Read Online Death of a Domestic Diva by Sharon Short - Free Book Online

Tyra?”
    I looked around, panicked. Oh Lord. What if my friends had gone totally mad, maybe tied Tyra up in the storeroom while they wrought these bizarre changes? There’d be a lawsuit, I’d go out of business, I’d be drummed out of town . . .
    â€œTyra was down here earlier—excited about our changes. She said it would make a lovely backdrop for her show,” Winnie said, her voice drained of excitement now. “Paige Morrissey—her assistant, quite a lovely woman—came by to pick her up. They’re shopping in Masonville for tonight’s entertaining.”
    I looked over at Owen. He stared pointedly at a book. I looked back at Winnie. “Entertaining? Tonight?”
    â€œYes,” Winnie said. “They thought a little salon-style soirée would be nice, in the upper rooms over the laundrette. Just a few people. I provided a guest list of the upper echelon of Paradise society. The mayor, of course, and Lewis Rothchild since he’s the wealthiest business owner in town, and—”
    I glared at her. Winnie stopped talking. Her chin quivered. I was unmoved. Since when did Winnie use such hoity-toity language?
    â€œWhat’s next?” I asked. “Stenciling the washers and dryers? Maybe with lilies. I remember reading in the Idiot’s Guide to Decorating that lilies are always a sophisticated choice.”
    Winnie’s chin quivered hard enough now that her little bell earrings literally tinkled. Owen looked up from the book, and I could see the pain in his eyes. But I went on.
    â€œOr maybe we could make washer-and-dryer cozies. Kind of like super-sized tea cozies. Embroider them little flowers. God forbid this place should actually look like a laundromat on TV, talking about how to get out stains . . . God forbid that. . .”
    By now, Winnie and Owen looked positively hurt.
    I staggered over to a folding chair and plopped down. At least they hadn’t yet replaced my practical metal folding chairs with chaise lounges or whatever is considered refined seating.
    â€œJosie, you were panicked last night and. . . well, what did you expect?” Now Winnie’s voice was quivering, too. “I took the day off for this, and Owen doesn’t have classes until afternoon.”
    I sighed. “All I wanted was a little moral support.”
    â€œWell,” Winnie sniffed, “not all of this was my idea.”
    Owen smiled nervously. “I have to admit, after Winnie called me at two o’clock this morning, I came up with the cappuccino machine and the bookshelf and the books. And the music.” He was warming to his subject now, forgetting that I was mad. “I wanted to create an intellectual waiting area for patrons to enjoy between loads. Winnie and I compared notes on our ideas and went to Big Jim’s 24-hour Warehouse up in Masonville, got what we needed, and got to work.” He beamed at me. “After all, you love reading. So isn’t it a wonderful idea for you to encourage reading among your patrons, between loads? To lift the intellectual level of Paradise?”
    I peered for a moment at the books on the shelf behind him. They were paperbacks, but classics. Jane Eyre. War and Peace. Of Mice and Men . I recognized them as paperback extras from Owen’s house—he was on a mission to replace all the paperbacks he’d collected with hardcover volumes. That mission was one reason I found him endearing. Usually.
    I turned to Winnie. “And where is Billy’s Cut-N-Suck?”
    â€œWell, he took it with him. When he left.”
    Now, this was alarming news, because I couldn’t think of anywhere else Billy could go. His car still wasn’t fixed.
    â€œWhy did Billy leave? And where did he go?”
    â€œWe explained the situation quite clearly to Billy right after we got back from Masonville—”
    â€œYou woke him up at, what, four in the morning?”
    â€œNo,” Owen said.