Murder in the Rue Ursulines by Greg Herren Read Free Book Online

girlish sound for a woman I judged to be in her early to mid-thirties. Her voice also sounded younger than I would have expected, almost like that of a thirteen-year-old. She stared at me expectantly.
    “Not really,” I replied, giving her a little smile in return. “It’s not like it is on television.Usually, it’s quite boring.”
    “I don’t believe you,” she replied, the smile never wavering for a moment. “I used to want to be a private eye when I was young.” She laughed. “If you can imagine that. I wanted to be one of Charlie’s Angels.” She shrugged, a tiny movement.  “Glynis is in her study. Come this way.”
    I followed her down a hallway that ran the length of the house, and she knocked lightly on the second door before opening it. “Glynis? Mr. MacLeod is here.”
    I walked into a beautiful room painted a dark emerald green. The fixtures were all brass, and the hardwood floors gleamed. A brass chandelier cast light into every corner of the room. The furniture looked expensive, but comfortable and lived in. Glynis Parrish was seated on a green and gold brocade sofa, the day’s newspaper spread out all around her on the cushions and the floor in front of her. She folded the section she’d been reading and let it drop to the floor. On the coffee table in front of the sofa stood a golden statue of a winged woman holding a globe—an Emmy award. Right next to it was a closed MacBook Pro laptop computer. She rose, and held out her right hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. MacLeod,” she said, giving me a warm smile.
    “Call me Chanse.” I said, shaking her small hand.
    She, like Freddy and Jillian, was diminutive. She couldn’t have been taller than five feet, and her figure was equally small, and almost girlish. She was wearing a very tight, low-cut tank top that emphasized her large breasts and deep cleavage. Her waist was small, her hips flaring slightly in her tight low-rise jeans. She was barefoot, her toenails painted red.  Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was wearing just a hint of blush. Her eyes were slanted, almost cat-like, and they glittered green in the light from the chandelier.
    She applied no pressure to the handshake, her hand limp and dry in my much bigger paw. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she looked tired. Her chin was dotted with small red pimples, and after I released her hand, she self-consciously ran her hand over her chin. Her nails looked ragged and chewed.  “Please, have a seat. And call me Glynis.” Her green eyes flashed at me. She plopped back down on the couch. She folded her legs underneath her. She saw me looking at her Emmy and smiled. “You can pick it up, if you’d like. Everyone always wants to.” She shrugged. “Go ahead.”
    What the hell, I thought, bending down and hefting it in my right hand, grasping the winged woman around the waist. It was surprisingly heavy. On a gold band around the base were engraved the words Outstanding Achievement by A Lead Actress in a Comedy Series: Glynis Parrish in SPORTSDESK. I set it back down. “Thank you.”
    “Like I said, everyone wants to do that. The great aura of an award, I suppose. But then again, I take it with me everywhere.” The corners of her mouth lifted a little bit, her eyebrows arching up in self-mockery.  “I was nominated seven times, but only won once.” She shrugged.  “After winning, it didn’t seem quite as important as it did all the times I lost. Please, have a seat.”
    I sat down in a green wingback chair, sinking several inches down into it. She gave me a smile. “I don’t really know why Freddy wanted me to meet you, or why he needs a private eye, but I can never say no to him.”
    “Did you need anything else, Glynis?” Rosemary asked from the doorway.
    “May I offer you something to drink, Chanse? I have practically everything.” Glynis asked me in a pleasant tone. “The bar is quite well-stocked.”
    “I’m fine, thank