Suicide Kings Read Online Free PDF

women and men gathered around a fountain with one of them apparently lecturing to the crowd on some highly emotional subject while the rest swooned. Both the men and women wore simple bolts of cloth in the Greek fashion although these were often minimal, revealing the grace of the human physique. The painting had been manifest overhead as long as Diana could recall. Some famous dead fellow painted it. Painting really wasn’t her thing.
    “Do you ever wonder,” Siobhan asked, batting her eyes, “how the Greeks ever got anything done when they couldn’t keep their clothes fastened? They always have those little bits of cloth but they never stay secure, do they? I mean, the women have always got their breasts out. Don’t you think they’d feel silly, walking about like that, everyone staring? And the men, I always wonder how the Greek men had any success with the ladies at all, if they really had to make do with those little…”
    Diana cleared her throat.
    “What?” Siobhan asked innocently. “It’s your painting.”
    “Did you say you actually interviewed with my father before he hired you?”
    Siobhan nodded. “Oh we had a pleasant little chat, indeed.” She looked back up at the ceiling. “It’s a queer painting for a child’s bedroom, you have to admit.”
    Diana huffed. “All the ceilings are painted like that.”
    “So I’ve noticed. The Romans seemed to prefer more pious and lordly paintings such as popes slaying infidels and Jews, or sinners having their skins stripped away by demons in hell. I think I prefer the taste of you Firenzans to be honest. I thought Italians were supposed to be particularly Catholic folk, but here you are with nude paintings and statues every direction I turn. Why if ever I lack a spot to hang my hat, there’ll be some convenient swain with a fig leaf or what not in every corner.”
    Diana couldn’t help herself, a little chuckle welling up in her chest.
    “We Irish are quite the opposite. Not a hint of obscenity, but we go about making new servants for the Lord every chance we get.”
    Diana blurted out a quick laugh, then remembering her dead mother, immediately felt horrible, new tears welling in her eyes. She considered that to enjoy herself was somehow to betray her mother’s memory.
    Siobhan looked crestfallen. “Oh, look what I’ve gone and done. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” She quickly moved to embrace Diana, and Diana, contrary to form and protocol, discovered the gesture comforting. Come to think of it, Siobhan was the first person to show her any real compassion since her mother died. Diana allowed herself a moment to regain her composure before pulling away.
    Diana dabbed away the moisture from her eyes. “Well if you’re going to be my handmaiden, you couldn’t have come at a worse time. My mother has just been murdered and I’m intent on finding out by whom and for what purpose.”
    Siobhan made a show of looking shocked. “Murder, how horrible!” Whatever else she might be Siobhan was no actress, and Diana could tell she’d heard about the incident last night.
    “I see my father already told you.”
    Siobhan frowned. “He mentioned the falling nun, yes. People tend to like to tell their own stories though; I figured I’d give you the chance.”
    Reasonable enough, Diana decided. “And my father expects you to report back to him on my activities I presume.”
    Siobhan shrugged and looked sheepish. “My understanding is that the occasional report is expected under the terms of my employment, yes.”
    Diana didn’t feel terribly bothered. If her father really wanted to impede her, he could have done so far more effectively than by merely assigning her a watch-maid. In an indirect way it seemed a sign at least her father noticed her and cared. Such signs could be rare.
    “If you intend to keep by my side at all times, you should know that investigating a murder will be quite dangerous.” Diana said this with a tone that implied she