Read Online Shadow Waltz by Amy Patricia Meade - Free Book Online Page A

of his mother was still as real to Creighton as the loss of Marjorie’s father was to her. “Creighton, darling,” she reassured him. “Of course I’m safe. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
    He rose from his seat and knelt before her once again. “I know you’re safe—at least my brain does, but my heart—”
    Marjorie placed a delicate finger to his lips. “Your heart needn’t doubt a thing.” With that, she kissed him passionately, and Creighton Ashcroft wondered if he weren’t the luckiest man on earth.

Nine
    Creighton awoke the next morning to the sound of Marjorie’s laughter resonating from the pool area and wafting, with the cool summer breeze, through his open bedroom windows.
    He donned his bathrobe and slippers and shuffled downstairs. The late August morning was resplendent with the aroma of honeysuckle as the sun shone bright upon Marjorie’s golden head.
    Both Agnes, Creighton’s cook, and Arthur, Creighton’s butler, were seated at the pale-green aluminum patio set, paying rapt attention to Marjorie’s animated tale of a Catholic priest who had drunk too much wine. “So the redheaded priest says, ‘Mrs. Kilkenn y, I don’t know who the father of your children is, but—’”
    At the sight of her intended groom, she stopped mid-sentence, causing Agnes and Arthur to leap to attention.
    Without a word, Creighton lifted a chestnut-colored eyebrow in his fiancée’s direction.
    Marjorie mimicked the gesture and grinned broadly. “Don’t go running off now,” she told Agnes and Arthur. “Not that the joke’s very funny, but it’s not that bad either. Isn’t that right, Mr. Ashcroft?”
    Creighton beamed and stepped forward to take the spot beside his future bride. “Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s one of your best.”
    Agnes and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief, glanced at each other, and took their seats.
    The pair stood up fifteen minutes later despite their raucous laughter.
    â€œOh madam, I should check on those cinnamon rolls, I know they’re your favorite.” She took Marjorie by the hand. “I’m so looking forward to making your wedding cake and having you as mistress of Kensington House,” she announced before scurrying into the kitchen.
    Arthur glanced awkwardly at his watch. “High time we received the Wall Street Journal , don’t you think, sir? I’d best go check.” He stood up, clicked the heels of his highly polished black dress shoes, and made his way into the house, but not before a parting comment to Marjorie. “It is very good to have you here, miss. Why, you act on all of us like a tonic—especially Mr. Ashcroft.”
    Marjorie blushed. “I could get used to mornings like this. How about you?”
    Creighton smiled. “Yes, I could. I could get used to nights like last night too.”
    She gasped dramatically. “Mr. Ashcroft, how dare—”
    â€œOh, I won’t say another word. How could I? However, I might ask you what’s on our agenda for today.”
    â€œI’ve been thinking about that. I believe we should check on where Michael Barnwell worked.”
    â€œWhere’s that?” Creighton asked as he propped his feet upon an adjacent chair and drank his black coffee.
    â€œAn insurance company, but I’m not sure which one. We may need to call Elizabeth Barnwell.” Marjorie poured herself another cup of coffee and added one teaspoon of sugar and a few drops of cream.
    â€œAre you going to tell her about the body?”
    â€œNo. I think we need to investigate a bit further before we break that kind of news. Besides, all we have linking Michael to the house is a scrap of paper, a key, and the testimony of a nosy neighbor who claims she saw a man with a mustache. Do you know how many m en have mustaches?”
    â€œIn this country or the