Read Online Red Rain: A Novel by R. L. Stine - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: R. L. Stine
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Silence.
Bluff Point Road curved around the south side of a part of the bay known as Upper Sag Harbor Cove. The houses were far back from the road, hidden behind trees and tall hedges. Ahead of the clicking wipers and the splashing currents of rain, they rose up in the windshield like dark walls, blacker than the sky.
How’d they expect him to find the house? Oh. There. On the right, near the end of the street.
He made a sharp right, and the tires spun over the wet gravel drive. Slow down . You’re not in a hurry for this.
Behind a low brick wall, the house stretched across a wide lawn. A big modern house, gray shingles, with a terrace between the house and the garage. Small windows on this side. The side facing the bay was probably mostly glass. A single light cast a faint glow over the front door. Two well-trimmed evergreen bushes rose on both sides of the entrance.
Andy stopped the car near the front walk and cut the wipers and the headlights. He sat motionless for a while, staring at the rainwater rolling in waves down the windshield. Thunder crackled somewhere far in the distance.
He realized he had his hands balled into tight fists. The meatball hero weighed heavily in his stomach. You’re forty, Pavano. Maybe you need a better diet.
It wasn’t age. It was tension. Sure, he was tense. Who wouldn’t be?
Who on earth would want to do this job?
He glanced into the mirror. Saw his eyes gazing accusingly back at him.
Get it over with.
He picked his cap up from the passenger seat and pulled it down over his thinning hair. He had an umbrella, but it was in the trunk. He pushed open the door, slid his legs around, and climbed out of the car. He was drenched before he got the trunk lid open.
Perfect.
The umbrella caught and refused to open.
Even more perfect.
He spun away from the car, slipped on the flagstone walk, caught his balance, and jogged to the safety of the overhang above the front door. Lights were on, but no sign of any movement in the front window.
Water rolled down the brim of his cap. He shook his head hard, then pressed the bell. He could hear it chime inside.
Footsteps. Then a man pulled open the door and stared out at him in a pool of bright light. “Yes?”
Andy gazed at the man’s startled face. He was dark and had a stubble of beard on his cheeks. He reminded Andy of . . . reminded him of that actor . . . He had just watched Brokeback Mountain a few weeks before. Not his kind of thing, although the scenery was pretty.
And, yes. This guy looked just like that actor with the funny name. He wore designer jeans and a white dress shirt. He held a can of beer in one hand.
“Can I help you, Officer?”
Andy nodded solemnly. “Perhaps I should come in?”
A woman appeared behind the man. She had short black hair and a drawn face, kind of weary-looking. She had a baggy brown sweater pulled down over black leggings. “Who is it, Mark?”
“A police officer. I don’t understand—”
Andy felt his throat tighten. Gusts of wind blew the rain under the overhang.
Just get it over with. No way you can make it any better.
What was he supposed to say first? What was he supposed to ask them? He couldn’t think straight.
“Sir,” he started, raising his voice over the wind, “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I have bad news.”
The man and woman both gasped. Her mouth dropped open. The beer can slid out of the man’s hand and hit the floor.
“I’m really sorry, sir,” Andy said, suddenly breathless. “But they sent me to tell you that your wife has been killed.”
12
T he woman let out a cry and grabbed the banister beside her, struggling to hold herself up.
The man made a choking sound. He blinked several times. He turned and grabbed the woman’s hand.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Andy said, lowering his eyes. Rain pelted the back of his uniform shirt.
“How—” the man started. He made the choking sound again. The woman started to sob, burying her face behind the man’s
Bluff Point Road curved around the south side of a part of the bay known as Upper Sag Harbor Cove. The houses were far back from the road, hidden behind trees and tall hedges. Ahead of the clicking wipers and the splashing currents of rain, they rose up in the windshield like dark walls, blacker than the sky.
How’d they expect him to find the house? Oh. There. On the right, near the end of the street.
He made a sharp right, and the tires spun over the wet gravel drive. Slow down . You’re not in a hurry for this.
Behind a low brick wall, the house stretched across a wide lawn. A big modern house, gray shingles, with a terrace between the house and the garage. Small windows on this side. The side facing the bay was probably mostly glass. A single light cast a faint glow over the front door. Two well-trimmed evergreen bushes rose on both sides of the entrance.
Andy stopped the car near the front walk and cut the wipers and the headlights. He sat motionless for a while, staring at the rainwater rolling in waves down the windshield. Thunder crackled somewhere far in the distance.
He realized he had his hands balled into tight fists. The meatball hero weighed heavily in his stomach. You’re forty, Pavano. Maybe you need a better diet.
It wasn’t age. It was tension. Sure, he was tense. Who wouldn’t be?
Who on earth would want to do this job?
He glanced into the mirror. Saw his eyes gazing accusingly back at him.
Get it over with.
He picked his cap up from the passenger seat and pulled it down over his thinning hair. He had an umbrella, but it was in the trunk. He pushed open the door, slid his legs around, and climbed out of the car. He was drenched before he got the trunk lid open.
Perfect.
The umbrella caught and refused to open.
Even more perfect.
He spun away from the car, slipped on the flagstone walk, caught his balance, and jogged to the safety of the overhang above the front door. Lights were on, but no sign of any movement in the front window.
Water rolled down the brim of his cap. He shook his head hard, then pressed the bell. He could hear it chime inside.
Footsteps. Then a man pulled open the door and stared out at him in a pool of bright light. “Yes?”
Andy gazed at the man’s startled face. He was dark and had a stubble of beard on his cheeks. He reminded Andy of . . . reminded him of that actor . . . He had just watched Brokeback Mountain a few weeks before. Not his kind of thing, although the scenery was pretty.
And, yes. This guy looked just like that actor with the funny name. He wore designer jeans and a white dress shirt. He held a can of beer in one hand.
“Can I help you, Officer?”
Andy nodded solemnly. “Perhaps I should come in?”
A woman appeared behind the man. She had short black hair and a drawn face, kind of weary-looking. She had a baggy brown sweater pulled down over black leggings. “Who is it, Mark?”
“A police officer. I don’t understand—”
Andy felt his throat tighten. Gusts of wind blew the rain under the overhang.
Just get it over with. No way you can make it any better.
What was he supposed to say first? What was he supposed to ask them? He couldn’t think straight.
“Sir,” he started, raising his voice over the wind, “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I have bad news.”
The man and woman both gasped. Her mouth dropped open. The beer can slid out of the man’s hand and hit the floor.
“I’m really sorry, sir,” Andy said, suddenly breathless. “But they sent me to tell you that your wife has been killed.”
12
T he woman let out a cry and grabbed the banister beside her, struggling to hold herself up.
The man made a choking sound. He blinked several times. He turned and grabbed the woman’s hand.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Andy said, lowering his eyes. Rain pelted the back of his uniform shirt.
“How—” the man started. He made the choking sound again. The woman started to sob, burying her face behind the man’s
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