Heart of the Night Read Online Free Page A

skill as a trial lawyer. He had no feel for cross-examination, and, in this case, he had a built-in prejudice toward the witness. Of all the questions there were to ask, Savannah suspected Anthony most wanted to know how William Vandermeer could possibly remember to neatly fold and insert a moss green handkerchief in the breast pocket of his natty navy blazer when his wife had just been kidnapped.
    Though she didn’t know him well, Savannah understood Will. She had been reared with dozens of Wills. She knew where he came from, understood what it was to habitually do something simply because it had been so ingrained that not doing it required true effort. But she had no intention of lecturing Anthony Alt on the subject just then. There were more immediate things to consider.
    â€œAt this point,” she told Anthony, “I’d like to hear Will’s story without editorial comment. According to the note, there’s been a kidnapping. The victim has been a friend of mine for years.” With a dismissing glance, she returned her attention to Will, who was looking more miserable by the minute.
    â€œI sleep soundly,” he said. “Megan doesn’t. She has insomnia. You knew that, didn’t you?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSo she’s often up in the middle of the night. She soaks in the jacuzzi, listens to the radio, reads.”
    â€œHow do you know that,” Anthony asked, “if you’re sleeping?”
    â€œEase off,” Paul warned levelly. Anthony was his right-hand man, invaluable as a political tactician as long as he stayed on the sidelines. When he stepped onto the field, he lost his perspective. As it was, Paul had had some doubts about including Anthony in this meeting, since Anthony and Savannah were like oil and water. In the end, it had been the gravity of the situation and its political potential that had led him to override his doubts.
    Knees pressed together, Savannah propped her forearms on her thighs. The ransom letter dropped to the floor where she could see it. Freed of that burdensome weight, she locked her fingers tightly together and said quietly, “Go on, Will.”
    Will looked at Anthony and said in a burst of indignation, “I know what my wife does at night because I ask. Or Megan offers. We’re very close.” He shifted his gaze to Savannah. As his anger faded, he looked pained. “I’d guess that she was in the library when whoever it was broke in.”
    â€œHow could you tell?”
    â€œThat’s where the mess was.”
    â€œWhat mess?”
    â€œBroken glass. Someone had bashed his way through the French doors.”
    Savannah swallowed hard. She knew just which doors he meant. She and Megan has passed many a Sunday evening in the library. It was a comfortable room, lined with bookshelves that were filled to overflowing with generations of Vandermeers’ books. The French doors led to a patio that, in summer, was surrounded by waves of colorful flowers. In winter, the doors kept out the chill. They were heavy, solid.
    â€œI thought they were wired,” she said.
    Will shifted one of his legs. “The alarm wasn’t set.”
    â€œWhy not?” Anthony asked.
    Shooting him a tight look, Will said simply, “Because it wasn’t.”
    Savannah straightened the fingers of one hand. “Forget the alarm. Let’s go back and take things step by step.” She was having trouble grasping what had happened, and couldn’t begin to think of where Megan was and in what condition. The friend in her was stunned; the lawyer plodded on. “When did you first know that something was wrong?”
    â€œWhen I woke up and Megan wasn’t there. I went downstairs looking for her. That was when I saw the library.”
    â€œWhat time was this?”
    He shifted the same leg again. “Eight, eight-thirty.”
    Anthony coughed. “You were just waking up on a Tuesday morning at