Read Online How to Succeed in Murder by Margaret Dumas - Free Book Online Page A

just—” I turned around and held it up.
    “It’s a…” He furrowed his brow.
    “A candlestick.” I brought it closer. “It’s an antique, wrought iron candlestick from France. See the fleur-de-lis?”
    “Now that you mention it.”
    “It’s going to set the tone for the whole look in here. What do you think?”
    He took the candlestick and examined it, his expression unreadable.
    “Jack? What do you think?”
    He cleared his throat. “Well, it’s clearly superior to any ceramic rooster I’ve ever seen.”
    I took it from him and set it on the floor in the center of the room. It was exactly right. “There. It will be just perfect when I find the right table.” I beamed at Jack, then looked back at it. “The dealer said it was really rare to find one this old that wasn’t completely rusted.”
    Jack stood behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “It’s one in a million,” he said. “Just like you.”

Chapter Nine
    While Jack finished up in the kitchen, I went upstairs and tried to invent a plausible reason for meeting Brenda late that night. And for doing so alone.
    Sometimes it comes in very handy to be involved in the theatre.
    ***
    “There’s this thing tonight,” I told Jack, after finding him back in his office. “It’s sort of an experimental, avant-garde play.”
    “Sounds fun.” He tapped a few keys and the screen changed. “When do we leave?”
    “It should be amazing,” I said. “Even though it is only a student production put on by some of the kids in one of Brenda’s classes.”
    “Oh.”
    Did I sense a decline in his interest? Please?
    “It’s performed in real time—and real space—around the city,” I went on. “It’s more performance art than traditional theatre…about how the mainstream media has corrupted the true meaning of the feminist movement. One of the characters is a womb, which is played somehow by a talking watermelon.”
    If that didn’t do the trick…
    “Um, tonight?” He scrunched up his face. “I may need to do some work.”
    “Oh,” I said with profound disappointment. “Are you sure you can’t come with us? Some of it is performed in mime…”
    At which news Jack firmly but regretfully declined the offer.
    Mission accomplished.
    ***
    Brenda picked me up around ten thirty, and we got to the gym a bit before eleven, which is just about the time Clara Chen had gotten there on the last night of her life.
    The lobby looked like it belonged in some upscale modern hotel. There were sleek chairs arranged around flat-screen televisions playing all sorts of sporting events. An espresso bar at the far end of the room was just closing. They had all the amenities, apparently, except security.
    The girl at the front desk wore a white WorkSpace polo shirt and was perkiness personified. She hit us with a “you can do it” smile as soon as we were in the door.
    I didn’t have a membership card, so I’d planned on talking our way in with a story about wanting to look around the place a bit before deciding whether we wanted to join. But Brenda took control of things as we approached the desk.
    “I can’t believe you invited me here and then forgot your membership card,” she declared loudly.
    I stared at her.
    The girl behind the counter spoke up. “Oh, did you forget your card? That’s okay, everybody does it. Lots of people leave them in the locker rooms by accident, and then they don’t even know it until they come back again, and then they’re all like ‘hey, where’s my card?’ and I’m like ‘are you sure you had it with you when you left?’”
    She blasted me with a dazzling smile. “Do you have any ID? All we really need is a driver’s license.”
    Brenda gave me a “what are you waiting for?” look, so I handed over my license.
    The girl, whose nametag read “Tiff,” twirled her ponytail with one hand while she scanned my card with the other.
    “There you are.” She studied the computer screen. “Family membership.