Read Online A Meeting In The Ladies' Room by Anita Doreen Diggs - Free Book Online

said she worked in book publishing, I figured you might know her, but damn, I never expected this.”
    â€œRichard, I really want to take a look at the papers,” I answered impatiently.
    â€œYeah . . . sure . . . are you hungry?”
    It had been more than twenty-four hours since I’d last had anything to eat. I ordered pancakes and orange juice and opened the Comet. Richard yelled my request to his cook, seized the News, and we buried ourselves in stories of Annabelle’s life and premature death.
    PUBLISHING EXECUTIVE FOUND STRANGLED, read the Comet headline. The paper reported that Annabelle Welburn Murray, publisher of Welburn Books and daughter of the late John Welburn who had inherited the illustrious publishing house from his parents thirty years before, was strangled sometime before nine-thirty Monday morning. Her sister, noted Park Avenue decorator Sarah Jane Welburn, discovered the body, fully clothed, in a bathroom of the sumptuous penthouse. “There were signs of a desperate struggle and Mrs. Murray fought hard for her life,” Detective Marcus Gilchrist of the NYPD was quoted as saying.
    The story went on to say that there was no sign of forced entry and police had no suspects.
    My hands were shaking so badly, the newspaper fluttered to the floor. Up until then, I had assumed that Annabelle was attacked on her way to work, but now it seemed that the killer had struck only minutes after I left her apartment. If I had stayed just a little longer, there might have been two dead bodies in the morgue right now instead of one.
    Richard caught me just as the room began to sway.

9
    GOOD-BYE
    T he torrent of media interest, which accompanies any murder of someone rich or famous, overwhelmed the staff of Welburn Books. Our offices were flooded with calls and e-mails from journalists, television producers, a couple of film companies, and radio news directors. When members of the Black Pack called, I gave them what little information I had, but each representative of the media who managed to get me on the phone only received a terse “no comment” for their trouble.
    It was only natural that the workers began to panic once the initial shock of Annabelle’s death wore off. Pam Silberstein popped in one afternoon wearing a crisp navy blue suit and black pumps. She closed the door behind her and plopped down into a chair. “I’ve just come from my first job interview in more than twenty years. It was arduous.”
    â€œWhere did you interview?”
    â€œCan’t tell you that, kiddo, but I suggest you get moving, too.”
    I shrugged. “One of the other Welburns will take Annabelle’s place.”
    â€œI doubt that. When her father died, she was the only one who had any interest in the company. The Welburns will sell it.”
    After that conversation, I told Paul to start leaking the word that I might be available to speak with interested parties. The week went by so fast that I didn’t have too much time to obsess over Victor’s disinterest in fondling the most precious part of my body—the part he had so callously referred to as THAT.
    Since Annabelle had come to such a terrible end, it was very selfish of me to worry about how the tragedy would affect my own life or career. I should call Craig and ask if he needed me to help him in any way. My feelings about his book weren’t important. He had loved his wife and now had to bury her and raise their bewildered and heartbroken child alone. But every time I called, someone would answer and say that he was not home or too grief-stricken to come to the phone. One morning I turned on the TV while I was getting dressed for work. A stony-faced newscaster said

    â€œPolice are still investigating the murder of Annabelle Welburn Murray at her luxurious apartment in The Dakota last Monday morning.
    Dakota residents interviewed say that they have not seen any suspicious activity in or around the building