Murder Can Ruin Your Looks by Selma Eichler Read Free Book Online Page A

just fine,’’ Tara retorted. And then she added, almost as if she were parroting the words,
    ‘‘ Everyone liked Meredith.’’
    I can’t tell you how fed up I was with that tune. Also, I decided that a little shock therapy could conceivably do some good here. ‘‘Not everyone, ’’ I reminded her in a voice dripping with irony. ‘‘Someone disliked Meredith Foster enough to shoot off her face. So if there’s anything you can tell me—’’
    ‘‘But there isn’t!’’ Tara protested, her improbably large eyes growing even larger and her voice rising sharply. ‘‘If there was, don’t you think I would ?’’
    When she rushed out of the office moments later, she was almost in tears. And I was furious with myself, con
    vinced that if I’d just pushed the right buttons, I could have gotten her to open up. But as it was, the only thing I learned from my meeting with Tara Wilde was how it must
    feel to kick a puppy.
    Two other people came and left after that, including the show’s snoring producer, who was still no more than semi
    conscious. Then Lucille Collins put in an appearance. I hadn’t exactly formed a mental picture of the woman—
    not that I was aware of, anyway. Still, what I saw sur
    prised me.
    She was well into her thirties, tall and very thin and al
    most plain-looking. Except for her long, thick hair, which was this incredible shade of auburn. (And, I realized with a twinge of jealousy, the color was natural, too.) But it was when Collins began to speak that she seemed totally
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    Selma Eichler
    transformed. Her voice was low and husky. And she had this way of turning her complete attention to you and fixing you with these piercing hazel eyes of hers—eyes that an instant earlier you probably wouldn’t even have noticed. I didn’t waste much time before asking how she felt about the part of Hope going to Meredith Foster. She said she was disappointed; maybe, for the first week or so, any
    way, even angry about it. ‘‘But I didn’t blame Meredith for what happened. How could I blame her for someone else’s decision?’’ she pointed out. Quite rationally, I thought. Still, that didn’t let her off the hook. ‘‘Would you mind telling me where you were on Monday night between quar
    ter to eight and nine o’clock?’’
    ‘‘Home alone with a book. And it was a lousy one, too.’’
    Collins stayed a couple of minutes more without saying much of anything else. And soon afterward Larry Shields poked his head in.
    ‘‘That wraps it up,’’ he informed me. ‘‘That was the last one—except for me.’’ He came in and set his meaty sixfoot-two-or -three-inch body down opposite me. (And it was with some kind of perverse satisfaction that I noted that, with his oversized frame, Shields’s little chair was as imperiled as mine was.)
    I opened with, ‘‘How well did you know Meredith
    Foster?’’
    ‘‘Very well,’’ he said gravely. ‘‘We were going together.’’
    It took a few seconds to digest what—to me, at least—
    was very interesting news. Then I said, ‘‘How did Lucille Collins feel about the part she’d been promised going to Meredith?’’
    ‘‘First off, promised isn’t exactly the right word. I’d planned on doing this play for some time, and I mentioned the part of Hope to Lucille quite a while ago. I knew she’d do a fine job.’’ And then with a trace of irony: ‘‘In fact, she is doing a fine job. But at any rate, once I saw Merry, I realized I needed someone younger—someone more like Merry—although I wasn’t thinking of Merry herself at that point. Not consciously, anyway. All I knew was that if I put Lucille in the role, I’d be settling.’’
    ‘‘You said once you saw Merry . When was that?’’
    ‘‘It was the end of September. I attended an opening night production of Show Boat . It was at one of those little theaters on the Lower East Side that’s so small and dilapi
    MURDER CAN RUIN YOUR LOOKS
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    dated,