Free Daughter of Deceit by Patricia Sprinkle Page A

searched dim corners until she found a box labeled C OLLEGE S TUFF . The box was covered with dust, the sealing tape gold and brittle. Inside, wrapped in felt pennants that used to decorate her dorm room, she found a silver gun. Winnie had bought it for her when she was in college and had insisted on teaching her how to use it. She had carried it faithfully until she married Ray, but had soon realized that with his volatile temper, she was in more danger with a gun than without one. For years it had been hidden in the attic.
    She lifted it out and sighted along the barrel with a desperate whisper. “How did I get to this place?”
    She found bullets for the gun in the bottom of the box and loaded it as Winnie had taught her. She carried it downstairs, then stood uncertain what to do with it. Should she carry it in her purse? Didn’t you need a permit nowadays to carry a gun? Where did you get a permit? Were the bullets still good? Did they wear out with age?
    By then she had drunk three glasses of whiskey and was weary beyond endurance. “I’ll think about all that later.” She laid the gun on the dining-room table, strode to the powder room and took two pills to make her sleep, downing them with whiskey.
    She returned to the hall and stood frowning at the Monet. “I really ought to increase the insurance on that thing,” she muttered, then gave an unfunny laugh. “With what? But I ought to at least take it to the storage unit until this mess is over.”
    She stared at the misty scene and knew she couldn’t bear to take it down. It had hung there as long as she could remember. She and Nana used to stand and admire it together.
    “Putting it in storage would be like losing Nana all over again!” she cried.
    But she wouldn’t put it past Foley to steal it—or send Carlene to do it.
    “Slut! What am I going to do?”
    The pain was a physical thing, racking her whole body. She collapsed into a chair in the foyer and sobbed.
    Gradually the whiskey and pills began to take effect. The Monet was another thing she would think about later. At the moment, all she wanted to do was fling herself down on the leather sofa in the den and get some sleep.

Chapter 8
    Posey pulled into Katharine’s drive and brightened to see the black Lexus parked at the front walk. “Tom’s home early!” She obviously thought he was inside pouring wine for a romantic afternoon tryst.
    Posey seemed convinced that Katharine and Tom spent the few hours they had together each week making passionate love, feeding each other frosted grapes, and giving full body massages. Katharine suspected that Posey—married to a large, comfortable man who looked like his passion meter never rose above two on a ten-point scale—projected on her brother and his wife all her own romantic fantasies.
    More experienced in what her husband considered romantic, Katharine eyed the car with a jaundiced eye. Tom never parked outside the garage unless he had to go out again soon. She hurried up the steps, wondering what was wrong.
    She nearly stumbled over several large boxes left beside her front door, and bent to read the labels. “Oh, no!” They contained a set of china and a set of silver flatware for twelve, which she and Tom had purchased to replace what had been stolen or smashed. They must have been delivered after Tom got home.
    She picked up the box of silver and struggled inside, dreading what he would say if he found out that thousands of dollars’ worth of merchandise had been left on their veranda. He had instructed her not to sign permission for deliveries to be left outside when they weren’t home. Could she get them inside to her study without him hearing her?
    She set down the silver beside her computer desk and went for the china, but the boxes were too heavy for her to lift.
    “Tom?” she called as she closed the front door behind her. “Are you here?” She braced herself for his displeasure.
    “In the library,” he called back. Did he sound