Better Read Than Dead by Victoria Laurie Read Free Book Online Page B

headed off to work and see if you were still intent on working tonight.”
    My shoulders slumped; I’d almost forgotten about my obligation for this evening. “Yeah, I’m sorry, but Kendal did me a huge favor last summer and I really owe him. Besides, you and I have all weekend, or parts of it anyway. I’m working Saturday and Sunday, but we still have the evenings. Honest, I can make it up to you, I promise.”
    There was a long pause on Dutch’s end, then, “Could you at least have lunch with me this afternoon?”
    “Absolutely!” I said perking up immediately. “I have a break from noon to one. How’s that grab you?”
    “Sounds like a winner. I’ll pick you up right at twelve.”
    “Sailor, you can pick me up anytime, anywhere . . . I won’t complain,” I said, doing my best Mae West.
    Dutch doesn’t share my love of impressions, so he simply replied, “See you then, babe,” and hung up.
    With a quick glance at the clock I rushed back into the bathroom to get to work on hair and makeup.
    My looks have always been the one thing about me that I’ve been pretty comfortable with. Having a sixth sense took years to come to grips with, but not my appearance. I know people who stare at themselves in the mirror and long to be different. Not me.
    Now, don’t get me wrong: I’m by no means a supermodel, but neither am I plain-Jane, either. I’m somewhere in between, sort of a girl-next-door type with long, waist-length hair the color a mixture of auburn, brunette and a few recently added blond highlights. My face is an inverted triangle, with a broad forehead, high cheek-bones, a regular nose and an angular chin. My eyes are steel blue, my complexion fair and—usually—blemish free. I do have freckles, though, which I remember in my youth not being so fond of, but over the years I’ve gotten used to them.
    My shoulders are broad for a girl, my hips are curvy and my butt has just a hint of J-Lo. I’m small in the chest, but since the invention of the Wonderbra, it’s been less of an issue.
    I stand five-foot six, and due to a busy schedule of late, I weigh a little less these days than I did a few months back; I’m down to 120 pounds.
    My one weakness is that I’m a clotheshorse. My closet is bursting to overfull, and my fashion sense leans toward Darth Vader.
    When I was a little girl, most of the other little girls in my neighborhood wanted to be Princess Leia. And although I liked Leia, and cheered for her, Luke and the gang . . . it was Darth Vader who captivated me.
    Here was a guy who was different. He could do stuff with his mind that others couldn’t. He could tap into the future and see things that were about to happen. He’d had some sort of freak accident that prevented him from mixing with polite company, so he too was on the outskirts of the “in” crowd.
    To this day I remember the power emanating from Lord Vader as he strode down hallways, his black cape billowing dramatically behind him as the music trumpeted his footsteps and the eerie sound of a ventilator sounded a warning call to one and all.
    Everyone in his path shrank from his presence as, even masked, he still dominated the screen. Darth Vader stole every scene, he commanded absolute respect, and nobody messed with him. As a lonely little kid known to have rather “odd” talents, which provoked a slew of verbal and even physical attacks, sometimes I longed for that kind of presence.
    Now, in the real world I can’t very well parade around in a cape, no matter how much I’d like to, so given my dramatic flair, you can imagine how happy I was the day sweater coats came into vogue. I must have fifteen of them, most in shades of gray, black or charcoal.
    My typical wardrobe for a day at the office is a sweater coat, jeans and spiky boots that, of course, must match the sweater coat, so I have ten or fifteen pairs of those too. Gee, and I wonder why my savings account remains so low.
    This morning I chose faded blues, black silk