Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

how frightening must it be for a mere thirteen-year-old girl? “I don’t think this is the time to be telling any scary stories,” she said.
    “Well, how about funny stories then? Don’t pathologists have a reputation for morgue humor?”
    Maura knew he was merely hoping for entertainment to help pass the long and chilly night, but she was not in the mood to be amusing. “There’s nothing funny about what I do,” she said. “Trust me.”
    A long silence passed. Grace moved closer to the hearth and stared into the fire. “I wish we’d stayed at the hotel. I don’t like this place.”
    “Well, I’m with you, sweetie,” said Elaine. “This house gives me the creeps.”
    “Oh, I don’t know,” Doug said, as usual offering the sunny appraisal. “This is a good, solidly built house. It tells us what kind of people might live here.”
    Elaine gave a disparaging laugh. “People with really bad taste in furniture.”
    “Not to mention their taste in food,” said Arlo, pointing at the empty can of pork and beans.
    “You ate it fast enough.”
    “These are survival conditions, Elaine. One does what one must to stay alive.”
    “And did you see the clothes in the closets? Nothing but gingham and high collars. Pioneer dresses.”
    “Wait, wait. I’m getting a mental picture of these people.” Arlopressed his fingers to his temples and closed his eyes like a swami conjuring up visions. “I’m seeing …”
    “American Gothic!” Doug tossed out.
    “No, Beverly Hillbillies!” Elaine said.
    “Hey, Ma,” Arlo drawled, “pass me another helping of that there squirrel stew.”
    The trio of old friends burst out laughing, fueled by whiskey and the potent joys of ridiculing people whom they had never met. Maura did not join in.
    “And what do you see, Maura?” asked Elaine.
    “Come on,” prodded Arlo. “Play the game with us. Who do you think these people are?”
    Maura looked around the room at walls devoid of decorations except for that framed poster of the dark-haired man with the hypnotic eyes and the reverently upturned gaze. There were no curtains, no knickknacks. The only books were how-to manuals.
Diesel Engine Repair. Basic Plumbing. Home Veterinary Manual
. This was not a woman’s house; this was not a woman’s world.
    “He’s in total control here,” she said. “The husband.”
    The others watched, waiting for more.
    “Do you see how everything in this room is cold and practical? There’s no hint of the wife in this room. It’s as if she doesn’t exist, as if she’s invisible. A woman who doesn’t matter, who’s trapped and can’t find any way out except through a whiskey bottle.” She paused, suddenly thinking of Daniel, and her gaze blurred with tears.
I’m trapped, too. In love and unable to walk away. I might as well be shut up in a valley all my own
. She blinked and as her vision cleared, she found them staring at her.
    “Wow,” said Arlo softly. “That’s quite a psychoanalysis for a house.”
    “You asked me what I thought.” She drank the last of her whiskey and set down the glass with a hard clunk. “I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.”
    “We all need some sleep,” said Doug. “I’ll stay awake for a whileand keep the fire going. We can’t let it go out, so we’ll need to take shifts.”
    “I’ll take the next shift,” Elaine volunteered. She curled up on the rug and pulled her blanket around herself. “Wake me up when it’s time.”
    The floor creaked as they all settled down, trying to get comfortable on the braided rug. Even with the fire burning in the hearth, the room was chilly. Beneath her blanket, Maura was still wearing her jacket. They had brought pillows down from the beds upstairs, and hers smelled like sweat and aftershave. The husband’s pillow.
    With his scent against her cheek she fell asleep and dreamed of a dark-haired man with stony eyes, a man who loomed over her and watched as she slept. She saw threat in his gaze, but she could not move, could not defend herself, her body paralyzed by sleep. With a gasp she woke up, eyes wide in terror, heart banging in her chest.
    No one stood above her. She stared up at empty shadows.
    Her blanket had slid off, and the room was freezing. She looked at the fireplace and saw that the flames had died down to only a few glowing coals. Arlo sat snoring with his back propped up against the hearth, his head lolling forward. He had let the fire die down.
    Shivering and stiff from the cold