The Christie Caper Read Online Free PDF Page B

ignore him. Readers adore her books. He
didn’t
hurt her! Her books still sell.” Annie frowned. “Wait a minute.” She knew full well that the Calloway books still sold. Daily. But there were no new Calloway books. There hadn’t been a new book in twelve years. “Emma, surely she didn’t stop writing just because this guy wrote a snide review?”
    “No,” Emma said shortly. “It’s uglier than that. A lot uglier than that.”
    Mossy stone pillars marked the entrance to the grounds of the Palmetto House. Not unexpectedly, the small palms, the state tree of South Carolina, lined either side of the road.
    Annie loved the Palmetto House, even though she’d enduredtoo many lyrical paeans to its delights from her mother-in-law, who waxed nostalgic about the shutter doors and ceiling fans. But the hotel
was
charming, and Annie was eager for the conference attendees to see and enjoy one of the grand old resorts of the Sea Islands. The three-story cream-colored stucco hotel with its red tile roof and shaded verandas, drenched in late-afternoon sunlight, looked as inviting as a palm-shaded cotton-weave hammock and a banana daiquiri. A turnaround drive swept under the stuccoed portico in front.
    Emma didn’t slow the sports car as it neared the turnoff for the main entrance. Annie knew she was heading for the parking lot discreetly tucked behind a double row of elegant loblolly pines. The drive through the portico was primarily for arriving guests. There were several cars there now and a bustle of unloading.
    “What did Bledsoe do?” Annie asked again, impatiently. She was watching Emma’s race, so she saw the transformation, the narrowing of her eyes, the hardening of her jawline.
    Emma jerked the wheel hard right. The Jaguar cut swiftly into the drive to the hotel entrance.
    Caught unaware, Annie jerked leftward, kept from falling only by the restraining seat belt.
    She didn’t even have time to scream, it all happened so quickly.
    Wind swept through the windows as the sports car snarled forward, faster, faster.
    Ahead of them, a man in a tropical white suit bent to open the trunk of a Lincoln Town Car. As the roar of the car rose higher and higher, he whirled around and lifted his arms, as if to stop the metal juggernaut. His mouth opened. The Jaguar and the wind made so much noise Annie never knew if he yelled.
    Annie flung out her palms to brace against the dash.
    The car slammed to a stop, quivering—inches from the back of the Lincoln. Dust boiled where the tires bit into the drive.
    To Annie’s right, the man in the no-longer-white suit scrambled to his feet. He’d flung himself sideways into the freshly planted bed of marigolds, flattening a swath of brilliant flowers, and rolled onto a path of crushed oyster shells.One of the jagged shells had punctured his cheek, and a bright spot of blood glistened on his jaw. In the backseat of the Lincoln, an elderly, white-haired woman twisted to stare at the Jaguar, her face slack with shock.
    “Sorry, Annie,” Emma said calmly. She turned off the motor and sat with her hands loose on the wheel, as self-possessed as Annie had ever seen her.
    In the startling quiet after the rush of wind and tires and powerful engine, Annie could hear her own breath. Her hands were trembling so hard she couldn’t undo her seat belt. “Emma, my God, what happened? Did the accelerator stick?”
    Emma ignored her. She was watching the man she’d almost run down.
    His chest heaving, his eyes blazing, he glared at the sports car. He was a big man, barrel-chested and thick-legged, with a massive head that sat almost squarely on huge shoulders. Heavy black brows met above dark angry eyes and a fleshy nose. His reddish acne-scarred skin had a sickly gray undertone from shock. He lowered his head like a bull charging, came around the back of the car, and turned toward Emma’s open window, yelling as he came. “Bitch. Fool. What the hell do you think—”
    His lips snapped shut. The dot