How I Spent My Summer Vacation by Gillian Roberts Read Free Book Online Page A

mob’s style. Assumin’ there’s a reason for them to be miffed with him in the first place.”
    “That’s the only thing that makes sense.”
    “Mandy, I think you’ll have to accept the idea that nothin’ makes sense to you right now. An’ worse, it may never make sense. But to the police, it makes sense already, and what makes sense to them is that Sasha killed him.”
    “Simply because somebody chose her hotel room to break into.” Our hotel room, a solemn voice in me corrected. Ours. What if Mackenzie hadn’t shown up? I had planned on room service, an evening of luxurious solo vacationing. Did the real killer know I was also checked in there? Care? Would I have been a second corpse?
    Mackenzie tilted back on his chair. I think men feel compelled to balance chairs on their rear legs just so women can warn them that they’ll topple over—and be proved wrong. What macho test is it, anyway? I managed not to say a word and almost to pay attention to what he was saying—although, of course, the whole time, I waited for him to fall over backward.
    He had the ability to balance on two chair legs and read my mind at the same time. “’Course,” he said, “th’other most likely suspect would be you, darlin’. You are also tall—”
    “Not as tall as—”
    “—an’ dark-haired.”
    “Sasha has black hair. Mine’s brown, a lot of red and no curls.”
    “The thing is, you need not worry. You have the perfect alibi. Me. An officer of the law. Who could doubt me? Hope you’re properly grateful.” He brought his chair back to normal position. “Or, when the time is more appropriate, improperly grateful.”
    “Everything,” I said, “is so obviously a setup. Every bit of what they think is evidence could have been planted and arranged—and in a matter of minutes. His business card in her slacks. The slip and the underwear. The champagne. I mean it adds up to nothing when you think about it.”
    “Had a reputation as a ladies’ man. Married, but been there before with various and sundry.”
    “So he was a scumbag.”
    “What’s your point? That it’s okay to kill people who are morally deficient?” he asked mildly.
    “No, but—”
    “If we base character evaluations on whether or not somebody’s sexually adventuresome, then your friend Sasha is likely to be put in the same cubbyhole as the late Mr. Reese. An’ aside from that failure of the flesh, Jesse Reese was considered a paragon of virtue.”
    I snorted my disdain, something I wouldn’t dream of doing at normal hours when I am more in control.
    “A real Mr. Do-good,” Mackenzie said.
    “Well, I’m sorry. I just don’t think somebody who is infamous for gambling and whoring around is Mr. Wonderful.” Nonetheless, I felt a growing chill inside, something like having a prison bar slipped down my esophagus. Innocent though she was, Sasha was in deep and profound trouble.
    “Okay,” Mackenzie said, “let’s look at a different issue.” His tone was obnoxiously patient, almost pedantic. I didn’t want reasoning or evidence—I wanted magical solutions. “Aside from havin’ a witness see her enter, there’s the question of how an imposter would get the key. There wasn’t any break-in. It’s real hard to duplicate those computerized cards, and it’s not like the last tenant could pass it on, ’cause they change it every time.”
    I waved away that objection. “I heard that’s not true, that they lie and reuse keys. Besides, I’m sure it’s possible to get a duplicate.”
    “How? Go to the desk and say ‘Hi, make me a room key’?”
    “Don’t be facetious. This is life and death.”
    “What would you say? ‘I’m so busy holding this drugged man—’”
    “Drugged? They think somebody drugged the dead man?”
    He nodded. “Staggerin’, the old man witness said. He didn’t drink enough to be drunk.” He looked at me and shook his head. “Nobody at the desk got a request for a duplicate.”
    “Maybe she lost