Summer Garden Murder Read Free

to be wonderful. Even though she’s quite tall, Mort calls her his ‘little one.’ Isn’t that sweet? She’s one of the stalwart Swiss, you know: quite learned, and a young activist, something like your lovely daughter Martha. She took a bachelor’s degree in European cultural and political history, one of those young people interested in really understanding the Holocaust. And frankly, Louise, it’s better to have another person around. It takes my mind off Mort’s health.”
    â€œIt shows you how well-known your work has become, that you’re being sent apprentices from abroad.”
    â€œI guess so,” said Sarah, glancing over to the couch on which Mike Cunningham and Hilde Brunner now sat side by side. “She’s a little naive, I fear. I hope the attentions of the dashing Mr. Cunningham are not too much for her to handle. She’s met him before, but he’s coming on mighty strong tonight. I suppose no one would take a man like him seriously.”
    They noted the movement of black-uniformed servers laying food out in the dining room. Sarah said, “Ah, dinner at last. After we eat, I’ll whisk Hilde safely home with us. Do come and sit with us.”
    Together with the Swansons, Louise and Bill edged toward the dining room, murmuring with pleasure when they saw the elegant repast that Nora, who was a real cook, had prepared. Guests were to serve themselves and sit on the patio.
    Nora, looking as mysterious as the mythical goddess Circe, intercepted them. “There’s a slight delay in serving dinner.” She looked around self-consciously, then turned to them and pleaded, “And please, dear friends, this party needs your vital presence. Everyone is so somber. I’ll admit that Ron and I are not at our best tonight. But don’t leave early, Sarah, I implore you. I heard you saying that you would. I’ll be heartbroken if you do.” She squeezed Sarah’s arm and smiled. “I’m sure we’ll all feel more jolly once we’ve eaten.” Then she swirled away as a worried server beckoned to her. With an imperious tilt of her head, Nora relayed a message, which the server hurriedly passed on to her dutiful husband.
    The delay apparently was due to a wine shortage. Ron hurried away to get more from their wine closet.
    Over the expectant chatter of a crowd about to sit down to a good meal, they barely heard the front door chimes. Nora went to answer it again. Louise could define an intense baritone voice and an insistent high one. The owners of the voices appeared to be jostling themselves right past the amazed hostess.
    Louise pulled in a rasping, noisy gasp of air and fell back a step. Standing in the living room archway was a tall, muscular man with graying blond hair, piercing eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses and a mirthless smile on his face. Next to him stood a woman with sharp features and a blond pageboy.
    â€œHello, folks. Remember me?” said Peter Hoffman. “I’m back.”

2
    L ouise staggered and almost fell against Bill as a wave of faintness overcame her. She gazed at the man in the doorway. He was a brutal murderer, a person she had never expected to meet again. Peter Hoffman might never have been caught had Louise not discovered his grisly crime. And now he was, free as a bird, back into her life like a very bad dream.
    She could not stop trembling. Bill took a firm grasp on her elbow and whispered consolingly in her ear, as if soothing a mental patient. “Get a grip, honey. We knew the sonofabitch was leaving that hospital.”
    â€œBut to think he’d have the nerve to show up here,” she said. Hoffman, through the efforts of a pricey legal team headed by Mike Cunningham, had gotten off with an insanity plea four years ago. Instead of the harsh realities of the Lorton maximum-security prison near Washington, D.C., he vacationed at the taxpayers’ expense at a mental