Killer Heels Read Online Free PDF

buzzed.
    “She needs fats and carbs,” Tricia replied crisply.
    “When did those become good things?” Cassady didn’t look too impressed with Tricia’s edict, but I had to admit, it sounded great.
    “It’s a basic, chemical stress reaction. Adrenaline makes the body crave fats and carbs. Lest she dive face-first into a pizza or inhale raw cookie dough, we’ll allow her this drink.” Tricia glanced over at me. “Okay?”
    I shrugged in acceptance. Besides, pizza-stuffed cheeks would defeat the effect of my Sigourney cheekbones. Tricia flashed Cassady a small smile of triumph. She loves taking control of a situation—any situation but her own life, that is. It’s kind of in her blood: Her dad runs political campaigns and her mom’s a compulsive volunteer. The whole family’s a little tightly wrapped, but they’re New England Republicans for a hundred generations, so what else can you expect? I mean, Tricia was named after Tricia Nixon, for crying out loud. She doesn’t like anybody to know that, but she won’t let anybody call her Trish either. She’s a very precise person, but she’ll do anything for someone she cares about.
    The waitress came back with the champagne and Tricia ordered the brandy alexander. “Does that mean I don’t get any champagne?” I asked as the waitress withdrew and Cassady started pouring. Cassady made a point of sliding the first glass over to me.
    Tricia didn’t take offense. “Drink whatever makes you feel better, sweetie. How do you feel?”
    I groped for a moment, then settled on, “Surreal.”
    Cassady raised her glass and we followed her lead. “To Molly the Surreal.”
    “To Teddy,” I responded. They hesitated, but I went ahead and took a sip. I meant it. May he rest in peace. But I only took one sip, because the idea of the brandy alexander was sounding better and better and I didn’t want to press my luck by mixing my cocktails too freely.
    “She thinks she’s doing well,” Cassady told Tricia, “but she’s still in shock. She says she’s going to play Nancy Drew.”
    “That’s not what I said,” I protested.
    “You said you want to solve this crime.”
    Tricia looked horrified. “Molly, what are you thinking?” she asked, sounding a little too maternal for comfort.
    “I want to help,” I said and it came out a little weaker than I had intended. Maybe the nasty little creature in my chest was pressing against my voice box now, too. Small price to pay for good cheekbones. “Teddy was a friend of mine and I want to make sure he gets the attention he deserves.”
    “So plan his memorial service,” Tricia suggested. “Don’t turn vigilante.” She turned to Cassady so I couldn’t protest. “What did the police say?”
    Cassady picked up her cue. “Robbery gone wrong.”
    “They know what they’re talking about, Molly,” Tricia cautioned.
    “Yeah, but they don’t know Teddy. He would’ve given a robber anything he asked for, plus a little something extra to go away quickly.”
    “That’s not always enough,” Cassady said quietly. “Sometimes people get killed because the robber’s crazy, not because they put up a fight.”
    “I understand that. There’s just something about this …” I wasn’t in any shape to debate this with them. It was a feeling I had that I couldn’t fully articulate yet. “I could have an insight on this that the police don’t.”
    “Because of your close, personal relationship with Teddy,” Cassady muttered.
    “Okay, we weren’t best friends, but I did know him. They don’t.”
    “But they get paid to figure him out. And to figure the crime out,” she continued with a hint of impatience. “But you—” She stopped as a new thought pinched her on the bottom. “I get it,” she said slowly, then turned to Tricia as though she were about to recite the alphabet for a preschooler who would struggle to keep up with her. “Molly wants to solve the crime. Molly wants to be a real journalist when she