The Readaholics and the Falcon Fiasco by Laura Disilverio Read Free Book Online

my pale skin didn’t look too washed-out since I hadn’t touched up my makeup or lipstick since before I left to meet Ivy. I knew my nose was red tipped from crying, and Isuspected my mascara had melted into raccoon circles under my eyes. Nothing I could do about it now, and it seemed almost disrespectful to worry about my appearance when Ivy was dead. I flashed on an image of her lying naked and blue tinged on a stainless-steel table and forced it from my mind.
    “Ms. Johnson?”
    At my nod, he said, “Detective Lindell Hart.” He had a Southern accent that told me he wasn’t originally from Colorado.
    We shook. His hand was large and callused, almost totally engulfing mine.
    “I need fifteen minutes of your time. In your office?”
    I led the way silently into my office and gestured him toward one of the club chairs positioned in front of my table. Upholstered in grass green velvet, a color that made me happy, they added punch to a room that had pale lemon walls and oak floors. Detective Hart’s gaze lingered on the whiteboard behind my desk that contained the ever-changing schedule of events we were responsible for, divided by months and extending until the middle of the following year, when we already had two June weddings on the books.
    “Looks like you’re pretty busy.”
    “Early summer—weddings—and the holiday season are our busiest times.”
    We both sat and he rested an ankle on his knee, his slacks pulling up to show argyle socks. “I understand Ms. Donner was a friend of yours?”
    I nodded, my throat swelling at his use of the past tense.
    “I’m very sorry for your loss.” He sounded sincere and I wondered how many times a year he had to say that. “Please tell me how you came to find Ms. Donner’s body.”
    “It wasn’t her body! I mean, she was still alive.” I took him through the chain of events, ending with my frantic trip to the hospital. I didn’t realize I was crying again until he nudged the box of tissues on my desk closer to me. I took one, blew my nose, and apologized.
    “Nothing to be sorry for,” he said. “I know it’s hard.” He paused a beat, and then asked, “When was the last time you saw Ms. Donner? Before this morning, I mean.”
    “Last night. We had a Readaholics meeting. We’re a book club,” I said, in response to his questioning look. “We read a lot of mysteries and crime fiction, some Oprah kind of stuff, the occasional classic or nonfiction book.
    “Our book this month was
The Maltese Falcon
. We were all there.” At his request I listed the group members and he wrote down their names. He wrote left-handed and didn’t wear a ring. “Ivy liked the book.”
    “How did she seem last night?” His tone seemed almost too neutral, like he was trying not to influence my answer. “Did she seem different? Maybe depressed or sad about something?”
    “Ivy didn’t kill herself, if that’s what you’re getting at,” I said angrily. I’d told Ham the same thingthis morning, shocked that he would even think it. “She wasn’t the suicidal type and she wasn’t depressed. If anything, she seemed mad, angry at someone, or maybe something.”
    The detective nodded noncommittally. “Any idea what?”
    I tried to remember what Ivy had been railing about last night. “She said she had a lousy week and talked about men being scum.”
    “Was she seeing anyone? Was there a ticked-off ex in the picture?”
    His questions made me realize I hadn’t had a good conversation with Ivy in too long. I felt guilty and took it out on a paper clip, twisting it. “Last I heard, she wasn’t dating anyone—not seriously. She was divorced, but it was years ago and her ex moved out of state, to Oklahoma, I think.” I supplied his name.
    “What did she die of?” I asked the question hesitantly.
    Detective Hart’s brown eyes met mine. “We won’t know for sure until after the autopsy later this week.”
    “Why would you even think suicide?” I pushed the