Read Online Murder 101 by Maggie Barbieri - Free Book Online Page B

second.
    I guess she wasn’t as dense as I thought. She had been right there with me, all the time.
    We drove home after lunch. Max told me that she had her laptop with her and wanted to check e-mail and do some work. It had been a long week; I was going to curl up in bed with the Harry Potter book that I had bought a few months earlier but hadn’t had time to read. I knew I should look through my briefcase and unearth the term papers that I had to read, but I was tired and drained. An afternoon in my bed, under the covers, was just what I needed.
    Max pulled up the full length of the driveway and parked right in front of the garage, a detached, barnlike structure that housed everything but my car, when I actually owned one. She popped the trunk from inside the car and got out to retrieve her packages and her computer. Based on years of experience, I knew that we would be having a fashion show later when she modeled all of her new purchases.
    She went across the backyard and turned back to me. “You left the back door open.” She opened the door and went inside, stopping right inside the threshold.
    I wasn’t paying much attention to her. My attention was taken up by a brand-new, black Mercedes parked in front of my house, shiny, sleek, and with tinted windows that made it impossible to see inside. I was distracted and didn’t notice Max standing, statuelike, inside the kitchen. I walked straight into her, pushing her ahead a bit until she was up against the counter.
    Peter Miceli was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at both of us, his eyes red and tired-looking. His hands were folded in front of him on the table.
    I was stunned, but not too stunned to speak. “How did you get in here?”
    He stood when he heard my voice. He was wearing a golf shirt, golf cleats, and yellow pants—perfect for a day on the links—but not the kind of outfit you wear when you break into someone’s house. I couldn’t imagine what kind of man played golf the day after burying his daughter, but I also couldn’t imagine the kind of man who allegedly had access to so much cement that he could bury people at the bottom of rivers. “Alison. I’m sorry. I wanted to talk with you but didn’t think we would be able to arrange a meeting.”
    A meeting. With Peter Miceli. Yes, that would be hard to arrange. Especially after I had put myself voluntarily in the witness protection program. I didn’t say anything.
    Max broke the silence. “I’m going to go check my e-mail. Peter, I’m sorry for your loss. It is so nice to see you after all these years,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. She tiptoed out of the kitchen and up the stairs to my bedroom.
    I stared at Peter. I hadn’t been afraid of Peter in college—he was a chubby business major with a hot car and a hot girlfriend, but no game—but I was afraid of him now. He certainly was always charming and nice to me. Now, it appeared, he was also very successful. I had heard rumors about his businesses—the ones that were legitimate and that didn’t include racehorses and strip clubs—but I wasn’t sure if there was any truth to them; after all, he had married Gianna Capelli, she of the Capelli crime family, and it may have just been a case of “guilt by association.” I wasn’t sure. I didn’t think he was here to hurt me, but breaking into my house could never be considered a good thing. I cleared my throat. “What do you want, Peter?”
    He hooked a thumb in the space that Max had just occupied. “Do I know her?”
    “That’s Max Rayfield. We went to St. Thomas with Gianna.”
    He thought for a moment. “Max Rayfield . . . oh, yeah . . . crazy girl. Liked to drink kamikazes and dance on the bar at Maloney’s.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “She a dancer now?”
    I shook my head.
    “Too bad.” He looked up at the ceiling, apparently imagining Max working at The Pleasure Cave or a place like that.
    “She your girlfriend?”
    “Only in the most