Murdering Americans Read Online Free PDF

‘you’re something.’
    By the time Rosa came pounding down the aisle with a bottle, the baroness had commandeered the trolley, filled a glass with ice, shaken it several times until she thought it acceptably chilled, emptied it and almost filled it with gin.
    ‘Whatchadoin’?’ shouted Rosa.
    ‘Your job.’ The baroness leaned forward, took the bottle from Rosa, added just a couple of drops of vermouth, handed the bottle back and sat down. ‘Now I want a twist of lemon.’
    ‘No twists. Only slices.’
    ‘Then please cut some rind off a slice and bring it to me.’
    There was another face-off, after which Rosa took a slice of lemon to the galley and returned with some rind, which she dropped haughtily into the baroness’s glass. ‘Beverages!’ she shouted at the next row of passengers.
    The baroness had her first sip of martini, smacked her lips approvingly, and turned to her companion. ‘The seat’s uncomfortable, the décor is shabby, and they don’t know how to make a martini. If this is what it’s like in first class, what’s it like in economy?’
    ‘I’m too rich to know, ma’am.’ He held out his hand. ‘Edgar S. Brooks of Jackson, Mississippi, at your service.’
    She shook his hand vigorously. ‘Jack I. Troutbeck, presently of Cambridge, at yours.’
    ***
    ‘I’d better see to Horace,’ said the baroness, two hours into the journey, extracting from her capacious handbag two small dishes, some pellets, and a bottle of water. Brooks watched with interest as she opened the crate and cooed at its occupant. After Horace had lost interest in the contents of his dishes, he emitted an ear-shattering sequence of wolf-whistles, which not only attracted the attention of everyone in the first-class compartment, but brought Rosa out of the kitchen. ‘Who’s making that noise?’ she shouted.
    The baroness stood up. ‘It’s my parrot.’
    ‘Ohmigod,’ said a large woman two seats behind. ‘We’ll all get bird flu.’
    ‘Rubbish,’ said the baroness. ‘Even if my parrot had avian flu, you couldn’t catch it unless he bit you or you ate him.’
    ‘Who said you could bring a parrot on board?’ asked Rosa threateningly.
    ‘Your employers,’ said the baroness icily. ‘In exchange for a lot of money.’
    ‘Pieces of eight, pieces of eight,’ cried Horace.
    ‘How do we know it hasn’t got bird flu? And how do we know we won’t catch it from breathing the same air,’ cried the large woman.
    ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said the baroness. ‘Why would I travel with a diseased bird?’
    ‘You might be a terrorist.’
    ‘Oh, for God’s sake, woman,’ began the baroness, as Horace launched into ‘God save the Queen.’ Brooks tugged at her sleeve. ‘Leave this to me, Jack.’ She sat down; he squeezed past her and stood in the aisle. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said soothingly, ‘y’all have nothing to worry about. This parrot hasn’t met another bird in two years, he’s been given the all-clear by his vet, and he’s got less chance of having bird flu than I have. This lady I’m travelling with is an aristocrat and a member of the British parliament and is a fan of our great country, so let’s all give her and her smart little parrot a warm American welcome.’ There was a small ripple of applause which turned to laughter as from Horace’s crate came a rasping cry of ‘Beverages! Beverages! Beverages.’
    ‘He’s certainly talented,’ said Brooks as he sat down. ‘He’s picked up an American accent in no time. Pity it’s from the Bronx.’
    ***
    ‘And remember to tell them that chicken was rubber. When something’s made of rubber, I want it to be natural rather than synthetic. Preferably, it should come from a plantation in Malaysia.’ As Rosa shot her the dirtiest of dirty looks, the baroness nodded at her reprovingly and walked out of the plane.
    ‘You never let up, Jack, do you?’ said Edgar Brooks, half in admiration and half in weariness.
    ‘Not knowingly,’