Read Online A Most Curious Murder by Elizabeth Kane Buzzelli - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Elizabeth Kane Buzzelli
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traitor if I just shut up shop without trying.”
Mom chuckled to herself and went back to making coffee, measuring grounds and water into her machine, flicking aswitch, then standing back to see if she’d got it right. When the machine began to bubble, perk, and drip into the carafe, Dora clapped her hands and turned to the two at the table.
“That’s when I called Tony.” She smiled at Jenny. “We were just talking about things. I thought maybe we could add a children’s wing—or another whole house, as I said before. Tony, here, says that’s no problem. He’s going to do a drawing for me. I’m happy you’re back, Jenny. Maybe the three of us can come up with something splendid.”
With the mugs filled, Dora fussed over the sugar bowl, knocked a hunk of dried sugar from the rim, then pushed the milk carton toward Tony.
She busied herself examining the groceries Jenny bought and then put things into the refrigerator and the pantry. “Did you get bread, dear? I don’t see it.”
Jenny had to shake her head. “Forgot the bread.”
“And dish soap?”
Jenny shook her head again and searched for excuses. “So many people there. You know what Draper’s is like. Everybody wanted to know what was happening over here. I . . . just . . . wanted to leave.”
The last, at least, wasn’t a lie.
Dora frowned, looking as if she suspected something could be up. “No bagels?”
“Oh, Mom. I forgot . . .”
“I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m a dolt.” Jenny smiled from Dora to Tony, then pulled her mug to her, making a big deal of blowing at the hot coffee, tasting it, then blowing at it again and again.
Tony Ralenti got busy drawing on a large pad of paper in front of him, then stopped to take a sip of his coffee—which didn’t require a lot of embarrassed puffs the way Jenny’s had.
When he turned the pad, Dora and Jenny leaned close, squinting. Both of the sketched houses were bigger than the old, single house—or seemed to be. Both looked very close to the house Jim Weston built, but somehow not quite.
“They’re not . . .” she started to say.
“Two so close together? Looks crowded,” Jenny said.
“How about two posts? Two platforms?” Tony thought fast. He smiled at Jenny. “I could make one post shorter than the other.”
She looked away from those dark eyes. The rough hands spread wide on the paper were easier to stare at. Work worn with purple veins—and that scar. She had a crazy urge to run a finger over that scar. She held her breath and turned away. When she got up to get a glass of water, she kept her back to Tony. First handsome man to look at her in months and she was turning to jelly.
Ovaries, she told herself. Womb. Ticking biological clock. Another trick of dumb Mother Nature. She was thirty-six, a lot smarter than she’d been at eighteen. Or even at twenty-eight. Stay on guard , she warned herself.
She turned back to him with a calm and disinterested face.
“Yes.” Dora thought hard. “One of them has to look exactly like the house Jim built. The other can be fantastical, maybe covered with fairies.”
“Your boy readers won’t go for the fairies.”
“Then fairies and superheroes.” Dora clapped her hands.
Tony dipped his dark head. “I’ll come up with something. I’m taking a couple of photos of your house before I go. Make sure I’ve got the one just right.”
“Talk to Zoe about the other one,” Dora suggested, then looked distressed. “But remember, I don’t have a lot of money. I can’t . . .”
“The whole thing’s not going to cost you much, Mrs. Weston. Maybe materials, that’s all. You do plenty for everybody. Zoe’s filled me in.”
“I’m not a charity case, either.” Dora lifted her chin.
“Not charity, ma’am.”
“Dora,” she corrected, smiling.
He nodded as he closed the sketchpad and tucked it under his arm. “I’m going to give you exactly what you want . . .
Mom chuckled to herself and went back to making coffee, measuring grounds and water into her machine, flicking aswitch, then standing back to see if she’d got it right. When the machine began to bubble, perk, and drip into the carafe, Dora clapped her hands and turned to the two at the table.
“That’s when I called Tony.” She smiled at Jenny. “We were just talking about things. I thought maybe we could add a children’s wing—or another whole house, as I said before. Tony, here, says that’s no problem. He’s going to do a drawing for me. I’m happy you’re back, Jenny. Maybe the three of us can come up with something splendid.”
With the mugs filled, Dora fussed over the sugar bowl, knocked a hunk of dried sugar from the rim, then pushed the milk carton toward Tony.
She busied herself examining the groceries Jenny bought and then put things into the refrigerator and the pantry. “Did you get bread, dear? I don’t see it.”
Jenny had to shake her head. “Forgot the bread.”
“And dish soap?”
Jenny shook her head again and searched for excuses. “So many people there. You know what Draper’s is like. Everybody wanted to know what was happening over here. I . . . just . . . wanted to leave.”
The last, at least, wasn’t a lie.
Dora frowned, looking as if she suspected something could be up. “No bagels?”
“Oh, Mom. I forgot . . .”
“I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m a dolt.” Jenny smiled from Dora to Tony, then pulled her mug to her, making a big deal of blowing at the hot coffee, tasting it, then blowing at it again and again.
Tony Ralenti got busy drawing on a large pad of paper in front of him, then stopped to take a sip of his coffee—which didn’t require a lot of embarrassed puffs the way Jenny’s had.
When he turned the pad, Dora and Jenny leaned close, squinting. Both of the sketched houses were bigger than the old, single house—or seemed to be. Both looked very close to the house Jim Weston built, but somehow not quite.
“They’re not . . .” she started to say.
“Two so close together? Looks crowded,” Jenny said.
“How about two posts? Two platforms?” Tony thought fast. He smiled at Jenny. “I could make one post shorter than the other.”
She looked away from those dark eyes. The rough hands spread wide on the paper were easier to stare at. Work worn with purple veins—and that scar. She had a crazy urge to run a finger over that scar. She held her breath and turned away. When she got up to get a glass of water, she kept her back to Tony. First handsome man to look at her in months and she was turning to jelly.
Ovaries, she told herself. Womb. Ticking biological clock. Another trick of dumb Mother Nature. She was thirty-six, a lot smarter than she’d been at eighteen. Or even at twenty-eight. Stay on guard , she warned herself.
She turned back to him with a calm and disinterested face.
“Yes.” Dora thought hard. “One of them has to look exactly like the house Jim built. The other can be fantastical, maybe covered with fairies.”
“Your boy readers won’t go for the fairies.”
“Then fairies and superheroes.” Dora clapped her hands.
Tony dipped his dark head. “I’ll come up with something. I’m taking a couple of photos of your house before I go. Make sure I’ve got the one just right.”
“Talk to Zoe about the other one,” Dora suggested, then looked distressed. “But remember, I don’t have a lot of money. I can’t . . .”
“The whole thing’s not going to cost you much, Mrs. Weston. Maybe materials, that’s all. You do plenty for everybody. Zoe’s filled me in.”
“I’m not a charity case, either.” Dora lifted her chin.
“Not charity, ma’am.”
“Dora,” she corrected, smiling.
He nodded as he closed the sketchpad and tucked it under his arm. “I’m going to give you exactly what you want . . .
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