Read Online No Way to Kill a Lady by Nancy Martin - Free Book Online Page A

to have shocked me. His steady gaze said as much.
    Suddenly I felt sunlight dawn inside me. Michael was home. Out of jail. The relief and joy felt like daybreak in my chest. Michael’s expression melted when he saw that, and if I’d had the strength, I’d have climbed over the table and kissed him on the mouth. He’d have met me halfway.
    But he was trapped on his side of the table, and my head was still too light to make any sudden moves, so I sat very still with my knees squeezed tightly together and my hands in my lap.
    Emma set a glass of water in front of me.
    Another man, with a pair of reading glasses perched low on his nose, sat at the table, signing papers. “Okay, Mick,” he said, when he dotted his last signature. “You heard the rules. You know the perimeter—­only the house, the yard as far as the road out front, the barn in the back. You have my phone number. Stay in touch.”
    â€œMy parole officer,” Michael explained. “Nora, this is Jim Kuzik. Nora Blackbird.”
    Kuzik removed his glasses and tucked them inside his khaki jacket. He glanced around the large, rambling kitchen and up at the rafters, where a collection of antique cooking utensils hung alongside a scabbard reportedly left behind by Lafayette during a pre-­Revolutionary visit. After studying the accumulated hardware, Kuzik gave me an offensive once-­over, too. “You have quite a home, Miss Blackbird. Did Washington sleep here?”
    â€œYes,” I said. “He carved his initials on a headboard. And the dollar he threw across a river? He borrowed it from a relative of mine.”
    Kuzik blinked. “No kidding?”
    Plenty of historical figures had passed through the hallowed Blackbird halls. A few stayed long enough to make an impression on our family history, and the anecdotes had been passed down through the generations. But at that moment, I wasn’t feeling hospitable enough to give the nickel tour. I didn’t like the way they were manhandling Michael—­as if to impress their will on him one last time.
    â€œNo kidding,” I said.
    â€œYou’ve got a leak, though.” He pointed at the shallow pond standing on the floor tiles around the kitchen sink.
    Familiar with all the drafts, pests, and other expensive issues that required money and expertise I didn’t possess, I said, “I’ll get a sponge.”
    He eyed me a moment longer, trying to determine, perhaps, if I was holding back an angry outburst, but finally deciding I was as courteous as I pretended to be. “We need your permission, as the homeowner, to finish installing the separate phone line for the monitor. You see, we make sure of Mick’s whereabouts by a wireless—­”
    â€œWhere do I sign?”
    He passed the papers across the table and skidded a pen to me, too. “Are there any guns in the house?”
    â€œThere’s a blunderbuss hanging over the mantel in the library,” I said as picked up the pen. “Last used by Aaron Burr, we believe. He took the gunpowder with him when he left, however.”
    â€œInteresting. But we’ll have to ask you to remove it from the premises. Mick isn’t supposed to have access—­”
    â€œI’ll send it out immediately.” I jotted my signature on the line at the bottom of the page and handed it back to him. “Are you gentlemen finished now? I wonder how soon you could move your vehicles off my lawn? There are heirloom varieties of flowers planted under the grass where you parked. I’ll be disappointed if the bulbs are ruined.”
    My cool politeness had shamed them all into an uncomfortable silence. Finally, Kuzik said, “My apologies. And sorry about the broken glass, too. Bergamunder will clean it up. We’ll be out of here in a jiffy.”
    The rest of the officers had finished their drilling and pulled the leg of Michael’s blue jeans down over the