Dutch Me Deadly by Maddy Hunter Read Free Book Online Page B

to hire a taxi. Do you know why the Dutch ride bicycles, Emily?”
    “I think it’s be—”
    “Because they can’t afford to pay freaking cab fare. I about blew my whole budget to get to the hotel, only to discover that the tour bus had already left for the day. If we’d known you guys were going to skip out without us, we’d have walked from the airport and saved ourselves forty Euros. So we had to wander the streets of Amsterdam by ourselves, sampling the local pastry products.”
    I scanned the lobby in search of a face. “You keep saying, ‘we.’ Is Tom here with you?” Following my annulment and her gender reassignment surgery, Jackie had moved to upstate New York, where she married a New Age hair stylist who was fast becoming an industry phenomenon despite one prominent distinction.
    He wasn’t gay.
    “Tom is in Binghamton,” she said in a breathy voice, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “I brought someone else.” She fisted her hand on her hip and perused the lobby. “If I can find her.”
    My eyes froze in their sockets. “Her?”
    “She’s the surprise I e-mailed you about, Emily. Wait ’til you meet her. You’re going to love her! I sure do. She’s changed my life so much. There she is. Yoo-hoo!” She waved her arm. “We’re over here!”
    Unh - oh. After two years of marriage, Jack had left me for another man. Now that Jack was Jackie, was she pulling the same stunt and leaving Tom for another woman? Oh, my God. Was my ex-husband a serial home wrecker? Or was she simply crying out for a hormone replacement drug with more active ingredients?
    “Here she comes,” Jackie tittered, bouncing on her heels in anticipation. “Isn’t she adorable?”
    I wouldn’t have pegged her for Jackie’s type at all. She didn’t look self-absorbed, ditsy, or flamboyant, but rather gave the impression of being modest and quietly intelligent, the kind of person who’d be happy to give you directions or walk your dog if you were pinched for time. Her eyes were snappy, her makeup tastefully understated, her clothes fashionable without being overly trendy. She was about my height and weight and had hair the same color and length as mine, but hers was sleekly cut into cascading angles that rippled with movement and liquidy shine. I suppressed a twinge of envy. I supposed my hair could look like that, too, if I borrowed someone else’s head.
    Jackie grabbed the woman’s hand and pulled her close. “Emily,” she gushed, “this is Beth Ann Oliver. I told her all about you, but I didn’t want to tell you anything about her until she and I had set our relationship in stone.”
    I forced a tentative smile. Not only did Beth Ann and I share the same body type and hair color, we had the same shape face. The same green eyes. The same fair complexion. She extended her hand to shake mine.
    Holy crap! We were wearing the same color nail polish! We probably even used the same name-brand concealer and blush. Oh, Lord. This was terrible. The unthinkable had happened.
    Jack had fallen in love with me all over again. Only it wasn’t the real me. It was a lookalike me! The only difference between us seemed to be our perfume. I smelled like white tea and lemon; she smelled like a funeral parlor. Oil of roses. I hated oil of roses.
    “I’m so happy to meet you, Emily,” my lookalike effervesced as she gripped my hand with both of hers.
    “Me, too.” I pumped more energy into my smile. “Imagine. You. Me. Together on the same trip. Wow.” The smile remained plastered on my lips. “So, how long have the two of you been, you know … together?”
    They exchanged questioning glances. “Has it been two months already?” asked Beth Ann.
    “Two months, three days, and”—Jackie checked her watch—“six hours.” She lifted one shoulder in a coquettish shrug. “Approximately.”
    “They’ve been the most wonderful two months of my life,” Beth Ann confessed. “I’ve never felt so vital, or alive, or — or