My Gal Sunday Read Online Free PDF Page A

composure had slipped. No one that grief stricken could be that happy only a couple of months later. And the way she dressed — she just didn’t seem to be Tommy’s kind of woman.”
    Sunday sensed rather than saw her husband’s raised eyebrow. “Oh, come on. I know you read the tabloids cover to cover after I’m done with them. Tell me the truth. What did you think of Arabella?”
    “Truthfully, I thought of her as little as possible.”
    “You’re not answering my question.”
    “I try never to speak ill of the dead.” He paused. “But if you must know, I found her boisterous, vulgar, and obnoxious. She possessed a shrewd enough mind, but she talked so fast and so incessantly that her brain never seemed able to keep up with her mouth. And when she laughed, I thought the chandelier would shatter.”
    “Well, that certainly fits in with what I read about her,” Sunday commented. She was silent for a moment, then turned to her husband. “Henry, if Arabella really was stooping to blackmail with Tommy, do you think it is possible she had tried it before, with someone else? I mean, is it possible that between the sleeping pill and the martini, Tommy passed out, and someone else came in without him knowing it? Someone who had followed Arabella, and who suddenly saw an opportunity to get rid of her and let poor Tommy take the blame?”
    “And then carried Tommy upstairs and tucked him into bed?” Henry again raised an eyebrow.
    They both fell silent as the car turned onto the approach to the Garden State Parkway. Sunday stared out the window as the late afternoon sunshine turned the trees, with their copper and gold and cardinal red leaves, aglow. “I love autunm,” she said pensively. “And it hurts to think that in the late autumn of his life, Tommy should be going through this ordeal.” She paused. “Okay, let’s try another scenario. You know Tommy well. Suppose he was angry, even furious, but also was so groggy that he couldn’t think straight. Put yourself in his position at that moment: what would you have done?”
    “I would have done what Tommy and I both did when we were in a similar state of mind at summit meetings. We would sense that we were either too tired or too angry — or both — to be able to think straight, and we would go to bed.”
    Sunday clasped Henry’s hand. “That’s exactly my point. Suppose Tommy actually staggered upstairs under his own steam, leaving Arabella behind. And suppose someone else really
had
followed her there, someone who knew what she was doing that evening. We have to find out who Arabella might have been with earlier. And we should talk to Tommy’s housekeeper. She left shortly after Arabella arrived. Maybe there was a car parked on the steet that she noticed. And the countess from Palm Beach who called, who so urgently wanted to talk to Tommy. We’ve got to contact
her;
it’s probably nothing, but you never know what she might be able to tell us.”
    “Agreed,” Henry said admiringly. “As usual, we’re on the same wavelength, only you’re farther along than I am. I actually hadn’t given any thought to talking to the countess.” He reached his arm around Sunday and pulled her closer. “Come here. Do you realize that I have not kissed you since 11:10 this morning?” he asked softly.
    Sunday caressed his lips with the tip of her index finger. “Ah, then it’s more than my steel-trap mind that appeals to you?”
    “You’ve noticed.” Henry kissed her fingertip, then grasped her hand and lowered it, removing any obstruction between his lips and hers.
    Sunday pulled back. “Just one more thing, Henry. You’ve got to make sure that Tommy doesn’t agree to a plea bargain before we at least try to help him.”
    “And how am I supposed to do that?” he asked.
    “An executive order, of course.”
    “Darling, I’m no longer president.”
    “Ah, but in Tommy’s eyes you are.”
    “All right, I’ll try. But here’s another executive order: