Read Online Murder at the Academy Awards (R): A Red Carpet Murder Mystery by Joan Rivers, Jerrilyn Farmer - Free Book Online Page B

clothing at all, or they would have had to place modesty bars all across the screen.”
    “Were you shocked, Ian?” I was only teasing. Few people could shock my boyfriend, who had a talent for negotiating the price on natural diamonds that belied the civility of his McBride family’s well-educated lineage, but I liked to try.
    “Maxine, do listen to me this time. I think you had better go home and stay out of the public eye. I am fairly safe in saying that there is rather a large storm of press coverage here in Europe surrounding this Hamilton girl, and I can only imagine it is worse there in the States. You may not realize it, but…”
    He went on for a bit. Nothing is less romantic than a man who wants me to stay home and avoid the storm. I was just getting ready to say so when I spotted one of the servers, a lovely redheaded girl with a long ponytail, hastily rebuttoning her black vest as she emerged from an alcove in the hallway to the kitchen. And what was this? Immediately following her out of that dark alcove was none other than Burke Norris, who brushed past without noticing me, looking down, as he was, to zip up his fly.
    Oh. Really.
    I interrupted Ian’s mini-rant: “Got to go, love.” I don’t knowwhy, but when I talk to him I get all “Beatles” in my word choices. “We’ve got terrible cell reception. I have no bars. Call you lat—” I snapped shut my phone midword, rushing after Burke.
    I rejoined the loud party, approaching a tangle of guests standing around the bar, and just heard the last words directed at Burke, coming from some man I didn’t recognize.
    “…the last time I saw her. It’s got to be a bummer for you, man.” The stranger drained his martini glass. “I mean, you and she were still real tight, right?”
    “Are you two talking about Halsey?” I interrupted.
    “Max Taylor,” said the man, brightening when he recognized me. “Max Taylor. I love your interviews. You are so mean.”
    Burke, suddenly realizing whom he had brushed past on his retreat from the waitress boff, looked sheepish, while I graciously decided not to lash into him for that ridiculous behavior. I had bigger grapes to squeeze.
    “Isn’t she mean ?” persisted Burke’s friend, smiling in admiration.
    “Is she ever,” Burke mumbled.
    Well, he had dated my Drew for over a year. During their romance, he had seen both my generous and my fierce sides.
    “You look beautiful, Max,” Burke said, revving up the charm. “Your show was great tonight. You and Drew.”
    “So nice to know you are still a fan.” I smiled a not-altogether-friendly smile. “What I really want to know, though, is what have you got to do with Halsey and her drug problems?”
    “Whoa. What?” Burke took a few steps back away from the bar and his buddy.
    I followed closely. “Halsey was upset about you tonight. You . What the hell was that all about?”
    Burke turned to his buddy for support, but the guy was getting a refill on his martini.
    “Tell me,” I insisted. A prickle of fear kept me glancing back at the entrance, expecting at any moment to see a commotion of bodyguards and bouncers coming after me, finally having tracked down Todd Whomever and confirmed I had no free pass to this party. “Come on, Burke, don’t play games. Something was up between you and Halsey.”
    “Huh?” he asked, perplexed, a glint of gold in his wide gray-green eyes.
    A brain surgeon he wasn’t.
    Burke Norris was quite a package. On the surface. He had the height—at six feet four he was a foot taller than I was—and the looks: dark, wavy hair that he wore perfectly cut, and shoulders just wide enough to make him walk through crowded bars sideways. He had a permanent five o’clock shadow even a decade after the unshaven look had become passé, yet it perfectly suited his strong jawline and tanned face. He dressed well and smelled good, but as much polish as he had on the outside, in his heart something had always been lacking. He’d