened before his own reflection in the greenhouse panes.
    Mortimer left the cover of his plants, moved closer to the wall of glass and waved at his visitors. Proper William—never Bill or Will—elegantly lifted one hand in slow salutation as he stood beside his rumpled brother.
    Mortimer pressed the intercom button.
    “Yes, sir,” said Dodd’s mechanized voice.
    “Tell my niece our guests have arrived.”

    The slanted glass roof afforded a partial view of the main house; four stories of stucco facing and wood beams joined the conservatory in a common wall. The greenhouse was large, even by commercial standards, yet an intimate space had been carved out amid the plant life to accommodate the small grouping of chairs and a table.
    “So Ali has her Ph.D.” Myles Penny did not wait on ceremony, but poured his own wine from the decanter and then made two more splashes into Mortimer’s glass and William’s. “Bet you never figured she’d go that far at twenty-five.”
    “Actually, she was twenty-three when she completed her dissertation.” And in truth, Mortimer Cray had never believed his niece would ever attempt any advanced degrees.
    William sipped his wine and nodded with approval, as if he had the palate to know a bad burgundy from a good one. “You must be very proud of her, Mortimer.”
    Shocked would be a better word. Mortimer remembered Ali when she was small and barely there in every respect, a quiet, plain little girl with no distinguishing marks or characteristics.
    “Has she had anything done about the scar yet?”
    “No, Myles.” She isn’t done with the bloody thing yet.
    “I know a plastic surgeon in Manhattan—good man,” said William. “When he’s done with her, she can cover the damage with makeup.”
    Mortimer shook his head, but not because William’s nose was such a poor advertisement for a cosmetic surgeon. He knew his niece would never give up her mutilation. Perverse young woman—she was miles more interesting now, wasn’t she? “I’m afraid Ali didn’t ask you here for a referral, William.”
    “She’s not worried about your heart condition, is she?”
    “No, but it is a consultation of sorts. Sorry—I know you’re officially on vacation.” And William was fanatical about his free time. Patients could drop like ninepins and not interfere with the heart surgeon’s holiday plans.
    “But Ali’s field is pedophilia,” said William. “Not my territory.” He looked toward the door at the far end of the room and raised his hand in greeting. “Well, hello there, young lady.”
    Ali Cray slowly walked down the corridor of orchid tables, and Mortimer noted that the long skirt had no slit. No doubt, this was her concession to the company of genteel William. Yet there was a sensuous freedom in the artless swing of Ali’s arms and the sway of her hips. She carried herself with such confidence. As a small child, she had walked close to the walls of every room, eyes cast down with the humility of a tiny