Read Online Christietown by Susan Kandel - Free Book Online

said.
    “This is exactly what I’m talking about,” Richard said to Jackie. Then, turning to me, he said, “The shower is a won derful occasion, to be sure, but not the sole reason we’re here.” He smiled at Jackie. “There’s the wedding to plan, of course.” Jackie looked pleased. “But,” he said, turning back to me, “we also thought it extremely important to spend some quality time with Annie. This is a difficult moment for her. After all, she and Vincent just won custody of Vincent’s son, little Alexander, now she’s having a baby of her own, and both her parents are remarrying, to boot. She’s going to need some extra emotional support. We thought we could model healthy coping behaviors for her.”
    The doorbell rang just as I was about to gag.
    “Excuse me,” I said to the group, yanking my hostess gown into place.
    It was Detectives McAllister and Mariposa, who let them selves right in.
    “You can’t do that,” I said. “Not unless you have a warrant. I’m entertaining.”
    Dot looked excited. “A warrant! Are you cops?”
    “I can’t believe this,” Jackie whispered to Richard. “You were so right.”
    “We see you’ve got company,” Mariposa began, “but this is urgent business.” He circled around the living room, like he was sniffing for bombs.
    “What exactly is so urgent, Detective Mariposa?”
    “Liz Berman.”
    I held my breath for a second, then asked, “What about her?”
    McAllister pulled a Baggie out of his pocket. There was a small bottle in it, with a handful of dark capsules inside. “This was found at the scene. The lab did a rush job.”
    “Stop beating around the bush, Pretty Boy,” said Mariposa. He got right up in my face, so close I could see every pore. “Liz Berman didn’t die of natural causes. Liz Berman was poi soned.”
    C HAPTER 1 0
    t was evening by the time Agatha’s taxicab pulled up in front
    of the hotel.
    The Harrogate Hydropathic.
    Last stop for widows, hypochondriacs, and foreign dignitaries.
    Such an interesting name, the Hydropathic.
    For most, one imagined, it conjured up visions of healing. But not for Agatha. For her, it conjured up psychopaths and sociopaths and pathologies.
    Not pathos, however.
    She’d wearied of emotion.
    She was learning to appreciate logic.
    The valet led her up to her room. It was clean and simply furnished. The chambermaid, a dark-haired young woman with an overbite, introduced herself as Rosie and commenced an endless narration.
    Queen Mary often visited her daughter, the princess, and her son-in-law, Viscount Lascelles, at nearby Goldsborough Hall. She enjoyed browsing through the Harrogate antiques shops with her comely ladies-in-waiting.
    The Russian royal family often appeared in late fall. They liked to travel incognito, which was hardly a problem as everyone who worked at the Hydro employed the utmost in discretion when it came to the hotel’s guests.
    On and on Rosie the chambermaid went, stopping only long enough to gape at Agatha’s black handbag, which boasted the lat est fashion accessory, a zipper (Rosie had only seen handbags with zippers in the magazines), and to frown at Agatha’s lone traveling case, which perturbed her until she was assured that more luggage would be arriving shortly. Only violent yawning deterred the girl from her apparent goal of chattering nonstop until daybreak.
    Once she’d gone, Agatha lay down on her bed and thought about the mistakes she’d made.
    That note she’d left for the servants to give her secretary, Char lotte. She’d asked Charlotte to cancel rooms that had been booked in Beverley for the weekend. My head is bursting, she’d written, I can’t stay in this house.
    Dreadful.
    At least she could count on Charlotte for discretion. Agatha was certain of Charlotte’s loyalty.
    But the note Agatha had left on the hall table for Archie—no, she couldn’t think of that anymore. She leapt up from the bed in a panic and stood in front of the mirror.
    She