Dearly Departed by Hy Conrad Read Free Book Online Page A

glitch was the Steinbergs’ room. Apparently, Laila mentioned to her husband the possibility of noise drifting up from the patio bar two stories below their balcony. Maury proceeded to take this on as his mission, rejecting the manager’s assurances that it wouldn’t be a problem and demanding another room. “My wife is very sensitive to noise,” he kept repeating like an accusation. Amy felt sorry for Laila, who just stood in the background and looked mortified.
    â€œDon’t ever interrupt one of my stories again.”
    The hushed, angry words brought Amy sharply back to the present. After the ceremony, while most of the guests had stayed glued to the yacht’s bar area, still getting acquainted, she had wrapped herself in a pashmina shawl and had wandered up to the top deck to enjoy a private view of the City of Light’s lights. She knew she was neglecting her duties, but just for a minute. No one would mind.
    The argument, Amy saw, was happening directly below her, half whispered and barely audible above the thrum of the engine. Maury and Laila, of course. Their long shadows moved eerily on the lower level.
    â€œI got carried away,” Laila’s shadow tried to explain.
    â€œIs this the way it’s going to be the whole trip, you sabotaging everything I say? God, I am so sick of you.”
    â€œI said I’m sorry.”
    â€œYou’d think I’d be used to you by now. But it just gets worse.”
    â€œDo you want a divorce, Maury, is that it?”
    â€œDivorce?” His laugh was soft and mean. “It should be so easy.”
    This was the second time today that Amy had seen Maury Steinberg go ballistic. The first outburst had been over something just as trivial, berating the hotel manager over the mere possibility of noise rising from the patio to their balcony. Poor manager. Poor Laila. Amy now realized that this incident had also been a case of Maury lashing out at his wife, but with the Hôtel de Crillon standing in as her proxy.

CHAPTER 6
    â€œS hould I say I’m twenty-five or thirty?”
    Marcus was forced to look up from his game of Angry Birds and across the living room. The woman sitting at her computer was easily in her sixties—real person sixties, not movie star sixties—and her frilly brown blouse and defiantly auburn pageboy weren’t helping. She peered over the top of her reading glasses, silently demanding an answer. “Do you think you could pass for twenty-five?” he asked back.
    â€œOf course I could pass,” she said. “I’m youthful enough.”
    â€œI’m not sure a youthful person uses the word youthful these days.”
    â€œMy question is, which is better? To be a thirty-year-old with some life experience or some know-it-all twenty-five-year-old?”
    â€œWhy does TrippyGirl have to be any age?”
    â€œBecause my followers keep asking. And I have to keep TrippyGirl real. That’s the whole point of a blog, isn’t it?”
    â€œLet me think.” Marcus put aside his phone and saw that his glass was empty and Fanny’s only half full. It was a good excuse to grab the bottle of white from the coffee table. He liked Fanny’s half of the Abel brownstone. The bottom two floors were homey and eclectic, with old rugs and dark furniture that had been built to last. Amy’s half, the upper two floors, felt a little more IKEA, although Amy would insist that none of it was. But it felt that way.
    â€œWhy don’t you make yourself Amy’s age?” he asked as he crossed to Fanny’s side and topped off her glass.
    â€œThat old?” Fanny made a face.
    â€œShe’s only what? Thirty-three?”
    â€œShe is? You’d think I’d know that, being her mother. She seems older.”
    â€œAnd you’re younger? Do your readers really believe that you’re at this moment”—Marcus stopped for a second to look at her screen and skim