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

drink.
    Who knows? I doubt if the cause of death has been
    established yet, though. So it could turn out to be her
    heart or her liver—or whatever—after all. But I’ll tell you this: That lady would never have won a popularity
    contest—even if no one was competing against her.’’
    ‘‘Do you suspect anybody in particular?’’
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    Selma Eichler
    ‘‘Christ, Jackie! Give me a break, will you? The
    body’s hardly cold yet.’’
    ‘‘But you do have a tendency to jump to conclu
    sions,’’ Jackie very thoughtfully pointed out. Suddenly
    her eyes narrowed. ‘‘Say, did you telephone your den
    tist on Friday? That was the third reminder you’ve
    gotten from him.’’
    ‘‘I intended to, honestly. But it slipped my mind.’’
    From the expression on her face I could tell that
    Jackie wasn’t buying into this little falsehood. The fact
    is, I was really in no mad rush to schedule an appoint
    ment to have someone poke away at my gums until
    they bled. ‘‘I’ll get to it later, I promise.’’
    ‘‘You are so lax, Desiree. Right this minute I’m pic
    turing you without a tooth in your head, and take my word for it, you could give someone nightmares. If
    you don’t call—and today—I’ll call for you. I’m not
    kidding.’’
    Is it any wonder that I frequently have trouble re
    membering who works for whom?
    Nevertheless, while Jackie can be so overbearing
    that at times I’ve daydreamed about stapling her lips together, at other times I realize how important she is to me. And not only in her capacity as my onethird secretary, either. She’s also a valued friend. I had already started to head for my little cubicle, but Jackie wasn’t through with me. ‘‘Why don’t you
    phone the dentist as soon as you get to your office?
    That way you won’t forget.’’
    I pretended I didn’t hear her.
    As soon as I sat down at my desk I proceeded to set up a folder on Bobbie Jean. It was a pathetically thin folder, of course. I started by typing up a brief descrip
    tion of her sudden illness. And then I added what I could remember of the remarks made about her at
    the shower by the four women who so obviously—and
    passionately—despised her.
    Following this, I went through my overdue bills and
    wrote out checks to those companies that seemed
    MURDER CAN RAIN ON YOUR SHOWER
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    most likely to either cut off an essential service or send somebody over to break my kneecaps.
    These things having been dealt with, I went to
    lunch. Now, in view of yesterday’s trauma, I felt enti
    tled to a little treat. So I made a beeline for Little Angie’s, where you can gorge yourself on the most delectable toppings on the world’s thinnest, crispiest pizza crust. Exactly how good are those pies? All I can tell you is that if I should ever get the death penalty (for murdering my sister-in-law, Margot,
    maybe?), my last meal will be a slice or four of Little Angie’s pizza. Probably with anchovies.
    As soon as I got back from lunch I stopped off at the water cooler. (Anchovies will do it to you every time.) Elliot Gilbert—one of the partners in the afore
    mentioned Gilbert and Sullivan—was just tossing
    away his paper cup. I noticed instantly that this sweet
    heart of a man didn’t look like himself today. The
    usual smile was absent from his cherubic face, and his
    eyelids were almost at half-mast.
    ‘‘Are you okay?’’ I asked.
    Elliot managed to spread his lips in a smile. ‘‘It’s that obvious, huh? The truth is, my daughter and sonin-law dropped off their three kids at our house on Friday—they had some kind of function in Maine this
    weekend. And much as I love them, those grandchildren
    of mine are a handful. On Saturday morning Mitchell, one of the twins—they’re two—drank some dishwashing
    detergent and we rushed him to emergency.’’
    ‘‘Dishwashing detergent?’’
    ‘‘I know. What can I say? The boy has lousy taste.’’
    He grinned, then followed this up with a