Killer Chameleon Read Online Free PDF Page A

anyone send this to me?
    It occurred to me that a while back I’d received an announcement from one of the local theaters, I couldn’t remember which, about a Shakespeare festival. I had tossed it since the beginning dates of the first play in the series were the same ones during which Duck and I were to have been in Hawaii. That had since changed, and was beside the point. Who had sent this and why?
    Skimming the review, I saw the light. Appearing as the lady with the soiled hands: Beverly Barlowe, who had lived in the apartment next door in my law school days. God, I hadn’t heard from her in years. I guess she wanted me to know that she’d been right to kiss the law good-bye and follow her heart. The critic obviously agreed with her; the review was glowing. Delighted for her, I began to fold the article when I noticed the writing at the bottom. What could have been, no thanks to you .
    Could have been? What did that mean? She’d hit the big time, would shortly go from Chicago to D.C.’s National Theatre with the touring company before opening on Broadway next month. Bev had a skewed sense of humor, but whatever she meant was zipping right over my head. I slipped the review back into the envelope to keep for Nunna, who had adored Bev but had been scandalized at her dropping out of law school.
    I reached for the Essence and saw for the first time that it had been thumbed through. My magazine! I felt my blood pressure skyrocket. Was nothing sacred? Damn Neva! I stood up and, barefoot, headed for the door, ready to raise a little hell about invasion of privacy. And stopped.
    If Neva was reading my magazines, I had only myself to blame. She had had a key to my box for a couple of years to empty it for me whenever I went down home to see Nunna. Besides, with her and Cholly’s agreement, I hadn’t bothered to file a change of address with the post office, because as managers of the building, they had a special mailbox downstairs and didn’t need the one for apartment 502.
    Plus Janeece, the catalog queen, usually received so much mail that there’d be no room in her box for mine. And among the contents of my tote bag was the mail I’d pried out of her mailbox as I’d come in, which included her Ebony magazine, this week’s Time, and half a dozen catalogs. There were any number of evenings when I’d get here first, pick up her mail for her, and read her magazines before she got in from work. So I had no right to mount my high horse with Neva.
    This was stupid. I was losing it. Enough.
    There was nothing I could do about being not quite married, since unless Duck objected, I was committed to using the cousin’s church for the ceremony on December 26.
    There was little I could do about being not quite employed. My brother, Jon, was dealing with Anne Arundel county to make things official. But there was, by God, something I could do about being homeless.
    Just like that, the decision was made. I sat down, picked up the phone, and dialed.
    â€œKennedy.” He sounded busy, distracted. I decided to cut to the chase.
    â€œDuck, me. I’m moving in. Tonight if I can swing it.”
    My grand announcement was greeted with silence. My stomach shifted south a few degrees. Didn’t he want me?
    â€œAbout damned time,” he said, chuckling. “What finally did it for you?”
    â€œI’ll tell you later. And before I forget, how would you feel about getting married in Maryland in Arundel Woods A.M.E. Church?”
    Silence again. Then, “Don’t tell me. Another cousin.”
    â€œYou guessed it. The Reverend James Shelby Ritch. Details to follow.”
    â€œTo hell with the details. We’re still on for the day after Christmas, right?”
    â€œRight.” Relieved at his unspoken agreement, I still hesitated, suddenly unsure of myself. “You don’t mind my moving in now? Honestly? I mean—”
    â€œBabe,