Dear Killer (Marley Clark Mysteries) by Linda Lovely Read Free Book Online Page B

prestige. Sally stood up for me. Hell, if a
catfight does break out, I’ll dive right in and claw on Sally’s behalf.”
    Janie snagged two caviar-smeared crackers from a wandering
server before she continued. “Bea is none too keen about Sally being a company
officer. But Gator’s explained the facts of life—he doesn’t have the money to
buy Sally out. Plus I think Little-Miss-Trophy-Wife finally decided Sally and I
were too decrepit to be competition. As if either of us would share a bed with
Gator. Yuck.”
    Bea accepted a tall pink drink from the bartender. While the
bottle redhead was young—late twenties—I suspected her rebuilt chassis had
high-mileage. According to the island rumor mill, a steamy extramarital affair
had allowed the former masseuse to trade up the husband ladder from the roofer
she’d left behind. That was three years ago.
    Bea, like the clubhouse, had been treated to a makeover.
Women who’d met Bea in her former life swear the woman once sported a nose like
Cyrano and had difficulty filling a “B” cup. Now her nose was bobbed so short I
wondered how she kept on sunglasses. Conversely her boobs had ballooned to the
size of blue-ribbon eggplants.
    The overhaul hadn’t improved the woman’s disposition. I’d
never seen a spontaneous smile. Maybe Botox injections made her lips incapable
of one.
    Janie leaned close and whispered in my ear. “The last time
Sally dropped by, she asked if I knew why Bea didn’t wear underpants. When I
shook my head, she provided the answer—‘To get a better grip on her broom.’”
    Janie chortled so hard she choked on her canapé.
    As we walked toward the bar, Gator and Sally arrived, smiles
plastered on their faces. However, Sally’s complexion remained mottled by
anger. The minute Gator came into grabbing range, Bea snagged his arm and clung
to him like kudzu.
    Sally spied us and strode purposely our way. The woman was
an enigma. Bright, decisive, articulate, funny. Yet when men gathered round,
she regressed into a simpering belle routine. Janie labeled it camouflage: the
good old boys paid her less attention if she conformed to stereotype. The
strategy let her siphon information she could put to good use.
    “Hey, Janie, Marley,” she said. “I want y’all to do me a
tiny favor. Don’t make a fuss when you see I shuffled the place cards. I put
you two at the table with Bea and Gator and switched me ’cross the room. Now I
could have fun sittin’ by Bea and taking potshots, but most whiz over her
pointy little head, and I promised I’d lay off Princess Titsy tonight.”
    “Okay, but that’s no tiny favor,” Janie replied. “Remind my
boss that I’m worth twice my salary.”
    “You got it.” Sally winked and snagged a glass of wine from
a waiter.
    For the next half hour, we milled. Janie chatted; I
eavesdropped. As a known quantity with no stake in the island’s real estate
games, I functioned as sound-absorbing wallpaper. But, while everyone talked
about Stew, not a soul speculated on enemies or motives. His colleagues seemed
as puzzled as the cops.
    When Sally finally strode to the podium, I was quite ready
to heed her request that everyone take a seat. Janie and I slid into chairs at
a round, eight-person table. Gator and Bea sat directly across from us.
    Gator had prematurely gray hair, a florid face, and jagged
teeth yellowed from nicotine. According to Janie, he had the attention span of
a gerbil, a host of nervous tics, and was pure good ol’ boy, though his
friendship code required no sanctions for backstabbing.
    Watching Bea pet him was enough to make a grown woman gag.
You’d have thought Gator was a matinee idol. Apparently Bea wasn’t about to let
another young hussy steal her prize. Having massaged Gator’s tired muscles—all
of them—when he was wed to the first Mrs. Caldwell, the lady knew how easy it
was to tempt her man to stray.
    Bea was famous for verbally abusing the help and loudly
criticizing anyone who