judiciously. "I heard you had a doctor's appointment
today? A dermatologist?"
Eleanor waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, that.
Nothing to worry about. Just a slight rash." She gave him
the cream and sugar, then moved back to the counter to
get her own cup.
A flash went off in Usher's mind. Why hadn't he
noticed before? He'd been so absorbed with Alex's
symptoms he'd never stopped to consider that Eleanor,
too.... He examined her closely, registering the highcollared,
long-sleeved blouse she wore despite the warmth
of the season, the full-length jeans instead of shorts. When
was the last time he'd seen her arms or legs, seen her skin??
Involuntarily, his eyes darted to the rack of knives beside
the coffee pot. He was also acutely aware of the sounds of
the police and coroner's vehicles leaving. Leaving him
alone in this house. With Eleanor.
If she grabs a knife I can still make it out the door
in time. Usher shook his head. Where had that thought
come from? He had no evidence, just a sick, gnawing
feeling that something was terribly wrong with Eleanor.
With the whole scenario here today. With Alex's
tormented ravings. All of a sudden he felt a jolt of vertigo
hit him, as though reality had just shifted and morphed
into something unsettling.
This poor woman has just lost her husband, the
rational part of his mind declared. She's in shock from the
appalling circumstances. And yet... he was unable to
suppress a shiver as he gazed at her too-bright eyes, her
too-wide smile. It was as if Eleanor really wasn't there, like
something foreign inside her was making her respond in
this bizarre fashion.
30