Read Online Stabbing Stephanie by Evan Marshall - Free Book Online Page B

removed her apron and headed for the door to the garage. “Be right back.”
    Jane wandered back to her study, Winky close at her heels, and they resumed positions, Winky a curled-up fluffball in Jane’s lap as she rapidly turned the pages of The Blue Palindrome . From time to time she remembered to sip at the Stillkin shake. It truly was awful. She considered flushing it down the powder room toilet but rejected that idea. Dr. Stillkin had said in his book that this particular combination of ingredients stimulated the metabolism to burn fat at an amazing rate. That sounded good to Jane. She pictured herself, breathtaking in her tankini one day, another day in the new teal one-piece she’d bought because the saleslady had said it went perfectly with Jane’s auburn hair.
    She returned to the manuscript, to Venice . . .
    â€œHey, Mom.”
    Nick burst into the room, still wearing his backpack. It bulged hugely, as if about to explode. He came up to her and she grabbed him tight around his slim waist, pulling him to her and planting a big kiss on his cheek. “We’ve got to do something about that backpack. What do you say we get you one on wheels, like Aaron has?”
    â€œNo, Mom, I told you—that looks like a suitcase. It’s stupid.”
    â€œWell, what do you suggest? I don’t think a fifth-grader should be forced to carry such a heavy load. You’ll dislocate your shoulders. I’m going to have to speak to Mrs. DeSalvo about this.”
    â€œYou’d better not, Mom,” Nick said threateningly, and grabbed Winky from Jane’s lap. Suddenly his eyes grew wide. “Hey, Mom, did you hear about the bum who’s really a billionaire in disguise?”
    She slid him a baffled look. “Come again?”
    â€œIt’s true. There’s this dirty old man who hangs out on the green. He’s all smelly and yucky and gross. But it’s all just a cover. He’s really a billionaire! Everyone’s talking about him.”
    Poor Ivor. Now he was the subject of the town’s never-ending flow of gossip and speculation.
    â€œNicholas, I know about the man you’re referring to. I’ve spoken to him. He’s just a man . . . a man who’s fallen on hard times. It’s really not nice to speculate about him like that—and it’s certainly not nice to call him a bum and those other words you used.”
    Nick rolled his eyes. Florence appeared behind him in the doorway. “Nicholas, your snack is on the table.”
    Nick left the room with Winky in his arms. “You can share with me,” Jane heard him say to the cat.
    Florence’s eyes were bright. “I couldn’t help overhearing what he was saying. About the man down in the village, I mean.”
    Jane waited, eyebrows raised.
    â€œMy friend Noni,” Florence said, referring to one of several of her friends who were fellow Shady Hills nannies, “she called me just before you came home. I forgot to tell you what she said. Noni, she says the man is a drug lord.”
    â€œA billionaire drug lord?” Jane asked innocently.
    Florence opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Jane went on, “Florence, I appreciate the report, but I don’t want to speculate about this poor man, and I must finish this wonderful manuscript.”
    Florence looked troubled and her eyes darted to the stack of pages on Jane’s lap. Reluctantly she withdrew, closing the door behind her.
    Laughing to herself, Jane sank contentedly into her chair and returned to Venice.

Chapter Four
    T hat evening, in the living room of Hydrangea House, the six members of the Defarge Club had just seated themselves to begin the activity for which the club had been formed—knitting. The room felt wonderfully cozy, Jane reflected, admiring the fire Louise and Ernie, the inn’s owners, had made in the great stone fireplace in the wall facing Jane.
    Jane loved these club