How to Succeed in Murder by Margaret Dumas Read Free Book Online Page B

decide—”
    “I bought a laptop,” he announced, tearing the wrapper off a pair of wooden chopsticks. “I even got this program that takes care of the formatting and everything.”
    I looked to Jack for backup. He shrugged. “Well, Pumpkin, if the man bought a laptop…”
    I considered impaling them both with chopsticks, but decided the ones that had come with the takeout weren’t sharp enough. I turned back to my uncle.
    “Harry, have you ever even read a play?”
    “Well, sure.” He found the carton with the crab in it and inhaled deeply, a look of pure joy on his face. “Ah, crab season. My favorite time of year. Jack, you’ve got to try this.” Then he returned to my question. “I mean, they made us read all kinds of Shakespeare and shit when I was in school.”
    Shakespeare and shit. Lovely. I was about to launch into a minor rant when the next thing he said stopped me short.
    “Of course, I understand there’s probably lots of technical stuff I don’t know. So I think the best thing to do is get a collaborator.”
    I froze. “A collaborator?”
    “Yeah, you know, like Rogers and Hammerstein.”
    “If there’s a God,” I said carefully, “you’ll tell me you’re not writing a musical.”
    “No, no, no.” He waved with his chopsticks, sending bits of crab shell flying. “But you know what I mean. Lots of plays were written by more than one person.”
    Sure. Comden and Green. Kaufman and Hart. But not Harry and anyone. And certainly not Harry and me.
    He was still talking. “…just a little help with the language and things.”
    “Oh,” I said acidly. “It will have language?”
    He wouldn’t be deterred. “So what do you think, Charley? Will she want to?”
    She? “She who?”
    He sat back and spread his hands. “Brenda, of course.”
    Oh, hell.
    ***
    “Okay, Jack. You can cut it out now. I get it. You think this is hilarious.” We were halfway back to the city and he hadn’t stopped laughing for miles.
    “Oh, come on—it’s cute,” he protested.
    “Cute? Nothing Harry has ever done could be considered cute.”
    “You don’t think it’s cute that he has a crush on Brenda?”
    “Harry doesn’t have crushes. He has conquests. And Brenda isn’t going to be one of them.” It was a fate I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, let alone my best friend.
    “Hey, Charley.” Jack’s tone softened. “You know there was a little something between them a while ago, and it wasn’t just on his side.”
    I hated it, but he was right. Brenda had stayed at the Hills borough house with Harry and my cousin during a period of time when it would have been dangerous for her to go home. I’d known she’d gotten to be fond of him. But I’d told myself—rigorously and repeatedly—that’s all it was. Just fondness. Like you’d have for your eccentric uncle, assuming he was simply eccentric and not a paranoid delusional nutcase.
    “Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” I said. “Because she’s taking a bunch of students to Europe. And by the time she gets back, Harry will probably have moved on to his next whacko idea.”
    “Um, about that…”
    His tone sent little drops of dread sliding down my spine. “What?”
    “I mentioned Brenda’s trip to Harry. When you were putting the leftovers away.”
    “Okay…” I braced myself. “And Harry said…”
    “That maybe he should change the setting to Paris and tag along with the trip.”
    This was not good.
    ***
    “Brenda, I have to talk to you.”
    I waited on my end of the line while I heard her make waking-up-and-looking-at-the-clock noises. I’d called her from the bedroom as soon as we’d gotten home. Jack was checking his email before coming up, but I didn’t have much time.
    “Charley, it’s after midnight,” she informed me.
    “Sorry, it’s just that…” It’s just that I’m completely freaked out by the thought of you and Harry? That probably wasn’t the best approach.
    “Charley, what’s going on?”
    I told her