This Old Murder Read Online Free PDF Page A

contribute to conversations about vacations in St. Bart’s or flying to Paris for the spring shows. I just thought that this would improve my image, if you understand what I mean.”
    “You’re looking for status conferral,” Sam said. He didn’t remind her that if she had accepted one of his many offers of marriage, she could afford to see a bit more of the world.
    “I guess. I sort of figured that these people watched public television and they would think more of me for being on it.”
    “And it might work. But you just might find out that these people are watching
The Simpsons
instead of
Masterpiece
Theatre
.”
    Josie grinned. “I suppose.” She hesitated, then continued. “Do you think I’m being stupid?”
    “No, you see a problem and when an opportunity comes up to do something about it, you act. I think you’re being smart. But . . .”
    Josie didn’t even have time to enjoy his compliment. “What? What but?”
    “You’ve never watched Courtney.”
    “That’s what I was telling you . . . Why?”
    “I don’t want to prejudice you. Let’s finish up here and go home and watch. Then you can tell me what you think.”
    Their risotto had arrived, but Josie discovered that she’d lost her appetite.
    Josie’s bowl of ice cream was melting on the coffee table. She hadn’t said a word while the show was on. She hadn’t said a word in the nine minutes since it ended. Sam had been waiting patiently—until now.
    “I’m going to get another bowl of ice cream. Would you like another one? Or maybe a glass of brandy or something?”
    “No, I’m fine.” She was silent for a few minutes longer. “She really is pretty, isn’t she?”
    “Yes.”
    “You know, she reminds me of someone. I can’t figure out who—”
    “You’ve probably seen her photograph in a magazine or a newspaper. So she seems familiar.”
    “I suppose that’s it. She has awfully long—and clean— fingernails for a carpenter.”
    “Perhaps they’re fake. Or maybe she just had a manicure.”
    Josie remembered the equipment she had seen in the van that afternoon and decided he could be right.
    “What did you think?” Sam finally asked.
    “I think I may have made a mistake. Courtney is the star of that show and the house is the costar. I don’t see how being on it is going to help Island Contracting.” Or me.
    But she didn’t say the last two words aloud.

FOUR
    JOSIE WOKE UP with the uncomfortable feeling that the night had been filled with bad dreams. But she didn’t have time to worry about vague phantoms; she had to talk to her son before she left for work.
    Apparently their meeting was high on Tyler’s agenda also. She walked into the large room that, in addition to their two bedrooms and two baths, completed their apartment. Her son was standing at the stove. No, she corrected herself before opening her mouth, he was
cooking
at the stove.
    “Tyler?” Maybe she was still dreaming?
    “Hi, Mom! What do you want with your blueberry pancakes? Bacon or sausage?”
    “You made blueberry pancakes?”
    “Yup. The batter’s waiting to go on the griddle. So?”
    Josie stared at her tall, good-looking son with disbelief. “So?” she repeated, confused.
    “So which do you want? Bacon or sausage? There’s only room for one on the side of the griddle.”
    “We have a griddle?” It didn’t seem likely. The most professional equipment in her kitchen was the KitchenAid mixer Sam’s mother had given her last Christmas. The half-inch of white stuff in the bottom of its bowl was dust, not flour.
    “I borrowed it from Risa yesterday. Want some coffee? I filled your thermos and made extra.”
    Josie sat down at the small counter that served as their daily eating place. “Before you start looking up recipes for Chateaubriand and pressing your own grapes, I should tell you that you can take the job at Family Video—with two conditions,” she added quickly, raising her hand to silence his enthusiasm.
    Tyler stood quietly