A Body to die for by Valerie Frankel Read Free Book Online

that,” I said. “My second favorite kind of doughnut.” No sooner had I gotten out the words, did he drop a chocolate-frosted, chocolate-filled one next to pinkie. I smiled at my honey. “It’s not that I don’t trust you to go out with your ex-girlfriend,” I tried to defend myself. “It’s just that I’m a naturally curious person. I seek mind-expanding knowledge. I crave new experiences. You knew this about me.”
    Max poured himself some Lactaid and sat down next to me at the table. He started eating the pink doughnut. I watched his jaw move under his pale skin. A piece of his auburn hair dropped into his mouth. With a long, thin finger, Max pulled at the hair and resumed eating. “You’ve probably never spied on a boyfriend with his ex-girlfriend before,” he said. “It was an opportunity for a new experience. You couldn’t pass it up.”
    He knew me so well. “Exactly.”
    “You expect me to believe you’ve never spied on a boyfriend before?”
    “I haven’t,” I said.
    “What about that story Alex told me with you staking out his apartment?” Have I mentioned that Alex, a talented detective and wizard chef, also had a big mouth?
    “Alex and I had broken up by then, so technically, I was spying on my ex-boyfriend with his new girlfriend. It’s an entirely different situation.” I bit into my chocolate circle. “This doughnut—is it a peace offering?”
    “If you want to call it that.”
    “I’m not sure I should eat it,” I said and put it down. That burrito and sour cream had been plenty. “I’ve been feeling fat lately.”
    Max smiled. I have two complaints about Max: First, he whines when I don’t depilitate weekly, and second, he waits for me to complain to him about my weight before he says, “I didn’t want to say anything, but yes, you have put on a couple pounds.” I react by dieting solid for six days and losing at least five pounds of water weight. I feel less bloated and, as a reward for all that self-denial, I pig out on the seventh day.
    Max said, “I didn’t want to say anything.”
    “I hate you.”
    He laughed. “Let’s go do it.”
    “No. I still hate you.”
    Max sighed. “Okay, I’m sorry. But you hurt me tonight, and I haven’t heard you apologize to me yet.”
    “I don’t have to apologize,” I said.
    “Why not?” he asked.
    “Because I’ve already suffered from that mistake.” He puckered his red lips, which he sometimes does when he gets confused. “I guess that was pretty humiliating for you—getting caught acting like a jerkoff,” he said.
    I shook my head. “No, it’s what happened afterward.” I told him as much of the story as I felt comfortable with. I loved Max and he was my boyfriend. But I did have some confidentiality to keep for my client. “And then, as we’re standing outside the gym, Jack hands me this.” I reached in my bag for the bloodstained towel. Max’s face glowed like a torch, had been the whole time I was telling the story. A murder at his gym—that was excitement close to his support cup.
    I put the bundle on the table. I unfolded the corners of the towel to reveal the shiny silver blade with a white wooden handle. A layer of blood had dried on the metal. I wrapped the towel around the handle so I could pick up the knife and look at the other side of the blade for a designer logo or company name. I held it aloft for the best light. Max moved away slightly, to get a clearer view.
    “NO!” screamed a female voice from inside my apartment. In that half second of confusion, I wondered if Syd had learned to talk. Then someone strong was pinning my arm—with the knife—behind my back. I felt (and heard) my shoulder pop out of the socket. A wallop of agony blinded me. I’m not ashamed to admit I screamed like a girl. The knife fell out of my hand and clunked on the floor. Max leapt to his feet. In a moment I was free. I fell from my chair in pain, just missing sitting down on the knife. Through the stars in my