Read Online Murder Actually by Stephanie McCarthy - Free Book Online Page B

These conflicting interests never caused a rift since none of us acknowledged them.
    â€œHey, Jack, got a minute?” I called out.
    He looked up impatiently; clearly reluctant to give us any attention, so I let my gaze wander across his broad shoulders and down his chest.
    Murder? What murder?
    He looked at me and grinned. “I always have a minute for the two prettiest girls in All Hallows.”
    Julia blushed, smiled, blushed again and then tripped over a cardboard box marked Evidence 1 .
    â€œWhat can I do for you, Elspeth?”
    â€œI’ve been thinking it would be nice if you and I could go out to dinner,” I ignored the sudden hiss from Julia and smiled up at him.
    â€œI’d be thrilled,” he said. “Are you free tonight?”
    We fixed our ‘date’ for the Remington Tavern at six and I let Julia pull me away from the crime scene.
    â€œWhat was that about?” Julia exclaimed indignantly. “I thought we agreed I had dibs on Hunky Jack!”
    I returned her look in exasperation. “First of all, there’s no such thing as ‘dibs’ after fourth grade. Next, I thought you wanted to solve these murders? We need to get all the information we can and what better place to get it than the All Hallows Police Department?”
    Julia didn’t look entirely convinced, but I managed to soothe her ruffled little feathers and promised that at the end of the night Sergeant Jack would receive no more than a hearty handshake.
    You’d think by now I’d know better than to make promises.
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Chapter 7
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    I sighed and threw myself across the bed. I’d been struggling with the zipper at the back of my dress for a considerable time and was hot and tired. I remembered the beginning of my relationship with Grant, when a stuck zipper would’ve been the subject of laughter and soft kisses on my neck. But then things had changed. I’d put on a little weight, and the zipper was a source of embarrassment rather than foreplay. Grant would have a comment for the struggle, some slight rebuke, or worse, one of his little jokes about my extra pounds: guess you shouldn’t have had the last éclair, cookie, scone, piece of pie, etc. His casual comments relating to my appearance gradually descended into criticism. If you want to wear those sandals you should make sure your toes are done , he would say with exasperation. I would look down at my chipped nails in rhinestone sandals and calmly ignore his remarks. Wasn’t this the same man who had slowly disrobed me while quoting ‘A certain wantonness in my Elspeth’s dress …’? But maybe that very carelessness of dress, so charming at twenty-seven, evolved into eccentricity at thirty-five? A scarf tied too hastily or a missing button was cause for alarm rather than endearment, a sign of the cognitive and aesthetic decline that marked old age.
    I reached behind me once again and sought the tiny bit of metal; wincing as a sharp pain burned down my shoulder and neck. Got it. I zipped myself into my little black dress and looked in the mirror.
    I looked pretty good. I didn’t have long curly lashes like the girls in my books, but with a heavy application of mascara I could fake it. I thought I looked like a choppy Jane Eyre with my green eyes and short, blonde hair. I wore a simple black dress and had on my pink mules, a pink wrap, and tucked a pink rose behind my ear. I picked up my handbag and said goodbye to Blue. He opened one eye to glare sullenly and then went back to sleep. He clearly didn’t approve of my dating habits.
    Sergeant Jack and I were meeting at the Remington Tavern, a comfortable old restaurant with broad black beams, paneled walls, and a massive stone fireplace. I followed the ancient cobbled floor past walls lined with frigate prints and maritime charcoal etchings. A group of lattice bay windows were open along the street front letting in a cool breeze