Murder Most Austen by Tracy Kiely Read Free Book Online Page A

simply can’t let you do it.”
    Aunt Winnie snorted. “There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me.”
    I was not to be outdone. “I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance long enough to know, that you find great enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions which in fact are not your own,” I quoted back.
    “True,” Aunt Winnie replied with a dip of her red head. “But, I’m resolved on the matter, so keep your breath to cool your porridge. Or, in other words, shut your pie hole,” she added with a grin. “Besides, you need to get dressed for dinner. We have reservations downstairs at Gordon Ramsey’s restaurant.”
    “How did you manage that?” I asked, momentarily distracted from the topic. “We only found out last week that we were coming—don’t you need to make reservations there several months in advance?”
    “You do,” Aunt Winnie replied smugly as she plucked a silky dress from the closet. “However, a friend of a friend pulled some strings and got us in. Which is why you need to stop yakking and start getting dressed.”
    “Okay, okay, but our conversation is not over.” I hopped off the bed and headed for the shower. “I’ll be ready in a flash.”
    Forty-five minutes later (okay, okay, so I’m not the Scarlet Speedster), I was showered and ready. I was wearing a new dress, one that I had bought especially for the trip. It was a black square-necked sheath with horizontal pleats and short sleeves and an illusion back. I thought I looked rather elegant until I saw Aunt Winnie. As usual, her ensemble far outshone my own simple one. So much so that I suddenly felt like the main character in Cousin Bette. Her dress was bright sapphire. It was also skimpy and clingy and, judging by its incandescent glow, spun from silkworms suffering from radiation poisoning. It also offered an almost indecent amount of cleavage. Silver and rhinestone platform pumps with four-and-a-half-inch heels completed the look. In short, she looked like she’d been poured into her dress by an overzealous bartender on ladies’ night. Which, when I stopped to think about it, was a typical outfit for Aunt Winnie.
    “How do you like it?” she asked, happily twirling in front of me.
    “Would you be offended if I told you that you look at once expensively and nakedly dressed?”
    “Of course not, silly. That was my aim.”
    “Oh, well, in that case—well done. Full marks.”
    My subsequent suggestion of a shawl was rejected as prudish, so we made our way downstairs and crossed the lobby to the famed restaurant. Decorated with a nod to 1930s opulence, the room is furbished in warm shades of caramel, burgundy, and honey. I closed my eyes for a moment to soak in the atmosphere, from the faint tinkling of expensive crystal to the hushed accented murmurings where nary an r was rolled and several t ’s were elegantly dropped. It was as if I’d stepped into an episode of Agatha Christie’s Poirot, one in which Poirot and Hastings were seconds away from the civilized confrontation of the wealthy killer, all while enjoying a delectable amuse-bouche. I may have sighed with happiness.
    Oh, who am I kidding? I did sigh with happiness. I was finally in London, damn it! I was floating in a giddy tea-infused, strawberries and scones, Burberry tweed dream come true.
    Okay, so maybe I was a bit jet-lagged. And I guess there might be some truth to the oft-repeated observation by some that I watch entirely too much PBS and Masterpiece Theatre.
    Whatever. As if there is such a thing as too much Masterpiece Theatre.
    Once we were seated at our table, we were attended by a seemingly never-ending parade of exceedingly polite waiters. After our orders had been placed and the wine had been served, I leaned back in my chair and said, “So, seeing as how I have the strong feeling that Izzy is to be my constant companion over the next