Death of a Bad Apple Read Online Free PDF Page B

Roman Gold—and his photographer, Paula Hayashi.” She gestured down the hall. “Your room is here.”
    I wondered where Detective Shelton would be sleeping, then mentally groaned. Oh, that naughty Aunt Abby. I prayed I didn’t have a room next to hers.
    The nameplate read PINK LADY .
    â€œI hope you like it.”
    I glanced back at the nameplates on the other doors: AMBROSIA , GO LD RUSH , PACIFIC ROSE , and WINESAP . Of course. All the rooms were named after apples.
    Honey inserted the key into the lock, gave it a jiggle and a twist, then opened the door a crack. She stood back and handed me the key. “See you in the parlor in half an hour?”
    I nodded, but before I could thank her, she spun around and padded away. Holding the handle of my suitcase, I turned back to the door and pushed it open, then flipped on the light.
    And gasped.
    â€œOh my God! You scared the crap out of me!”
    I let go of the suitcase handle and took in the scene in front of me. Jake was sprawled on his side on the apple-decorated comforter, holding two wine flutes in one hand and a rose in the other. He wore his usual jeans, with a royal blue, button-down shirt. He looked amazing.
    â€œWhat are you doing here? I thought you weren’t going to be in until late.”
    â€œI wanted to surprise you,” he said, grinning mischievously. “I let Honey in on my plan, came up early, and here I am. A glass of wine?”
    â€œI may need a couple of glasses after that surprise.” I sat down next to him and we both leaned in for a “hello” kiss. “Mmmmm,” I murmured. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
    â€œMe too,” he whispered. He set the glasses and therose on the nightstand and lay back on the bed, pulling me with him. Needless to say, we were a few minutes late for the wine-tasting.
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    Aunt Abby and Dillon had apparently arrived sometime in the last half hour, but being preoccupied, I wouldn’t have noticed if the place had caught on fire and burned to the ground. When we finally entered the parlor, I found my aunt sitting on the couch facing the fireplace, already enjoying a glass of wine, her cheeks rosy either from the cold, the fire, the wine, or too much makeup.
    â€œDarcy! Jake!” She raised her glass to the two of us in greeting.
    An older man in an expensive-looking suit and a younger woman in a silky black blouse and colorful leggings sat a few inches apart on the couch to the left. While the man sat stiffly, the woman had her legs and bare feet curled up.
    I went over and gave Aunt Abby a welcoming hug. “Glad you made it. Where’s Dillon?”
    â€œHe’s in his room, doing something on the computer. You know him.”
    Dillon wasn’t especially sociable and preferred electronic gizmos to people. I had a feeling we wouldn’t see him until morning when it was time to prep Aunt Abby’s school bus for the festival.
    â€œHow was the drive?” I asked after Jake handed me a glass of wine. We sat down on the couch on the right and nodded to the two other guests on the opposite couch.
    â€œSlow. The bus could really use a bigger motor or a jet pack or some wings or something. And Dillon drives like an old lady.” She took another sip, then smiled at the nice-looking man in the suit. He wore black-rimmed glasses, had a trim beard, and short, neatly combed salt-and-pepper hair. He nodded at her, then shot a look at the attractive younger woman next to him. She gave a tight smile and ran her red-polished nails through her long black hair that fell over one shoulder. In spite of their ages—he looked forty-something, she had to be in her early thirties—I wondered if they were a couple. Their body language said no, but something in the look they exchanged left me curious.
    Honey Smith swept in wearing a floor-length hostess gown that swirled around her as she moved.