Shadow Waltz by Amy Patricia Meade Read Free Book Online Page A

that the last time she heard Veronica, she and another person—allegedly Michael—were having a terrible argument. Hardly the sort of testimony that makes o ne believe that they suddenly ran off together.”
    â€œVeronica might have changed her mind,” Creighton offered. “Heaven knows, she wouldn’t be the first woman to be fickle about a chap.”
    Jameson glanced at Marjorie and struggled to look elsewhere.
    â€œOops.” Creighton realized too late what he had said. “Sorry, Jameson. No harm meant.”
    Marjorie blushed awkwardly before furthering her hypothesis. “You’re right, Creighton, but Mrs. Sullivan’s story makes it sound as though the confrontation was violent. She described yelling, screaming, and then—all of a sudden—silence. Veronica Carter is tough, worldly—I find it hard to believe she’d take off with a man who beat her.”
    â€œTrue enough,” Creighton conceded. “What’s the second problem?”
    â€œIsn’t it obvious? If Veronica Carter and Michael Barnwell ran off together, whose body is in the cellar?”
    There was a long pause during which Noonan scratched his head. “Could you say that again?”
    Marjorie ignored him.
    â€œThere’s only one person who can tell us what happened here.” Jameson’s voice boomed, “We need to find Michael Barnwell!”

Six
    â€œPardon me?” Marjorie feigned deafness. “Did you just say that we need to find Barnwell?
    Jameson nodded. “Uh-huh.”
    â€œI thought so. Perhaps it’s my imagination, but that’s exactly what Creighton and I were doing when this whole thing started.” She addressed her fiancé. “Wasn’t it, honey?”
    â€œIt certainly was,” Creighton replied with a smug smile.
    â€œThen we stumbled upon a body and, before we knew it, you and Noonan were on the scene. Not that it isn’t nice seeing you again, Noonan,” she added aside.
    â€œThanks. It’s nice seeing you too,” he answered in kind.
    â€œThank you,” she stated gratefully. “And suddenly,” she directed at Jameson, “you’re barking orders, questioning us like common criminals, and acting as if you’re the brains of this operation.”
    â€œThen what do you suggest?” Jameson asked.
    Marjorie’s eyes sparkled. “I suggest we split up and see who solves this mystery first.”
    â€œYeah!” Creighton shouted, then thought twice. He looked at Marjorie questioningly. “Yeah?”
    â€œYeah,” she affirmed. “Darling, when we found the body, you suggested that we would be able to wrap up the case by the end of the week.”
    â€œI did? Why … yes, I did … didn’t I … darling?” Creighton laughed nervously. “In all the excitement, I had forgotten about that,” he explained to a doubtful Jameson and Noonan.
    â€œYes, you did,” she confirmed. “So what do you gentlemen say? Are we ‘on’?”
    Creighton grinned like a high school boy who had been promised a date to the prom. “Come now, Jameson, how can you refuse? It’s the modern equivalent of a duel, old boy. First one who comes up with the suspect wins.”
    Marjorie had never before seen anyone lose all his or her natural color, but she could have sworn that Jameson turned gray at the suggestion of a challenge. Whatever he may have been feeling, however, he accepted—with gusto. “You’re on!” He extended his hand to his female contestant.
    She gleefully accepted, shaking Jameson’s hand with vigor. “Loser accepts his lot gracefully and promises to view the winner as an equal.”
    â€œI think you mean ‘equals’ darling,” Creighton reminded her.
    â€œSorry! Yes, loser accepts his lot gracefully and promises to view the ‘winners’ as equals.”
    Jameson relinquished