accident."
Another dead girl. Another dead babysitter. Another dead aspiring nurse.
I felt my heart start to race and hoped that Joanna, her head against my chest, couldn't feel it, too.
"When did this happen?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even and not betray the excitement I was feeling.
"Last week, when the rains started," Joanna said. "She drove her car off a cliff along Mulholland Highway."
Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make Sally Pruitt's murder look like a storm-related accident. What if Muriel Thayer's death wasn't an accident either?
It meant there was a killer on the loose murdering young women and using the storm to cover his crimes.
Then again, perhaps Muriel Thayer's death really was an accident. The fact that Muriel was a nursing student and a babysitter and died the same week that Sally Pruitt was murdered could simply be a coincidence.
But I knew it wasn't.
I could feel it.
Proving what I felt was another matter altogether, and I had no idea where to begin.
"It hurts so much," Joanna said, lifting her head and looking at me with wide, wet eyes. I wiped a tear from her cheek.
"I know," I said.
"Make it go away," she said huskily, and then she kissed me. It wasn't the gentle, affectionate kiss of a child. There was a hunger, an adult need. She put her whole body into it, reaching a hand behind my neck to draw me to her. I responded instinctively, kissing her back, until I felt the tip of her tongue brushing my lips.
I took her by the shoulders and gently pushed her away. She looked into my eyes, searching them for some thing. "Isn't that what you wanted?"
"No, it isn't," I said.
"But you were l me," she said. "Caressing me."
"I only wanted to comfort you," I said.
"That's all! want to do," she said softly.
"Not in the same way."
Joanna shook her head. "I felt your heart." She placed her hand on my chest. "I still can."
She took my hand and held it between her breasts. "Feel mine."
I could feel it, pounding urgently, her breathing hard.
I took my hand from her. I wanted to tell her she was wrong, that my heart wasn't racing over her. But now I wasn't sure. I couldn't deny that I was attracted to her. Any man would be. She was warm and soft and beautiful. But I loved my wife, and the thought of making love to Joanna had never entered my mind.
Until she kissed me.
For an instant, when her body was against mine, when I could feel her warmth and her aching need, the temptation was there. It would have been so easy to give in to it, to lose myself in her. But just as quickly the temptation was gone, replaced by shock and embarrassment.
"I'm sorry if you misunderstood," I said.
"Did I?" she asked.
If I'd offended or embarrassed her with my rejection, she wasn't showing it.
"It's getting late," I said. "I need to get home to my family, to my wife."
I underscored those last three words, hoping they'd make an impression on her.
"Will you walk me to the door?" she asked.
Ordinarily, I would have without thinking twice about it, but not now. Not after her kiss.
"I'll watch you from here," I said.
She gathered up her bag, studied my face for a long moment, then kissed me on the cheek and got out into the rain.
When I got home, Katherine was sitting up in bed in her nightgown, reading Life magazine, the same issue Bart had been looking at the other day in the cafeteria. I could still feel the moisture from Joanna's tears on my chest.
During the short drive back, I had debated whether or not to tell Katherine what had happened. I still hadn't decided.
"How would you like to drive a brand-new Chrysler Imperial?" Katherine said.
"Is Dr. Whittington looking for a driver?"
"You can have one of your own," she said. "For free. Chrysler is going to be calling you."
"They will?" I asked. "Why?"
"Because you're a handsome young doctor." She opened the magazine up and held it in front of her for me to see. I sat on the edge of the bed beside her and took a look.
It was a full-page
Another dead girl. Another dead babysitter. Another dead aspiring nurse.
I felt my heart start to race and hoped that Joanna, her head against my chest, couldn't feel it, too.
"When did this happen?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even and not betray the excitement I was feeling.
"Last week, when the rains started," Joanna said. "She drove her car off a cliff along Mulholland Highway."
Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make Sally Pruitt's murder look like a storm-related accident. What if Muriel Thayer's death wasn't an accident either?
It meant there was a killer on the loose murdering young women and using the storm to cover his crimes.
Then again, perhaps Muriel Thayer's death really was an accident. The fact that Muriel was a nursing student and a babysitter and died the same week that Sally Pruitt was murdered could simply be a coincidence.
But I knew it wasn't.
I could feel it.
Proving what I felt was another matter altogether, and I had no idea where to begin.
"It hurts so much," Joanna said, lifting her head and looking at me with wide, wet eyes. I wiped a tear from her cheek.
"I know," I said.
"Make it go away," she said huskily, and then she kissed me. It wasn't the gentle, affectionate kiss of a child. There was a hunger, an adult need. She put her whole body into it, reaching a hand behind my neck to draw me to her. I responded instinctively, kissing her back, until I felt the tip of her tongue brushing my lips.
I took her by the shoulders and gently pushed her away. She looked into my eyes, searching them for some thing. "Isn't that what you wanted?"
"No, it isn't," I said.
"But you were l me," she said. "Caressing me."
"I only wanted to comfort you," I said.
"That's all! want to do," she said softly.
"Not in the same way."
Joanna shook her head. "I felt your heart." She placed her hand on my chest. "I still can."
She took my hand and held it between her breasts. "Feel mine."
I could feel it, pounding urgently, her breathing hard.
I took my hand from her. I wanted to tell her she was wrong, that my heart wasn't racing over her. But now I wasn't sure. I couldn't deny that I was attracted to her. Any man would be. She was warm and soft and beautiful. But I loved my wife, and the thought of making love to Joanna had never entered my mind.
Until she kissed me.
For an instant, when her body was against mine, when I could feel her warmth and her aching need, the temptation was there. It would have been so easy to give in to it, to lose myself in her. But just as quickly the temptation was gone, replaced by shock and embarrassment.
"I'm sorry if you misunderstood," I said.
"Did I?" she asked.
If I'd offended or embarrassed her with my rejection, she wasn't showing it.
"It's getting late," I said. "I need to get home to my family, to my wife."
I underscored those last three words, hoping they'd make an impression on her.
"Will you walk me to the door?" she asked.
Ordinarily, I would have without thinking twice about it, but not now. Not after her kiss.
"I'll watch you from here," I said.
She gathered up her bag, studied my face for a long moment, then kissed me on the cheek and got out into the rain.
When I got home, Katherine was sitting up in bed in her nightgown, reading Life magazine, the same issue Bart had been looking at the other day in the cafeteria. I could still feel the moisture from Joanna's tears on my chest.
During the short drive back, I had debated whether or not to tell Katherine what had happened. I still hadn't decided.
"How would you like to drive a brand-new Chrysler Imperial?" Katherine said.
"Is Dr. Whittington looking for a driver?"
"You can have one of your own," she said. "For free. Chrysler is going to be calling you."
"They will?" I asked. "Why?"
"Because you're a handsome young doctor." She opened the magazine up and held it in front of her for me to see. I sat on the edge of the bed beside her and took a look.
It was a full-page
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