Read Online Death in a Funhouse Mirror by Kate Flora - Free Book Online

Thea. I mean, whose wedding? What does it have to do with us?"
    "Suzanne and Paul. I'm the matron of honor. Sounds like the fat lady who sings the 'Star Spangled Banner,' doesn't it? Next Saturday. You are coming, aren't you?"
    Suzanne was my partner. Small and blonde and very feminine. And a very tough customer. She could wrap a headmaster around her little finger and then slowly unwind him as she dazzled him with her understanding of independent schools and their problems. She was perfectly credentialed for the job. A girls' prep school, Wellesley, and graduate work at The Business School. She excelled at tennis, could discourse on the pitfalls of myriad golf courses, or the vagaries of sailing, and drink more than one glass of sherry in the afternoon without slurring her words. She was perfectly at ease when the headmaster with whom she was staying on a consulting job stumbled sleepily into the bathroom when she was emerging from the shower, and kept a section of her closet full of unusual handwoven garments to wear on such visits.
    She was also my best friend. She'd comforted me when David died, brought me soup and done my laundry when I was sick, valued my work and boosted my confidence during the years we'd worked together, and honored me by inviting me to become her partner. She'd driven to Maine to rescue me when my investigation into Carrie's death landed me in the hospital, and believed in me when my whole family thought I was off the wall.
    More than anything, Suzanne had wanted to settle down, get married, and have a family. After years on the relationship roller coaster, she'd met Paul at one of our client schools, and now they were about to embark on their happily-ever-after. Both of Paul's children were going to be in the wedding, and it looked like they had a good shot at a successful blended family.
    I'd been looking forward to the wedding. I like my friends to be happy. And I'd been looking forward to being there with Andre, even though I wasn't ready for a commitment as serious as that with him. I was still afraid of that, afraid of getting as connected as I'd been with David. Andre has a dangerous job and I couldn't bear to lose someone again. But just because I wasn't ready to sign on the line didn't mean I didn't need him there. Going to a wedding alone, contrasting their happiness with your aloneness, despite anything Miss Manners might have to say about it being your job to focus on the bride and groom's happiness and not your own, can be seriously depressing. And right now Andre was wearing his impassive policeman's face, the one with all emotion locked out. From experience, I knew it wasn't just a look. He could be hard as a rock.
    "You are coming, aren't you?" I repeated.
    "I'm not sure." That was all he said. He stopped looking at me and concentrated on his breakfast, which disappeared with lightning speed. Only when everything was gone did he look up. "Is there more?"
    I shoved my plate toward him. "You can have mine. I'm not hungry." He took it without argument, and started eating. I stared miserably at his bent bristly dark head. "You want to talk about it?"
    He raised his eyes briefly to meet mine. "Not really. I'm just not sure I can go to a wedding with you. It's something I need to think about."
    "That's not fair," I said. "Yesterday you hinted that you weren't satisfied with things the way they are. Today you say maybe you can't come to the wedding, something we've been planning for a long time. But you won't talk about it. That's no way to work on a relationship. Besides, it's just a social event. It's not such a big deal."
    "If it isn't such a big deal," he said, "then it shouldn't matter whether I come or not. Anyway, talking about it won't make any difference. I'll say I want something more. You'll say you're not ready. Nothing will be changed. I hate wasting time on talking just for the sake of talk. My ex-wife was an expert at that. She'd give her opinion. I'd give mine. We'd do things