Read Online The Horse You Came in On by Martha Grimes - Free Book Online

mean. And I don’t spend all that much time—not that much,” said Vivian, as if the expenditure of time were somehow a reflection of the strength of the attachment.
    Diane hated it. She hated that Vivian would be a countess, and also lost no opportunity to decry it as an all-too-ordinary little title. “Aren’t counts rather thick on the ground in Italy?” she said ruminatively.
    Said Marshall Trueblood, “Thick under it, Vivian’s sort.”
    â€œOh, shut up!” Vivian’s shell-like complexion turned the color of her rose wool frock.
    â€œTitles—how do they signify, anyway?” offered Agatha, making Melrose look up in astonishment.
    Getting no mileage out of his proposed suit against poor Ada Crisp, Theo Wrenn Browne went back to opining the total lack of merit of Ellen Taylor’s book, while Diane took to opining the lack of merit of Ellen Taylor’s face. That face was on the back of the dust jacket, and Diane was scrutinizing it as closely as if the cops had asked her to pick one out of a lineup.
    â€œShe looks,” said Diane, “as if she’s just got squashed in a revolving door.”
    Melrose looked at the picture. Ellen’s face did have a bit of the Silly Putty look to it, true, together with the wide-open, astonished eyes. “Well, she doesn’t look like that. She’s quite pretty.”
    â€œShe is; I remember,” said Trueblood.
    Diane tapped the little biographical paragraph. “She’s from Baltimore.” She paused a bit dramatically. “E. A. Poe and Johnny U.”
    Everyone turned to stare at her, which was what she wanted. She was as pleased over this coupling as ever she had been over herself and any of her lovers.
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    She raised a feathery black eyebrow. Diane was quite beautiful, with her perfect skin, marble white against the satiny black fall of her hair. But despite the inclinations of Nature, nothing seemed to have rushed in to fill the vacuum: Diane’s mind was hermetically sealed. That was why it was always mildly astonishing when she came up with some esoteric fact that no one else knew. That, of course, was the idea. She was a gatherer of esoteric facts. Trivial Pursuits had been invented for the likes of Diane Demorney. “I assume you’ve heard of Edgar Allan Poe.”
    â€œOh, don’t be daft, Diane,” said Trueblood irritably. “We’re talking about Johnny whoever.”
    â€œGood lord.” She heaved a sigh and lifted her giant martini glass. “Johnny Unitas. You’ve never heard of the Baltimore Colts? God! I assumed everyone had heard of them.”
    â€œMelrose has been rattling on about going to Baltimore,” said Agatha.
II
    The rattle had taken place at Ardry End accompanied by the dire rhythm of Lou Reed strong-arming his guitar. Melrose loved Lou Reed. Lou Reed (“the Maniac”) drove Agatha crazy, but, unfortunately, not away.
    At the time he got Ellen’s call, this eschewer of titles was sitting upon his hearth (metaphorically speaking) pawing over Debrett’s in search of one. She had been zipping through the pages with the speed of a centipede for the last hour, trying to track down her heritage. Spurious heritage,Melrose imagined. It had been pointed out to her in a letter from one of her Wisconsin relations that her paternal great-uncle (or great-great-) had been a certain Baron Fust—Fust being Agatha’s maiden name before she had married Melrose’s uncle. That entitlement might actually be something that ran in her veins (well, in the veins of the male descendants) and not something to be caught on the fly (“Lady” Ardry indeed!) had her slavering even more than did the jam-laden scone in her hand. Titles before tea, Melrose supposed.
    â€œBaron Fust! Imagine!”
    â€œEveryone will be a baron for fifteen minutes,” said Melrose.
    At that moment Ruthven