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

Marjorie’s hand with a nod and took Creighton’s hand into his own. “Deal,” he pronounced.
    â€œCan I trade places with Creighton?” Noonan requested.
    â€œNo, you can’t trade places with Creighton,” Jameson snapped. “We’re a team. We’re invincible. We’ll win this silly bet.” He patted Noonan on the back—a gesture Marjorie and Creighton had never before witnessed.
    Noonan looked at Marjorie pleadingly.
    The writer laughed. “Why Noonan, you don’t seem very confident. Could it be you don’t think you’re going to win?”
    â€œMiss McClelland, my wife has taught me never to underestimate the female gender. I’d be dead ten times over if it weren’t for her kindness and strength. She delivered two fine Noonan children without any help at all and still managed to put up with my nonsense. And as for you, well, you’re screwy, but there must be something to all that screwiness, ’cause you’ve solved two cases out of two already.”
    Marjorie raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure there’s a compliment hidden in there somewhere, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
    â€œWith all due respect to your kind, yet poorly worded tribute to Marjorie’s talents,” Creighton explained, “it’s not you we’re challenging, Noonan.” His eyes shifted toward Jameson.
    â€œYou’re challenging me?” the detective exclaimed.
    â€œWhy not? You challenge Marjorie and me any time we step into your world of crime. And, I must say, Marjorie’s right on par with your skills.”
    â€œOn par?” Jameson skeptically questioned. “I’m a trained professional.”
    â€œWell, I must call things as they are,” Creighton replied. “Marjorie has a bold approach to investigative work, an eye for fitting clues together, and an unquenchable thirst for the truth.”
    â€œI have those things,” Jameson averred.
    â€œPerhaps, but there’s one thing Marjorie has that you don’t—”
    â€œJust one thing?” Noonan interrupted.
    â€œKeen intuition,” Creighton completed the sentence.
    â€œIntuition?” Jameson replied. “Detective work should be based upon cold, hard evidence, not conjecture.”
    â€œAh, but how do you find that evidence unless you follow your hunches? Marjorie has an uncanny knack for sensing things that might slip by the rest of us. Why, as we approached this house, Marjorie could sense that something was wrong. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly, but she knew that things weren’t as they should be. Unfortunately, she also has an uncanny ability to get herself into all manner of bizarre and embarrassing situations—such as getting her foot caught in a commode—but that should have no bearing whatsoever on her reputation as a detective, which, in my opinion, is excellent.”
    â€œThank you,” Marjorie replied. “I think.”
    â€œThat’s all nonsense,” Jameson dismissed with a wave of his hand. “I admit Marjorie has had a hand in helping us solve a couple of cases, but her contributions were due to luck, not some female intuition gobbledygook.”
    â€œLuck you say? We’ll see about that.” Creighton offered his hand. “Until then, let the best team win.”
    Jameson accepted and the two men shook hands. Meanwhile, Noonan could be heard talking to himself in low plaintive tones: “I’ve gotta get a different partner …”

Seven
    The thin, gray-haired figure of Dr. Joseph Heller climbed the cellar stairs somberly. “It’s times like this I wish I were a dentist.”
    â€œPretty bad, huh, Doc?” Noonan observed.
    â€œThat it is.” The doctor shook his head. “Long as I live I’ll never understand the things people do to each other.”
    â€œAny idea as to the cause of death?” Jameson