"Robards, Karen - Midnight Hour" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robards Karen)

If ),On purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received (illy
payinentfiff this "stripped book."
Copyrqht D 1999 by Karen Robards
All rqhts reserved. No part qfthis book may be reproduced or transmitted in auyfiorm or II)y any means, electronic or methanical, including photocopying, recordhQ, or by any itilormation storqgf, and
retrieval system, u4thout tile written permission qfthe Publisher, except where pernutted by laiv. For iqformatiou address: Delacorte Press, Neu, York, New York.
De/10 is a r(:qistered tradernark, ofkandont House, In(-., and the colophon is a tradernark, (!f Random Housc, In,.
ISBN: 0-440-22504-3
Reprinted by arratTement with Delacortc Press
Printed in the United States ofAinerica
lInblWied sitnultaueously in Canada
October 1999
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 -3 2 1 WCD
to I
This book is dedicated to illy parents, Pete and Safly Johnson,
with love.
It is also dedicated, as always, to the men in my life: my husband, Doug;
and my sons,
Peter, Christopher, and Jack.



Chapter
1
FfEP-E DO YOU THINK you're going?" The sound of his mother's voice af-
fected him like fingernails scraping across a blackboard. His skin prickled, and he shuddered slightly. Turning to face her, he felt oceans of hostility surge through his veins. He hated her. . . .
"Out." His hand rested on the doorknob. She stood there glaring at him, arms crossed over the chest of her pink-flowered cotton robe. Her dyed-black hair was short and spiky with interrupted sleep. Her olive skin was creased with fifty-five years' worth of sun worship, and worse. Without makeup to hide them, the bags under her eyes were as big and purple as grapes. Her neck was thin and wattled like a turkey's. She wore little white sock-things on her feet, and above them her legs were bare and scrawny, with big varicose veins twining like vines just below her knees.
She was ugly. . . .
"It's after midnight. You're not going anywhere!" They were standing in the old-fashioned kitchen. It



2 KAREN ROBARDS
was long and narrow, with a faux brick linoleum floor and faux marble countertops. The cabinets were of plywood stained to look like oak. A scarred round table with four rickety-legged chairs took pride of place in the center of the room. On the table, there was a bowl of green plastic apples, the same apples that had been there since he could remember. Overhead, the illunu_ nation was provided by a single fluorescent fixture.
"You off your Prozac, Ma?" The drawled question was mocking. He turned away from her, turning the knob. He had thought to get out without waking her. Usually she slept like the dead, snoring like a drunk in the master bedroom just off the kitchen. Maybe she'd been listening to Jay Leno. She had the hots for Leno, preferred him to Letterman. But usually she fell asleep before he came on.
"I said you're not going anywhere! You're seventeen years old, and you're living under my roof, and you'll do as I say! IT tell your father. . . ." She was shriller than ever, shrieking shrill, as he ignored her, opening the door and running down the back steps into the welcoming night. The door slammed behind him, cutting her off in midtirade.
I'll tell yourfather . . . Big threat. It almost made him laugh. His father, the big-shot attorney who made his living suing people for a percentage of the award, was gone five days a week-in a slow week. When he got home, all he wanted to hear about was how many points Donny, jr., had scored in his basketball game, or whether Donny, jr., was gonna make the all-A honor roll again, like he usually did.
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR 3
Big Don barely spared a glance, much less a word, for his younger son.
He'd known for years that as far as most peopleincluding his Parents-were concerned, he was the moon to Donny's sun. Nobody saw him when the golden boy was around.
But the long hours after midnight belonged to him. The warm, windy darkness embraced him as he rofled his Honda 250 from the garage, straddled it, and took off with a roar down the driveway,
He smiled faintly as he pointed the bike toward his destination.
The sun had set now, and Donny's little brother had come out to play.



Chapter
2
T WAS JUST AFTER TWO A.m., and Jessica's bed was t/empty. I]
Light from the hall spi led over the tumbled bed, leaving the rest of the room deep in shadow. Grace Hart didn't even bother to switch on the overhead light. Her tafl, thin figure cast an elongated shadow across the pale rose carpet for no more than an instant. Then she moved- Three quick strides brought her to her daughter's bedside. She yanked the covers clear to the foot of the bed just to make sure, but she already knew what she would find: nothing.
Jessica was not curled up in a tight little ball beneath the primrose comforter. A hasty glance around confirmed thatJessica was not in the tweedy pink armchair in the corner, or at her white-and-gold desk, or sprawled out with a pillow on the carpet. Grace didn't even have to check to know that Jessica was not in the connecting bathrooiri, or downstairs in the kitchen. . . . or, in fact, anywhere in the house.