If Looks Could Kill Read Online Free PDF

two coffee mugs. No matter how stressful things became at
Gloss
, no matter who was threatening to sue her or never allow another celebrity client to appear on the cover, Cat stayed in control
     of the situation, letting loose with charm when that served her best or turning steely when that was the only strategy that
     would work. I had never seen her so befuddled.
    After she had taken a few sips of coffee, she seemed slightly more focused. She rooted through a Fendi purse for her makeup
     bag, and as she applied pressed foundation, blush, and lipstick the color of brick from a gold Chanel tube, I filled her in
     on what the procedure for the day was likely to be. The cops would be there possibly for hours and would call in both a medical
     detective from the ME’s office and their own crime scene investigators. She needed to be prepared for a long day.
    “This may seem coldhearted,” I added as I set down my coffee mug, “but there are some PR concerns to consider here as well.
     You need to get ahold of the PR agency. The press is going to eat this up.”
    “I’ve called them already,” she announced.
    “You’re kidding,” I said. “When?”
    “Well, I called Leslie when I was upstairs. She’s in town this weekend and going to get in touch with them. She’s coming over,
     too, to help out.”
    Oh, great. Leslie Stone was the butt-kicking managing editor of
Gloss
. While the executive editor, Polly Davenport, oversaw the creative side of the magazine, Leslie was the person in charge
     of all the administrative stuff, including managing the budget and expenses, creating schedules, tongue-lashing underperformers,
     and making sure the magazine got out each month. On work matters she was also Cat’s biggest confidante. So Cat had put her
     battle plan in place. She wasn’t as out of it as I had thought.
    Suddenly there were footsteps, and each of us gave a nervous start as the two detectives walked in through the back door of
     the kitchen. It was Detective Farley and the other detective, a younger guy with a blond buzz cut who just might have been
     the thinnest person I’d ever laid eyes on.
    Cat introduced herself, and Farley’s eyes widened ever so slightly. He hadn’t appeared to recognize her name when I gave it
     in the street, but it appeared he did now, maybe because he had the face to go with it. After declining her offer for coffee,
     he told her pretty much what I had: Someone from the ME’s office would be coming to examine Heidi before she was moved. He
     said it was standard procedure in home deaths, but especially considering the age of this victim.
    With Buzz Cut perched on one of the counter stools taking notes, they started with their questions about Heidi: name, age,
     where was she from, how long had she worked for Cat, what were her responsibilities. Cat’s answers were complete, but she
     never elaborated.
    “Where’s the child?” Farley asked abruptly.
    “Oh, at our weekend home in Connecticut, with my husband,” Cat said almost defensively, and went through her spiel about why
     she was in Manhattan this weekend while her family was elsewhere.
    They appeared to take her explanation in stride, and Farley went on to ask how the body had been discovered. When she explained
     that I had been the one who had actually entered the room and found Heidi, both detectives snapped their heads in unison toward
     me. I wondered if they could tell by the expression on my face that when Cat had telephoned me, I’d been butt naked and seconds
     away from being shagged.
    “Can I call you Bailey?” Farley inquired.
    “Of course,” I said.
    “Do me a favor, would you, Bailey? Would you show me exactly how everything unfolded this morning? Detective Hyde can stay
     with Ms. Jones and get some more details about her nanny.” He’d emphasized the word
nanny
as if it were a word he didn’t use much, like flambé or foie gras.
    Guiding me by the elbow in a thoroughly annoying way, he led me