"Roberts, Nora - Divine Evil(1)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberts Nora)

Canal and heard instead the quiet, country sounds of summer.
She was certain her father would be waiting for her. His eyes had misted over
when she walked out with Bobby. She hoped she and her father would sit together
on the old porch swing, as they often did, with moths flapping against the
yellow lights and crickets singing in the grass, while she told him all about
the adventure.
She climbed the stairs, her sneakers soundless on the gleaming wood. Even now
she could feel that flush of excitement. The bedroom door was open, and she
peeked in, calling his name.
"Daddy?"
In the slant of moonlight, she saw that her parentsФ bed was still made.
Turning, she started up to the third floor. He often worked late at night in his
office. Or drank late at night. But she pushed that thought aside. If heТd been
drinking, she would coax him downstairs, fix him coffee, and talk to him until
his eyes lost that haunted look that had come into them lately. Before long heТd
be laughing again, his arm slung around her shoulders.
She saw the light under his office door. She knocked first, an ingrained habit.
As close a family as they were, they had been taught to respect the privacy of
others.
"Daddy? IТm back."
The lack of response disturbed her. For some reason, as she stood, hesitating,
she was gripped by an unreasonable need to turn and run. A coppery flavor had
filled her mouth, a taste of fear she didnТt recognize. She even took a step
back before she shook off the feeling and reached for the doorknob.
"Dad?" She prayed she wouldnТt find him slumped over his desk, snoring drunk.
The image made her take a firmer grip on the knob, angry all at once that he
would spoil this most perfect evening of her life with whiskey. He was her
father. He was supposed to be there for her. He wasnТt supposed to let her down.
She shoved the door open.
At first she was only puzzled. The room was empty, though the light was on and
the big portable fan stirred the hot air in the converted attic room. Her nose
wrinkled at the smellЧwhiskey, strong and sour. As she stepped inside, her
sneakers crunched over broken glass. She skirted around the remains of a bottle
of Irish Mist.
Had he gone out? Had he drained the bottle, tossed it aside, then stumbled out
of the house?
Her first reaction was acute embarrassment, the kind only a teenager can feel.
Someone might see himЧher friends, their parents. In a small town like
Emmitsboro, everyone knew everyone. She would die of shame if someone happened
across her father, drunk and weaving.
Clutching her prized elephant, her first gift from a suitor, she stood in the
center of the sloped-ceilinged room and agonized over what to do.
If her mother had been home, she thought, suddenly furious, if her mother had
been home, he wouldnТt have wandered off. She would have soothed and calmed him
and tucked him into bed. And Blair had gone off as well, camping with his jerky
friends. Probably drinking Budweiser and reading Playboy by the campfire.
And sheТd gone, too, she thought, near tears with the indecision. Should she
stay and wait, or go out and search for him?
She would look. Her decision made, she moved to the desk to turn off the lamp.
More glass crunched under her feet. It was odd, she thought. If the bottle had