The Christie Curse Read Online Free PDF Page B

that out.
    In the meantime, I decided to celebrate my new digs with a bath in that amazing tub.
     The pipes clanged and rattled as I filled it. As least hot water was not in short
     supply in the Van Alst household. That was excellent. I was really glad that I’d brought
     my vanilla and amber bath salts. I let myself soak in the tub until I relaxed and
     the tight muscles in my neck recovered.
    Later, I spotted a note on the small demilune table by my entrance door as I padded,
     yawning, through my tiny living room heading for bed. I hadn’t heard anyone knock.
     But someone had clearly entered the apartment while I was luxuriating in the tub.
     For one thing, a Siamese was watching me from the club chair. I opened the door and
     peered out. The narrow staircase leading to my charming staircase was in utter darkness.
     Even when I flicked on the overhead light, there was barely enough illumination to
     see. I was pleased when the cat skittered past me, through the entrance and down the
     stairs. Had Signora Panetone teetered up the two flights of stairs again? Did she
     have any comprehension of privacy?
    Thursday, May 17
    Dear Miss Bingham,
    I breakfast at eight in the conservatory and you will be expected to join me. We shall
     use the opportunity to go over your plans and strategies for the day.
    Should you be unable to attend breakfast, please let Signora Panetone know the evening
     before.
    Sincerely,
    Vera Van Alst
    *    *    *
    I WAS JERKED awake by the phone near the bed. That was too bad because I’d been just
     about to marry Jake Gyllenhaal.
    “Breakfast is at eight. Did I not mention that?” Vera Van Alst said in a tone that
     no one would argue with.
    I glanced at the clock. Seven forty-five. “I’ll be there.”
    In my experience, no one gets a master’s degree without being able to shoot from bed
     to class in less than twenty minutes.
    She said, “Good. I’m looking forward to hearing your strategies.”
    My strategies? What
were
my strategies? And why was there a cat in my bed? I had shown the cat the door. Had
     the signora stuck her head in this morning while I was sleeping? The Siamese seemed
     less than pleased to see me up and about and skittered toward the door, growling loudly.
     I dodged it, barely managing to avoid a slash of claws.
    One of my early strategies would be getting a slide lock for my entry.

CHAPTER THREE

    S IGNORA PANETONE DEPOSITED three perfectly poached eggs in front of me. Bacon, lightly
     fried homemade bread, thick slices of tomato that must have been fresh from some unseen
     hydroponic garden, all appeared like magic. Steam rose from the
cafetiera
as the signora topped up my cup with fragrant espresso. I inhaled the rich aroma.
    Maybe my predecessor had died of clogged arteries and caffeine intoxication.
    I glanced over at my new boss. She was wearing another ratty ensemble from her yak-herder
     beige collection. The soft sunlight in the conservatory wasn’t doing her any favors,
     and she obviously didn’t feel like talking. In case I had been tempted to start up
     some idle pleasantries, the fact that her pointed nose was stuck in the
New York Times
would have been a clue not to. It’s hard to compete with the crossword.
    Well, never mind that. The conservatory with its view of the gorgeous east side garden
     of the Van Alst house more than made up for Vera’s lack of social skills. I liked
     the ceramic floors, the three walls of windows that started atknee length and the French doors with their own security pads. I admired the large
     potted lemon trees, thriving. And was that a fig tree? I figured the signora cared
     for the trees, as well as the rows of some kind of seedlings on the wide, low window
     ledges. I felt like I was in heaven, even if Vera didn’t share my opinion.
    From my seat, I got a glimpse at a peculiar group of low structures in a sheltered
     spot near what I took to be the kitchen door. It was the only less-than-perfect aspect