Looks to Die For Read Online Free PDF

me to shake, and I noticed that his nails were nicely buffed, but his fingers were ringless and his watch looked like a Timex. His wire-rim eyeglasses had clip-on shades and the thick briefcase at his side, navy blue Cordura, sported an L.L. Bean logo. Heaven knows I’m not a snob, but I figured all top-notch L.A. lawyers were like Jack Rosenfeld, carrying their drafts and documents in butter-soft Gucci, except on days when they decided to go Coach leather casual.
    Trying to get my bearings, I said, “I figured you’d be coming from the other direction. I had my eye on the street, assuming you’d be coming up.”
    “I came down. I’ve been inside the courthouse for a while.”
    “Have you seen Dan?” I asked eagerly.
    “Not yet. That comes next. I’ve been chatting with the district attorney and getting a few things arranged.” He patted his striped tie. “The DA hasn’t given me much information, and I’ll have very little time with your husband before the hearing. So you and I need to talk.” He studied me carefully, taking in my pale aqua Chanel suit with the large gold buttons, and the cream-colored silk shell that peeked out from underneath. The matching aqua sandals had seemed a bit much for the first court appearance at my husband’s side, so I’d opted for a pair of Valentino taupe pumps. I knew not to carry an Hermès bag — everyone said that if Martha Stewart hadn’t flashed that vintage Birkin in court, she might have gone scot-free.
    Chauncey Howell pointed to a step. “Only seat I can offer you at the moment.”
    “I’ll stand.”
    He shrugged and said, “Not a lot of time before I have to get back into court, so I’ll get right to the point. I’ve gone over most of what you told me on the phone, but I’m going to ask you to repeat some of it. What I need is everything that the police did and said from the time they knocked on your door last night.”
    I suddenly felt overwhelmed. “I’ll sit after all,” I said, kneeling down to brush the grime off the edge of a step. Chauncey leaned over and handed me a yellow legal pad.
    “You want me to write what happened?” I asked.
    “No, I want you to tell it to me. The paper’s for sitting on. The step’s not that clean.”
    “Oh. Thank you.” I plunked the pad onto the step and carefully lowered my Chanel-ed bottom onto it. Chauncey Howell perched just above. “Everything the police said,” I repeated. “Well, here goes.”
    I tried. A few stray thoughts wandered through, but for the most part, I managed a pretty straight narrative. Chauncey seemed to be listening, but he never took the pen — a Bic Clic, as far as I could tell — from his vest pocket. Either his memory never failed or I didn’t say anything worth remembering.
    Still, when I finished, he said, “Nice job. You’re a good witness.”
    “Will I have to say all that today in court?”
    He smiled wanly. “No, Mrs. Fields, you’re not testifying. In fact, it’s just an arraignment, so there’s no reason for you to be in the courtroom at all. The DA will present the charge, we’ll plead innocent, and the judge will set bail. I’m trying to handle it as quickly and quietly as possible. It would be nice to have Dr. Fields out of court before the press catches wind of the case.”
    I nodded mutely, surprised that I was able to feel so much confidence in a man in a seersucker suit.
    Chauncey reached into his bag and took out a large manila envelope. “Next question,” he said. “The name Tasha Barlow. Or Theresa Bartowski. Does it mean anything to you?”
    “Nothing at all,” I said quickly. “I’ve been brooding about it all night and it might as well be Jane Doe. I have no image.”
    But he did. Chauncey took a picture out of the envelope and held it out for me, a standard eight-by-ten black-and-white glossy, the kind every determined young woman in L.A. takes with her on auditions.
    “Is this —”
    “Yes,” Chauncey said quickly. “The murder