Little Black Book of Murder Read Online Free PDF Page B

That’s the kind of thing I want to know.”
    â€œI—­I don’t think I can do that.”
    I must have turned pale, because he peered closer. “You’re a sensitive little sheila, aren’t you? I’m trying to boost your skills, luv. Make you a tall poppy, the head of the class. So your job is this: Find Starr’s soft underbelly and slash it open.”
    I had a feeling he was taunting me with the sheila bit. But pushing me to invade someone’s privacy truly felt like a bridge too far. I said, “I’m not really the slashing type.”
    â€œBut you want to keep your byline,” he said with an unpleasant smile. “So start drilling down. See what you can really learn about Zephyr and Starr. How does a twentysomething stunner fall for a short, old bloke like Starr?”
    â€œHe might be short and old, but he’s charismatic.”
    Hardwicke laughed. “Trust me, charisma is not what that relationship is about. That’s the kind of info I want you digging up. That, and more.”
    How much more could there possibly be? I wondered.
    He speared me with a sharp, sideways glance. “While you’re at it, find out why Starr left fashion. He didn’t retire from a billion-­dollar trade because his new wife asked nicely. There’s more to the story.”
    â€œHe’s not going to tell me,” I said.
    â€œYou know his family, right? His ex? His children?”
    â€œYe-­es,” I said slowly.
    â€œYou’re the expert in the rich and powerful. Supposedly the girl who knows all about Philadelphia high society? Make use of your contacts. Didn’t I recently hear you were the one who introduced the future mayor to his first financial backers? I’m just the boy from Melbourne who swept the floors of the print shop to earn my lunch, so I must rely on you.” He gave me a grin to show he was joking about the lunch part. He’d grown up in the lap of Australian luxury. Even I knew his father’s yacht could almost be mistaken for a destroyer. He said, “Why don’t you introduce me around? Show me what you’ve got. Maybe I’ll have some ideas of what wounds to poke.”
    The story had gotten around that I had introduced an up-­and-­coming politician to some moneyed friends. There was a soupçon of truth to that, but it had been blown out of proportion. As far as I had seen, there were no million-­dollar checks written on the spot, despite rumors to the contrary. “Mr. Hardwicke—”
    â€œCall me Gus,” he commanded, grabbing my hand and placing it in the crook of his arm. “At least, while we’re off the sheep station.”
    I don’t know why I hesitated to use his given name. Gus Hardwicke was only a few years older than me. It should have been natural. But he was my boss. Not to mention a reasonably attractive man—­with thick reddish hair and a ruddy outdoorsy complexion and freckles. Appealing freckles. And he had a tendency to use his sparkling green eyes to bore intimately into whomever he was speaking to. He had a tall, confident body that he maintained—­so I heard around the office—­by daily trips to the gym where he soundly defeated all comers in ruthless racquetball. His arm was a powerful knot of muscle.
    He trapped my hand in that strong arm and pulled me to the receiving line. “Come on, Nora. Introduce me to the blue bloods. I need to add some names to my little black book.”
    Although I didn’t like being put in the position of demonstrating my familiarity with the many influential guests, I did know the Starr family quite well, and I made introductions. Gus released me to shake their hands.
    Starr’s first two sons and one daughter from his first marriage stood along the fence. Taller than their father, they were all tanned and attractive. And successful. The older ones—­Jacob and Eli and