Murder Over Cocktails: The 2nd Nikki Hunter Mystery (Nikki Hunter Mysteries) by Nancy Skopin Read Free Book Online Page B

in the stateroom.
    The master bath was mind-boggling. The Jacuzzi tub was large enough for a party of six. The glass-enclosed shower had four showerheads directed at the center of the stall. Beside an elegant rose-colored porcelain toilet was an equally elegant rose-colored bidet. I suddenly found myself wishing I had the six million to buy this place. There’s no room for a bidet on my boat.
    Throughout our tour Maggie said very little. She pointed out a feature here and there, but primarily just escorted me from one room to the next. After we’d walked through two smaller bedrooms, each with its own bath, she led me across the breezeway into the loft above the garage.
    The apartment had a small bathroom with a stall shower and a kitchenette, but there were no windows. I never feel claustrophobic onboard my sailboat, but being in this enclosed space with Maggie made me more than a little anxious. She was, after all, murderously insane, according to Jack.
    After touring the loft we exited down a flight of stairs that led to the interior of the four-car garage, and came out through a side door under the breezeway where we had parked.
    “Any questions?” Maggie asked.
    “No questions,” I said, in a noncommittal tone. “I like it.”
    “But you don’t want to make a decision after viewing only one property. I have some other listings I’d like you to see. I’m done for the day. Why don’t I buy you a drink and we can look at some pictures?”
    “That sounds like a fine idea,” I said, smiling demurely.
    I could hardly believe she was buying my act. It had to be the Chanel suit.
    “There’s a quaint little pub on Main Street,” she went on. “It’s quiet and relatively private.”
    “Perfect.”
    Maggie locked up the house and we got back into her car. As we were driving down El Monte Road I asked if she thought the price of the property was firm.
    “In real estate nothing is ever firm.” She said. “They’ll probably take a reasonable offer. The builders invested more than expected in construction and landscaping. The pond is man-made, of course, and all the land around the house had to be cleared. They have to make a profit, but you could probably pick it up for five million five hundred thousand.”
    “The house has never been lived in? It’s brand new?”
    “Positively virginal,” she said, with a sly smile.
    We were delayed at an intersection on San Antonio Road by an elderly crossing guard wearing a fluorescent orange vest and carrying a stop sign. Two preteen girls in Catholic school uniforms crossed in front of Maggie’s car, holding hands. They reached the other side of the intersection and the crossing guard returned to her corner. Maggie sat frozen behind the wheel, watching the girls as they skipped away down a side street. Her lips were compressed into a hard line, but I couldn’t see her eyes behind her sunglasses. Eventually the car behind us honked. Maggie jerked her gaze to the rearview mirror and proceeded down San Antonio to Main Street.
    Oh great, I mused to myself. The goose bumps are back again.
    We parked in front of the pub and Maggie popped the trunk and retrieved a black Gucci briefcase. I peered through the plate glass windows of the establishment. From what I could see, it was beautifully decorated, a classic Irish pub. Lots of gleaming dark wood, a scattering of little round tables, and half a dozen booths with leather upholstery. There were two unoccupied patio tables out in front.
    “Do you mind if we sit out here so I can smoke?” I asked.
    “Of course not. I quit two years ago and I still miss it.”
    A barmaid came outside and placed cocktail napkins on our table. I ordered a Guinness Stout and Maggie ordered a Stoli on the rocks with a twist. I lit a cigarette and inhaled hungrily. Maggie set her briefcase on her lap and took out a small stack of pictures which she placed in front of me.
    “See if there’s anything here that you like,” she said. “If not, I