Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 12 - Murder Among Friends Read Online Free PDF

her majesty.
    As always, our conversation was awkward and stiff.
“How are you, Aunt Beatrice?” Though she had requested I
address her as such, I always had the feeling she cringed inside when a commoner such as myself called her “aunt.”
    She sniffed and deigned me with a glance. “Well, Tony.
You?”
    “Fine, just fine, Aunt Beatrice.”
    “Good. Glad to hear that”
    “Nice weather.”
    “Yes, it is.”
    “Might rain.”
    “It might.”
    And such a scintillating exchange of witty repartees continued until Janice showed up, which she did almost immediately, bringing a merciful end to our conversation.
    Janice, as usual, was a knockout. All I knew about the labels on her dress or shoulder wrap was they did not come
from K-Mart or Penney’s.
    She crossed the room to her aunt. “Good night, Aunt
Beatrice.” She touched her lips to her aunt’s cheek. “I’ll be
in early.”
    She turned to me, and with a bright smile handed me the keys to her Jag. “You drive, Tony. I don’t want to ride in that
pickup of yours with my good clothes.” She slid her arm
through mine. I had no idea what perfume she wore, but it
was tantalizing and tempting.

    And I didn’t mind going in her car. I loved driving the
Jaguar roadster. During the drive to the Starlight Room in
downtown Austin, we made idle chitchat. Each time the
conversation lulled, my heart dropped to the pit of my stomach, thinking the next words that rolled from her lovely lips
would be marriage.
    But, to my surprise, she mentioned nothing about it.
    I did not recognize the remodeled Starlight Room at the
Commodore Arms. The only things that were familiar were
the prices.
    We enjoyed a few cocktails, appetizers of flavored olives
and baba ghanoush, and several dances before ordering.
When our server came to take our order, Janice clapped her
hands like a little girl and said, “Let me order for us, Tony.
Aunt Beatrice and I had some wonderful dinners on our
Mediterranean cruise”
    I sipped my cocktail and smiled at her. “Go right ahead.”
    She nodded to our server and ordered chicken Provencal
with artichokes and garlic, toasted Israeli couscous pilaf with
onions, and zucchini boats filled with caramelized onions,
pesto, and Romano cheese.
    Throughout dinner, she bubbled with conversation, not
once mentioning the word marriage. I was beginning to wonder if I had gotten a little too bigheaded for my own good.
    By midnight, when we climbed in her Jag and headed
back to the ranch, I had pushed my concerns aside. Once
we hit Bee Tree Road, she scooted around in the seat and laid her hand on my shoulder. “Remember when I said I
wanted us to talk, Tony?”

    For a fleeting second, I froze. If someone had offered
me a million dollars to turn the wheel of the little Jag half
an inch one way or another, I couldn’t have done it. Finally, I found my voice. “Yeah. Yeah, I remember.” But what
I couldn’t remember was the little speech I’d rehearsed and
rehearsed for this very situation, telling her she was too
good for me.
    I kept my eyes fixed on the dark and winding road ahead
of us. She continued. “You know a few months ago, when
you were down in San Antonio, we talked about marriage”
    “Yeah, I remember” But I didn’t. In fact, my entire past
had gone blank. I was starting to sweat.
    We started down the hill toward the main house. Her tone
grew serious. “Then Aunt Beatrice went to the hospital”
    That I remembered. “Yeah”
    “Luckily, it was nothing serious, but it made me stop and
realize that she needs me. I’m her only family. I couldn’t
leave her by herself.” She squeezed my arm. Her voice
tense, she asked, “You understand what I’m saying, Tony?”
    I had to blink my eyes once or twice. I wasn’t sure if I
did or not, but I lied. “Yeah. I understand. Sure, I do”
    The tense stress fled her voice. Her words bubbled. “Wonderful. I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings. I think