"picoult, jodi, mercy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Picoult Jodi)

Mia took out the shell-shaped box and ran her finger over the lid. She flipped open the pills and counted the number missing.
It occurred to her that if she pushed a couple of pills out with her thumb and washed them down the drain, she could quite possibly change the life of Cameron and Allie MacDonald. She quickly snapped the lid shut and put it back in the medicine cabinet, shaking with this sense of power.

Jodi Picoult
As Cam put down his empty glass, Allie refilled it. "It's Murder One," he said, as if he could not believe it himself. "He knew he was going to do it; he drove to a specific goddamned town to do it; and he voluntarily admitted to killing her." He shook his head. "I don't know what Jamie thought I could do for him," he said. "I've got to assume it was a premeditated killing."
"A lot of people aren't going to see it that way."
Cam stood up and wrapped his arms around her. She fit just under his chin. "Too bad you're only the wife of a clan chief. You'd make the perfect political mate."
"Cam," Allie said slowly, as if a thought had just occurred to her, "I made funeral decorations. Cemetery baskets and things like that. Well, actually, Mia did."
Cam nodded. "You're the town florist. No one's going to think you're making a statement."
Allie pulled away from him and opened the refrigerator, pretending to search for something. "But what if I did?"
"What if you did what?"
"What if I wanted to make a statement?"
Cam sank back into a chair. "Allie, even if you killed someone, I'd have to turn you in." He ran a hand through his thick hair, spilling it over his face. "I'd still be the police chief."
Allie nodded, briefly imagining Cam's own hand locking her into the small, dark cement cell in the center of town. "Yes," she said, "but you'd also still be my husband."
That was Cam's breaking point. He bolted upright, knocking the chair behind him onto the floor. "This is not what I came home for. This is not what I need from you."
A switch snapped in Allie. She dropped the dish towel and closed the refrigerator door and moved right in front of Cam, pushing past his frustration and anger to wrap her arms around him. "No, of course not."
Cam let Allie guide him to the chair and gently press him into it again. He clenched his fists and closed his eyes, wishing he could be anywhere else but in Wheelock, Massachusetts. Instinctively, his mind began to picture his favorite places. He envisioned a white elephant in Thailand, splashed with a bucket of water to turn a dusky gray; the shutters of nine hundred shops flapping

51
open in Cairo's souk; the pink stone cathedrals of Mexico City.
Something brushed across his leg and he jumped a foot.
"Excuse me," said a voice, and Cam opened his eyes to see the woman who had been sleeping on the couch the night before.
"Oh, Mia," Allie said, turning around with a smile. "Was there enough hot water?"
Mia nodded. She was staring at Cam, seeing him as he had looked when he'd stepped into the living room and stretched toward the rafters like a sleek and stunning mountain cat. She stuck out her hand. "Hi," she said. "I don't think we've really met."
Allie stepped behind Cam and placed her arm around his waist. "You're right. We got sidetracked yesterday. Cam, this is Mia Townsend, my new assistant. Mia, this is--"
"The police chief of Wheelock," Mia interrupted, a smile lighting her eyes. She gripped Cam's hand firmly.
"Assistant?" Cam was speaking to Allie, but he kept his gaze trained on Mia, even as she pulled her hand away and bent over the bowl of cereal that Allie, like a mother, had placed in front of her.
"Well," Allie said, "there's just something about her. Wait till you see what she can do."
There's just something about her. Cam swallowed, reaching up to find Allies hand on his shoulder. It was warm and small and smooth and he knew all its knobs and textures. It felt completely different than Mia's hand had, moments before. "I can't imagine it being any better than your stuff," Cam said.
"Oh, just wait."
Cam shifted his weight. This stranger had come to Wheelock and in a single day had charmed Allie, had infiltrated her way into his own house. He instinctively tensed, realizing that every time he'd been in the vicinity of the woman, he'd felt a nervous energy, a hunch that she wasn't quite comfortable in her own skin. And a niggling sense that he had spoken to her, or seen her, or been somewhere near her before.
Suddenly Mia jumped to her feet. "My cat," she explained. "I think I left him in the bathroom." She darted her eyes overhead. "He's probably clawed your shower curtain to shreds."
Allie laughed. "Eat your breakfast. I'll get the cat."

i Jodi Picoult
Mia remained standing several seconds after Allie had left the room. Then she smiled hesitantly at Cam and sat down.
Cam watched her pour milk into the cereal. She scooped the corn flakes up toward the back of the bowl, the way he'd seen the English eat soup. "What's the cat's name?" he said, willing to call a truce.
"Kafka."
Mia did not look up.
"Kafka?" Cam pressed, amused.
She nodded. "He'd rather be anything but a cat."
"And how do you know that?" In spite of himself, Cam found that he was leaning forward.
Mia's dark blue eyes locked tight on his. "When we lived in India, he thought he was a cow. He crossed streets in front of cars and learned how to moo. In Paris he tracked a finch onto a win-dowsill and leaped off, thinking he could fly." She lifted a shoulder. "With him, you never really know what's going to happen."
"No," Cam said. He could smell her now, clean like rain, not at all like the Zest in the shower upstairs. His thoughts of Jamie MacDonald were gone; all he could see was Mia running through the streets of places he'd imagined his entire life. "You lived in India? In Paris?" When she did not answer, he leaned a little closer. If he moved his thumb, he would brush her wrist. He wanted to ask the question that had been dancing at the back of his mind since yesterday. "Do I know you?" he whispered.
Mia could hear Allie's footsteps coming down the stairs, and the healthy mew of Kafka in her arms. She turned away from Cam, stayed silent. Yes, she said to herself, / think maybe you do.
FOUR
"ITTV'hen Cam walked into the police station later that morning, Vr his uncle Angus was sitting with Jamie MacDonald in the lockup, dressed in his bathrobe and playing a game of chess.
"For God's sake," he muttered, unlocking the cell. "Angus, what are you doing in there?" He looked around for Casey MacRae, the patrolman he'd left guarding the prisoner.
"I told Casey I'd spell him," Angus said. "I havena seen wee Jamie since he was seven."
Cam threw his cap onto the booking counter. He glanced at Jamie MacDonald. "Sleep well?"