Shaded Light: The Case of the Tactless Trophy Wife: A Paul Manziuk and Jacquie Ryan Mystery (The Manziuk and Ryan Mysteries Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

beggar-like. He wore an expensive black tweed sports coat, gray slacks, and a white silk shirt, and his loafers were thin, well-cut leather. But the clothes were dusty. And the way he shuffled his feet made her think they were sore. Neither the clothes nor the man were made for walking along a highway thumbing rides.
    It must have been a year since she’d seen Bart last, though George had given him money a couple of times. He looked older and—and lost somehow. The baldness seemed to draw attention to every bone in his face. Made him look harsh, even tough. Made his eyes stand out. Hard eyes. Perhaps even wary? He must be thirty-five, the only son of George’s favorite sister, long dead. A hustler, sometimes living it up, sometimes owning only the shirt on his back. But the shirt was inevitably silk.
    However, despite his faults, which were many, he was family, and despite the hard-nosed appearance George presented to both client and associate, he had a strong sense of family. Even though he’d never liked Bart’s father, and had been very angry with his sister for marrying him, for his sister’s sake he’d given Bart an allowance, which Bart had used for gambling. He’d pulled some strings to get Bart a job in a bank and then paid off the bank so that Bart wouldn’t be arrested for embezzlement. He’d offered all kinds of incentives for Bart to make something of himself, and, at last, offered to give him money so long as he stayed away—a modern version of the old remittance man.
    But he hadn’t stayed away, and George would not be pleased to see him, especially not this weekend with the partners and their wives here. But then, she thought, Bart was always a good actor.
    He was still standing, waiting for her, probably knowing how much she hated to make anyone unhappy.
    “You might be useful,” she said at last. “You’ve always had a way with women.”
    Bart raised his eyebrows quizzically.
    When she didn’t continue, he asked, “What exactly do you have in mind?”
    “Oh, come back and sit down! I shouldn’t even be thinking of this. What George will say—!”
    The door was shut, the dufflebag dropped in a corner. Bart reached for another toffee before settling himself back in the recliner. “I’m all ears, my dear—no, my favorite, aunt.”
    “Do you think you can exercise your charm for a weekend without straining yourself?”
    “Are you implying that my charm is wearing thin?”
    “Not at all. If you had half as much ambition as you do charm, you could probably get elected to the government.”
    “How sweet of you to say so, and how intolerably revolting a thought.”
    “Never mind. I’ve got your uncle’s law partners and their wives coming for the weekend. Can you concentrate on keeping the wives busy? You know, amuse them for me. They’ll be far more interested in talking to you than to me. If you can keep them happy, I’ll put in a good word for you with George.”
    “When you phrase it that way, how can I possibly refuse?”
    “You’ll have to see if Mrs. Winston has time to make up a bed for you. There’s an apartment for a chauffeur over the garage, but so far George hasn’t saddled us with one. I dare say there are a few mice, but they shouldn’t bother you.”
    He chose to ignore her assumption that he was familiar with rodents. “And where do I find Mrs. Winston?”
    “Go straight past the hallway when you go out of here and turn left at the first door. You’ll be in the kitchen. She should be there.”
    “Oh, and Bart,” Ellen cautioned as he picked up his dufflebag, “don’t waste your charm on Crystal Winston. It wouldn’t be appreciated.”
    “Crystal?”
    “Mrs. Winston’s daughter. She’s eighteen and idealistic. Just the type who takes to you. So see you mind your own business where she’s concerned. George wouldn’t like it one bit if you made Mrs. Winston unhappy.”
    He saluted. “I shall amuse wives, not maids.”
    “See you do.”
    He started to