Read Online A Body to die for by Valerie Frankel - Free Book Online
Authors: Valerie Frankel
Ads: Link
without an ulterior motive. “Like you’ve got bulging pectoral muscles.”
“We’ll see how the ladies of the club feel about them,” he said, revealing his motive.
“Fine with me,” I said. “The last thing I want to do is surround myself with impossibly toned women in skimpy outfits all day long. Like I need that kind of ego boost.”
“Boost?” Alex asked pointedly. I wanted to slug him. “I’ll work out with Max. I’m sure he can show me a thing or two. He can point out a few of the more compelling attractions. About exercising, I mean.” That comment knocked around my brain like a ricocheting pool ball. Alex sometimes makes me so mad. I said, “How come you get jealous of Max all the time, but he never, ever gets jealous of you?” I regretted my retort immediately. I’d much rather ignore the weirdness of the situation—still working with Alex, I mean. We broke up two years ago for Christ’s sake—and he dumped me. The room was silent for a moment, except for the klink of the vacuum sucking up a few stray paper clips. I allowed myself to think about how jealous I got about Max and Leeza. Then I pushed the guilt from my mind.
“Okay, you’ll pretend to be a new member at the club,” I agreed. “We should probably pay for the membership. Jack doesn’t need to know every move we make.” I generally hated to lay out my own money as expenses, but I didn’t have a choice in this case. Besides, I wasn’t completely convinced of Jack’s innocence. I liked the idea of having one up on him. I’d rather have two. I wondered if Leeza would even think about helping me. Probably not after the way I treated her.
“Okay, Alex. Max does get jealous of you,” I lied. “But only because you’re a slut and a whore.”
“You wish,” he said, smiling. I felt a lifting of tension. The vacuuming now done, Alex put the machine back into the bottom drawer of the file cabinet. He then pulled out the rag and can of furniture polish.
I got his attention by taking the murder-knife-bundle out of my purse. I was surprised to see the stacks of hundred-dollar bills underneath it in my bag. How could I have forgotten? I snapped my bag tightly ' shut and put it on the floor, under my chair. I dropped the knife towel out on my desk and unwrapped it. The blade shined brilliantly in the office light.
Alex began lovingly dusting my desktop as if a genie would rise from the top drawer to grant him three wishes. He asked, “The murder weapon?” I nodded. “Plunged through the heart, right?” I nodded again. “Poor bleeding bastard. Any fingerprints are long gone, right?”
I nodded. Maybe Jack did know who owned the knife and had purposefully destroyed evidence. “No logo,” I said about the knife. Ergo, I had no way of finding out what store the knife might have come from.
“Fuck logos,” Alex said. He stopped dusting to come inspect the knife more closely. “I think, yeah, j White wood handle. Deep seration.” Alex ran the edge across his thumb. “Sharp as the point on your head. It’s the Bjornskinki bread knife. I’ve got a whole set.”
“The what?”
“The Bjornskinki.From Ikea. I’d know this knife anywhere. I had to special order it from Sweden.” Ikea is a Sweden-based discount furniture/housewares chain. For some reason, New Yorkers have found the two nearby stores (one in Hicksville, Long Island, the other in Elizabeth, New Jersey) to be the new consumer-mad Meccas. I’d never been. I get most of my furniture off the street. No matter how inexpensive, Ikea can’t be cheaper than free. But millions of others go every weekend to one of the stores, via the buses out of Port Authority or the train from Penn Station. I guess I’d have to go out there to investigate this knife. I was secretly glad for the excuse. My sleuth’s curiosity made me wonder what all the hubbub was about.
“I ordered at the Elizabeth store,” Alex announced. “I’ve be happy to go back and check this out.”
“We’ll see how the ladies of the club feel about them,” he said, revealing his motive.
“Fine with me,” I said. “The last thing I want to do is surround myself with impossibly toned women in skimpy outfits all day long. Like I need that kind of ego boost.”
“Boost?” Alex asked pointedly. I wanted to slug him. “I’ll work out with Max. I’m sure he can show me a thing or two. He can point out a few of the more compelling attractions. About exercising, I mean.” That comment knocked around my brain like a ricocheting pool ball. Alex sometimes makes me so mad. I said, “How come you get jealous of Max all the time, but he never, ever gets jealous of you?” I regretted my retort immediately. I’d much rather ignore the weirdness of the situation—still working with Alex, I mean. We broke up two years ago for Christ’s sake—and he dumped me. The room was silent for a moment, except for the klink of the vacuum sucking up a few stray paper clips. I allowed myself to think about how jealous I got about Max and Leeza. Then I pushed the guilt from my mind.
“Okay, you’ll pretend to be a new member at the club,” I agreed. “We should probably pay for the membership. Jack doesn’t need to know every move we make.” I generally hated to lay out my own money as expenses, but I didn’t have a choice in this case. Besides, I wasn’t completely convinced of Jack’s innocence. I liked the idea of having one up on him. I’d rather have two. I wondered if Leeza would even think about helping me. Probably not after the way I treated her.
“Okay, Alex. Max does get jealous of you,” I lied. “But only because you’re a slut and a whore.”
“You wish,” he said, smiling. I felt a lifting of tension. The vacuuming now done, Alex put the machine back into the bottom drawer of the file cabinet. He then pulled out the rag and can of furniture polish.
I got his attention by taking the murder-knife-bundle out of my purse. I was surprised to see the stacks of hundred-dollar bills underneath it in my bag. How could I have forgotten? I snapped my bag tightly ' shut and put it on the floor, under my chair. I dropped the knife towel out on my desk and unwrapped it. The blade shined brilliantly in the office light.
Alex began lovingly dusting my desktop as if a genie would rise from the top drawer to grant him three wishes. He asked, “The murder weapon?” I nodded. “Plunged through the heart, right?” I nodded again. “Poor bleeding bastard. Any fingerprints are long gone, right?”
I nodded. Maybe Jack did know who owned the knife and had purposefully destroyed evidence. “No logo,” I said about the knife. Ergo, I had no way of finding out what store the knife might have come from.
“Fuck logos,” Alex said. He stopped dusting to come inspect the knife more closely. “I think, yeah, j White wood handle. Deep seration.” Alex ran the edge across his thumb. “Sharp as the point on your head. It’s the Bjornskinki bread knife. I’ve got a whole set.”
“The what?”
“The Bjornskinki.From Ikea. I’d know this knife anywhere. I had to special order it from Sweden.” Ikea is a Sweden-based discount furniture/housewares chain. For some reason, New Yorkers have found the two nearby stores (one in Hicksville, Long Island, the other in Elizabeth, New Jersey) to be the new consumer-mad Meccas. I’d never been. I get most of my furniture off the street. No matter how inexpensive, Ikea can’t be cheaper than free. But millions of others go every weekend to one of the stores, via the buses out of Port Authority or the train from Penn Station. I guess I’d have to go out there to investigate this knife. I was secretly glad for the excuse. My sleuth’s curiosity made me wonder what all the hubbub was about.
“I ordered at the Elizabeth store,” Alex announced. “I’ve be happy to go back and check this out.”
Similar Books
