The Nantucket Diet Murders Read Online Free PDF

of cheese and chicken and beef and vegetables, of ham and bacon and croutons, of condiments and salad dressings, Peter Benson appeared at the side of the hydroponic tank at the end of the long table.
    With small shining scissors in hand, he seemed ready to harvest a sprig of one or another of the green herbs as a final, fresh-snipped salad topping. Mrs. Potter could hear him reciting the choices—salad burnet, lemon thyme, chervil, basil, tarragon, chives—identifying as he spoke, charming each guest with his attention.
    With this group, Mrs. Potter saw that Peter’s attitude was quite different from the affectionate and irreverent chaffing he accorded her own friends. To the softball girls he offered the flattering attention of a respectful courtier. They responded with sudden grace, becoming for a moment a pageant of young queens. Even Lolly Latham, lumpy and graceless, seemed to glow as he spoke to her.
    “I wish she’d find a boyfriend her own age,” her mother said forcefully to her own group. “Every time an older man like Peter pays any attention to her, she acts like an idiot. You should see her when Tony comes to the house! I can’t tell her they’re only being nice to her on my account.”
    Helen’s sigh seemed more exasperated than sorrowful. “I keep hoping this new friend of hers, Edie Rosborough—she’s Ozzie’s secretary, you know—will find her somebody more suitable. One of the locals, if there
are
any single ones. You know I’ve never gotten her to snap out of it since Lester’s death.”
    Mrs. Potter suddenly remembered the shocking story that must have shaped the life of Lolly the child. Helen’s plump pale husband had died a suicide, almost twenty-five years ago, in Chicago. The ten-year-old Lolly, she now recalled, had been the one to be awakened by the gunshot, and had been the one to find her father’s dying body on the living room sofa. It was no wonder Lolly Latham was shy and retiring.Walter and Elna, Helen’s cook and butler of many years, had once begun to describe the scene for Mrs. Potter, until she had firmly changed the subject. Unbidden, the picture came back to her now—the shattered skull, the warm wet blood still flowing on the cushions—the picture that might still be seen in unspeakable horror behind Lolly’s light blue eyes.
    She looked again now to see Peter Benson drape a casually affectionate arm over Lolly’s shoulders and to see Lolly’s upward glance, nearly smiling, almost trustful. Peter’s tact and kindness were unfailing, as always, in any group.
    Then another gentle rumble beneath her cashmere sweater and her soft tweed travel suit reminded Mrs. Potter that her airport breakfast at Logan had been a long time ago. She looked around to see if anyone else at the table was as ready as she to have lunch. Peter’s shining scissors were beckoning.
    As she prepared to suggest following the young women in quest of food, a soft gasp came from several throats at her own table.
    “There he is,” Leah breathed. “There’s Tony.”
    “Now you’ll see what we’re talking about,” Gussie said softly in Mrs. Potter’s left ear.
    “Now you’ll see what I mean,” hissed Dee at her right.

4
    The young queens of the softball league became giggling schoolgirls, stumbling and bumping each other’s elbows, and Lolly Latham’s face seemed deeply flushed, far beyond the faint pinkness Mrs. Potter had noticed when Peter Benson was speaking with her.
    The group at the round table sat erect, stomachs pulled in and chests lifted. Then, following Helen Latham’s lead, they rose and propelled Mrs. Potter toward the center of the room.
    “Tony, you must meet the new girl in town,” Gussie said as the tall man strode across the room toward them and raised her hand to his lips. “I told you that my dearest old friend was coming, and here she is. Genia, this is Tony, Count Ferencz.”
    Tony was enchanted to meet the dear Eugenie of whom he had heard so much. Mrs.