Killing Her Softly
Killing Her Softly
“The hall was clear, smelling only of the musty potpourri used in the linen cupboard opposite her room.She ran back inside to the French doors and stepped out on the balcony. The crisp morning air enveloped her with the fragrance of jasmine and wood smoke.Down the slope toward the village, she saw a thin blue wisp rising from a stone chimney visible through the trees. An unseen donkey brayed, a raucous sound like a creaking gate. On the patio, the cat rolled over in the sun, his paws kneading th...e air like a kitten's.She laughed. The serenity of the scene filled her with sheer relief and a sense of euphoria she couldn't control—didn't want to control.She laughed out loud, shuffling her feet in a little dance. In daylight, last night's events seemed unreal, as if they'd happened to someone else.The storm the night before had taken the edge off the heat. Downstairs Leslie filled a bowl with corn flakes and milk and took it out to the patio to eat. The little table was pockmarked with rust and the cane seats of the chairs were unraveling, but the fresh air and the exotic scent of the garden made up for these deficiencies.The cat lay in boneless slumber next to the back step.MoreLess
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