Dead is the New Black by Christine DeMaio-Rice Read Free Book Online

swollen tongue, the black-and-blue on her neck, and the bird nest of hair. She’d had mascara and lipstick smudged across her face like the Joker. And her eyes. Laura remembered how they bulged, but couldn’t remember the color. Brown? Blue? Green? One of those indiscriminate mood-ring colors? How could she forget that? How many murdered bodies did she see? How could her mind have been so crowded that she forgot the color of Gracie’s eyes?
    She was sad. Not for any reason she could pin down, but just sad in a general way that was like a thick cloud around her head. She tried to forget about it and think about Jeremy under the covers with her, or of the vacation she needed to plan. But the sadness was thick and pervasive, and it won the battle for her thoughts.
    She remembered the time Gracie had lost six pounds and demanded Laura alter the Noelle Gown, a one-of-a-kind couture masterpiece Jeremy had built for her; she wanted it by the weekend. It had been a busy week, and Laura had stayed up three nights in a row to do the alterations. And Gracie wore a de la Renta, instead. Gracie had never thanked her, either, but Jeremy did, and in such a way that she could feel the sincerity coming from deep within his gut. Whatever it was that made Jeremy care about her enough to gift her with gratitude like that also somehow made him seem a worthwhile person.
    Laura went to sleep knowing that if there was anything she could do to help Jeremy, or anything she could do to find out who killed Gracie, she would.

CHAPTER 6.

    By morning, Gracie Pomerantz’s death by strangulation with a zebra-printed header was all over the news. Roberto Moses carefully explained what a header was for, besides strangling someone. Joanne Mulroney acted perky. Chuck Scantfield had earnest feelings, though it was difficult to discern exactly what those feelings were. They played at shock, then they played at eulogizing a woman they didn’t have the displeasure of knowing. The police commissioner, using a hundred words or less, said they were working on it. Gracie’s husband, Sheldon Pomerantz, a hotshot lawyer with his name on the door and a reputation for raking in money, managed to fast track Gracie through the autopsy process so street closures could be arranged for what promised to be the funeral of the century. Laura had never met him but, from his clipped tone with the newscaster as he got into his red Mercedes convertible, she imagined he was one of those highly effective types everyone hated.
    Jeremy’s lawyer came on, with talk of trials and grand juries that made Laura want to change the channel. But she didn’t. She watched, and was stunned when she heard his name. Tinto Benito, the guy who called to let them know when Jeremy took an unexpected vacation, was actually Jeremy’s lawyer. How did a lawyer double as a personal assistant?
    He was huge, with a full head of hair and a beard to match. He bellowed the facts of his client’s innocence, waving a hand to ward off the accusations, switching his briefcase and waving with his other hand, like both right and left wanted a piece of the action.
    She turned off the TV and considered a shower, but found herself distracted by her computer. She checked the online newspapers and found more information, none of which helped. Jeremy insisted he was at the factory the night before, correcting a shipment, but no one saw him. Gracie’s husband was stunned to get home from an all-night poker game and find his wife gone. He intended to get justice via hell or high water, whichever came first.
    She shut off the computer. It was plain depressing.
    Was it worth going into work early if Jeremy wasn’t going to be there? If no artisanal coffee or fifteen minutes of attention beckoned? If she’d just be alone? Working? There was a lot on her table after the drama yesterday but, without him in the office with his mussed hair and his saltwater smell, her enthusiasm for the job dried up.
    She called Benito’s