A Fatal Slip Read Online Free PDF

most of her figure, and Emma suspected it wasn’t something she had picked up at the local mall. Fortunately, Lara was warm and gracious, and Emma had really liked her the last time they met.
    “So how do you know Hugh Granger?” John settled in his seat, tilting the chair slightly backward on two legs.
    “He’s an old friend,” Arabella said succinctly. “And you?”
    “He’s been my art dealer for a couple of years.” John looked at Lara as if for confirmation. “We collect art—although it’s not much of a collection yet.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Just the odd piece here and there.”
    Lara was turning her knife over and over. She smiled at her husband.
    “It started with this piece a young art student had done of Lara in Sao Paulo. She used to model for the class.” John glanced at his wife with a proprietary air. “It was a triptych—three panels—that was in the style of the portraits Andy Warhol used to do. Warhol did a lot of famous people—even Jackie Onassis and Marilyn Monroe. Lara showed me a picture of the student’s work, and I decided I had to have it. It took me three years to track him down and buy the piece.” John took a gulp of water from the glass next to his plate. “I guess I caught the collecting bug. Hugh has been helping us build our collection, as pitiful as it is.”
    Waiters had begun circulating among the tables, and one of them slid bowls of lobster bisque in front of them.
    “Looks like we’re in for some pretty impressive chow.” John chuckled.
    “So you’ve been a client of Granger’s for a while,” Francis said as he unfurled his napkin and placed it in his lap.
    John nodded. “He’s found some great pieces for us. Our latest acquisition”—he spooned up some soup—“is a Rothko painting. Although actually, it was Hugh’s son, Jackson, who found the painting for us. Gave us a wonderful price on it, too. It’s definitely the star of our collection.”
    Waiters cleared away their soup plates and came back with dishes of rack of lamb, potatoes Dauphinoise and asparagus with sauce Maltese.
    “Heavenly, don’t you think?” Arabella said as she studied her artfully arranged plate.
    A small orchestra had assembled on a platform at the front of the room and began playing, drowning out the sounds of silverware clinking against china and the low murmur of conversation. Emma recognized several tunes from Broadway shows she had seen while living in New York. They were finishing up the last bites of their meal when Hugh’s voice came over the audio system again.
    “Before dancing, and dessert, which I assure you will be spectacular, Mariel has organized a special treat.” Hugh paused. “Fireworks,” he said dramatically sweeping a hand toward the French doors that lined one wall of the ballroom. “On the lawn. The hotel staff has put heaters out on the patio. It’s a beautiful night; I suggest you go outside and enjoy them.”
    A phalanx of waiters headed toward the French doors, opening them with a grand flourish.
    A low murmur of excited voices floated up as soon as Hugh was finished speaking.
    “The chap’s gone all out, I’ll say,” John said pushing his chair back. “Are you game?” he asked Lara.
    She nodded and picked up the beaded evening bag she had slung from her chair.
    “How about you?” Brian looked at Emma. “Want to go outside? I can loan you my jacket if you get too chilly.”
    Emma pushed back her chair. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
    Arabella and Francis were also getting to their feet. By the time they made their way to the doors leading to the patio, the first fireworks were lighting the sky with brilliant colors. The accompanying thunderous boom rattled the crystal and silverware on the tables.
    A large outdoor fireplace stood in the middle of the patio and had been stoked with fragrant-smelling wood. Smaller heaters were placed strategically around the perimeter along with tall, flaming torches.
    Emma and Brian