Read Online Mayhem at the Orient Express by Kylie Logan - Free Book Online Page A

to that.” Luella took a long drink and smacked her lips. “Good stuff,”
     she said.
    “It should be.” Kate sipped and nodded her approval. “That vintage . . .” She thought
     about it. “I’d say that bottle cost more than five hundred.”
    “Dollars?” Chandra nearly choked on her first sip. She swallowed, burped, and pounded
     her chest. “Well, if that’s the case, I’d say the least we can do is toast.” She raised
     her glass. “To Peter.”
    It was a somber reminder of why we were all there in the first place. We clinked our
     glasses together and settled back.
    After another couple sips, Chandra sighed. “I suppose it’s pretty fitting that we’re
     sitting here drinking champagne tonight,” she said with a wistful look at the fire.
     “Today is my anniversary.”
    I would have offered my congratulations if Kate’s top lip hadn’t curled. “Was that
     your first wedding, Chandra?” she asked. “Or your second? Or maybe it was your third?”
    Chandra did not seem to hold these questions against her. She took another sip of
     champagne and answered matter-of-factly. “Second. You know, when I married Hank.”
    “Hank!” Luella threw back her head and laughed. “There was a match made in hell if
     ever there was one. You and Hank Florentine are like oil on water.”
    “You got that right.” Chandra grinned and downed the rest of her champagne. “That
     man is pigheaded and stone-hearted. I should have seen it from the start. Even when
     you know a guy is bad for you, sometimes you just can’t help yourself. It’s the whole
     moth-to-the-flame thing. You ladies know how it is.”
    Kate shook her head. “I don’t know that. Not at all. The smart way to approach any
     relationship is to evaluate things from the start. If there are that many obvious
     problems, why start dating in the first place?”
    “I’m afraid I can’t really relate, either.” Luella’s glass was empty and she set it
     on the table near her elbow. “Joe, he was the love of my life, the only man I ever
     needed.”
    It wasn’t until I finished my own champagne that I realized they were all looking
     my way, waiting for me to say something. Anything. About my love life.
    Collecting my thoughts and steeling my nerves, I refilled the glasses, and when I
     was done, I sat back down. Not to worry, I had anticipated that someday I might face
     this sort of questioning, and I was ready for it. The trick was making my story sound
     convincing.
    I wrapped my fingers around the stem of my glass. “My husband, Martin, died last year,”
     I said, and since I guess I was expected to add some romantic insight into the comment,
     I added, “And I do think he was the right man for me. Even though he was twenty years
     older.”
    Something about this statement appealed to Chandra; her eyes sparkled. Or maybe that
     was because of the champagne. “Oh, a trophy wife!”
    Back when I concocted the story, I told myself that folks would think this. I didn’t
     actually expect anyone to come right out and say it. I hadn’t prepared a response,
     so I covered with a laugh. “Nothing that interesting, I’m afraid. Martin owned an
     antiques store in Chelsea and I used to shop there. That’s how we got to know each
     other. When he died . . . well, I sold the shop and moved here.”
    “Which explains the great furniture.” Kate stroked one hand lovingly along the arm
     of the butter-soft leather couch.
    “And it explains how you were able to afford this place and all the renovations.”
     Who else but Chandra would have the chutzpah to put this into words? “We’ve been wondering,
     you know. All of us.”
    “I haven’t.” Kate distanced herself from this tacky little foray into my private life,
     and for this, I was grateful. It gave me a chance to finish the last of my champagne.
     When I was done, I set down my glass. “I’m afraid that was my last bottle of champagne,”
     I told them.
    “Not to worry!”