Free Emily Kenyon 01 - A Cold Dark Place by Gregg Olsen

leaving early?
    She looked at the clock. It was time to get home to Jenna.

Chapter Ten
    Tuesday, 5:40 PM, Cherrystone, Washington
    Red spattered the countertops. A German-made butcher knife dripped crimson. A pot of water sent a cloud of steam from the stovetop toward the kitchen skylight. Emily Kenyon surveyed the kitchen. Orderliness had been replaced by chaos. Schoolbooks were scattered all over the tabletop; a navy sweatshirt was on the floor. Yet everything was still, save for the rolling boil of the six-quart Calphalon pot. A blue flame licked its blackened sides.
    “Jenna?”
    There was no answer and Emily’s heart rate accelerated. Her eyes darted about the room.
    “Jenna? Where are you?” She reached for the knob and turned down the gas. The pot slowed its boil to a simmer. “Jenna!”
    Emily heard a sound and spun around.
    “Hi Mom!” It was Jenna, emerging from the hallway. “Spaghetti tonight.”
    “So I see,” Emily said, lightening, and feeling a little foolish, but not wanting to say so. “And a mess to clean up”
    Jenna reached for a dishcloth. “Yeah, it did get out of hand” She picked up the knife she used to cut tomatoes for the sauce and deposited it in the sink. “But I wanted to make the sauce the way you like it and that takes work. Probably too much work. Next time, it’ll be out of a jar.”
    Emily smiled. She opened the refrigerator and saw that Jenna had made a salad-more tomatoes, Bibb lettuce, English cucumber. She grabbed a half bottle of merlot on the counter, uncorked it, and poured herself a glass.
    “Pepsi for you?” she asked.
    “Sure.,,
    Emily retrieved a second stemmed glass and filled it with Pepsi. Jenna had gone to a lot of trouble making a special meal and a fancy glass was in order.
    “I had the proverbial day from hell,” Emily said. She slipped off her shoes and took a seat on one of the kitchen barstools while Jenna dumped a box of pasta into the water.
    “Did you salt it?” she asked.
    Jenna nodded. “Yes. And I already heard about your day. Everybody at school is talking about the Martins.”
    The merlot in Emily’s hand swirled in the crystal globe of the stemware, coating the sides and flowing back into a deep pool of garnet. The blood she’d seen at the Martin house flashed in her mind. She set down the glass.
    “I’ll bet. Seems like the whole world has literally turned over since the tornado” Emily swiveled the barstool to face her daughter, now stirring the pasta with a wooden spoon as it foamed, nearly boiling over. “You know Nick Martin, don’t you, honey?”
    Jenna shrugged slightly, her eye still on 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