Murder Can Rain on Your Shower Read Online Free PDF Page A

through it that entire day. Which I hadn’t. So who was coming
    out of the elevator at the precise moment I was about
    to get in?
    Nick Grainger.
    That same Nick Grainger who had recently moved
    into my building, and who, every time I saw him,
    caused my knees to buckle under me—just like I was
    a damn teenager!
    Now, before I go into any physical description of
    Nick, I suppose I should prepare you by admitting
    that my taste in members of the masculine persuasion
    is slightly on the unconventional side. In fact, it’s been
    rudely suggested—and by more than one person—that
    it’s just plain weird. You see, I have this thing for pathetic-looking little guys, the kind who give the im
    MURDER CAN RAIN ON YOUR SHOWER
    25
    pression that they’re in desperate need of plenty of good home cooking accompanied by a generous share
    of TLC. It’s been further suggested that I gravitate toward men like this because I have this nurturing
    nature and Ed and I never had any children. Anyhow,
    I have no more idea of the reason for my preference than the next person. Besides, it doesn’t really matter,
    does it?
    I was going to tell you about Nick, though. . . .
    As you’ve no doubt already surmised, a Mr. Macho
    he isn’t. What he is is small and skinny and slightly balding. On the pale side, too. Plus—and be still my heart—his teeth are slightly bucked. I mean, Nick
    Grainger is so much my type that I might have had
    him made to order—appearance-wise, at any rate. I
    was, however, still trying to figure out how to actually
    get to know the man. And so far I’d made zero
    progress.
    He was looking particularly dapper just then—even
    today’s tragedy couldn’t prevent me from noticing
    that. (After all, it’s not as if I’d suddenly gone blind.) And it didn’t take an Einstein to conclude that dressed
    as he was in a navy blazer, white shirt, and red-and
    navy polka-dot tie, Nick was not on his way to a poker
    game with the boys. ‘‘Hi, Desiree,’’ he said, holding the elevator door for me. ‘‘Haven’t seen you in a
    while.’’
    And whose fault is that? I challenged. But only to myself. Aloud, I was a tad less combative. ‘‘Uh, yes, I suppose it has been some time.’’
    He smiled warmly. ‘‘Well, it’s always nice to run
    into you.’’
    It’s always nice to run into you, I mouthed as soon as the elevator door clanked shut. I couldn’t stop my
    self from giving that door a little kick. And naturally, I hurt my toe.
    Practically the first thing I saw when I walked into my apartment was the flashing light on the answering
    machine. I had one message.
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    Selma Eichler
    ‘‘Hi, Dez, it’s Mike. Please give me a call at Ellen’s
    when you come in.’’
    I got back to him immediately.
    ‘‘I spoke to my mother this afternoon,’’ Mike said
    softly. ‘‘She phoned about . . . about my aunt.’’
    ‘‘Yes, she wanted to be the one to break the news
    to you. I’m so sorry, Mike.’’
    ‘‘Thank you.’’
    ‘‘How is your dad taking it?’’
    ‘‘I’ll soon find out for myself. Ellen and I are driving
    up to Greenwich a little later on this evening. I don’t expect him to be in very good shape, though. Bobbie Jean was his only sibling. Also, her death has to be an awful shock to him. She was a very healthy
    woman—at least, we all assumed she was. Besides, she
    was considerably younger than my dad is. And for this
    to— Well, it must have knocked him for a loop.’’
    ‘‘I’m sure your presence there will help.’’
    ‘‘Luckily, I’m working nights all of next week’’—
    Mike’s an MD, a resident at St. Gregory’s—‘‘so I’ll
    be able to spend most of tomorrow with my folks,
    too. But tell me something. I understand Bobbie Jean
    became fatally ill at the table while she was eating her salad.’’
    ‘‘That’s right.’’
    ‘‘Did she appear to be okay earlier?’’
    ‘‘As far as I could see, she appeared to be fine.’’
    Now, as the