"Wilson, F Paul - adversary 3 - The Touch" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson F. Paul)

under the clear, starlit spring sky as he pulled into the driveway.
There was only one window lit, the one in the upper left corner of the
many-gabled structure, glowing a subdued yellow, making the place look like it
belonged on the cover of a gothic novel. The front-porch light was on, almost as
if he were expected.
He had driven by in the past, but had never been inside. Although, after seeing
the spread The New York Times Magazine had run on it a week agoЧone in a
continuing series on old North Shore mansionsЧhe felt as if he knew the place.
Alan could smell the brine and hear the gentle lap of the Long Island Sound as,
black bag in hand, he stepped up to the front door and reached for the bell.
He hesitated. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, what with Sylvia's reputation
as the Merry Widow and all, and especially with the way she was always coming on
to him. He knew it was mostly in fun because she liked to rattle him, yet he
sensed there might be something real under the surface. That scared him most of
all because he knew he responded to her. He couldn't help it. There was
something about herЧ beyond her good looksЧthat appealed to him, attracted him.
Like now. Was he out here to see Jeffy or see her?
This was a mistake. But too late to turn back now. He reached again for the
bellЕ
"The Missus is expecting you?"
At the sound of the voice directly behind him, Alan jumped and spun with a sharp
bark of fright, clutching at his heart, which he was sure had just gone into a
brief burst of ventricular tachycardia.
"Ba!" he said, recognizing Sylvia's Vietnamese driver and handyman. "You damn
near scared me to death!"
"Very sorry, Doctor. I did not recognize you from behind." In the glare of the
porch light, the tall Asian's skin looked sallower, and his eyes and cheeks more
sunken than usual.
The front door opened then and Alan turned to see the startled expression on
Sylvia Nash's pretty, finely chiseled face through the glass of the storm door.
She was dressed in a very comfortable-looking plaid flannel robe with a high
cowled neck that covered her from jaw to toes. But her breasts still managed to
raise an attractive swell under the soft fabric.
"Alan! I only wanted to talk to you. I didn't expect you toЧ"
"The house call is not entirely dead," he said. "I make them all the time. It
happened that I was nearby in the car when I got the beep so I thought I'd save
time and stop by and see Jeffy. But don't worry. I'll be sure to call ahead next
time. Maybe then Ba won'tЕ"
His voice trailed off as he turned. Ba was gone. Didn't that man make any sound
when he moved? Then Sylvia was waving him inside.
"Come in, come in!"
He stepped into a broad, marble-floored foyer decorated in pastels, brightly lit
by a huge crystal chandelier suspended from the high ceiling. Directly across
from where he stood, a wide staircase wound up and away to the right.
"What was that about Ba?"
"He almost scared the life out of me. What's he doing skulking around in the
bushes like that?"
Sylvia smiled. "Oh, I imagine he's worried about that Times article attracting
every cat burglar in the five boroughs."
"Maybe he's got a point." Alan remembered the published photos of the elegant