Who's Kitten Who? by Cynthia Baxter Read Free Book Online Page A

front room was the main room, which was separated from the entryway by large double doors that were wide open. People were milling around in there as well. I wandered inside and, as I’d suspected, discovered that Simon Wainwright’s body was lying in an open casket. The room was covered with flowers, bouquets and wreaths and elaborate sprays that filled the air with a sickly-sweet smell.
    I edged over to take a look at the man I’d already become so focused on yet had never actually met. In fact, I’d never even seen his picture. Peering into his casket, I saw that he was extremely good-looking, with light-brown hair and attractive features. Still, it was hard to imagine him as full of life as I knew he had been.
    My eyes filled with tears, and I was about to move away when a man standing nearby commented, “He looks very peaceful, doesn’t he?”
    I thought he was talking to me. But before I had a chance to respond, I heard a woman respond, “Very peaceful.” She snorted, then added, “To look at him, you’d never guess what was really going on.”
    “Gloria, this isn’t exactly the time and place,” the man said crossly.
    I took a step sideways, as if I were trying to make room for them. In reality, I wanted to see who they were, this duo who not only lacked diplomacy but also seemed to know something about the details of Simon’s life.
    The man and the woman were both in their late forties or early fifties, I estimated. Even though they were holding hands, the strain between them was obvious. The man was dressed in an expensive-looking suit that fit him so well I wondered if it had been custom-made. The woman was also well-heeled, but in a much more obvious way. She, too, wore a suit, but hers looked as if it had been created by some high-priced designer. Chanel, maybe, although I was hardly an expert in garments that cost more than three months’ take-home pay. Her dark, meticulously coiffed hair, worn in a short pageboy, was tastefully streaked with silvery highlights.
    But it was her jewelry that made me wonder if she and her escort were among the visitors who had arrived in one of the limousines parked outside. On her left hand, she wore a diamond that looked like a boulder compared to the pebble I had on mine. On the same finger, she also wore a wide gold wedding band that was studded with more impressively large diamonds. Around her neck was a string of large black beads I recognized as Tahitian black pearls. As for the gold bracelet dangling from her wrist, the diamonds were so voluminous I was surprised she could lift her arm.
    “He does look peaceful,” I commented, determined to hone in on their conversation. “Goodness, what a tragedy!”
    The woman looked at me curiously and frowned. “I don’t think I know you. Were you one of Simon’s
suburban
acquaintances?”
    “He and I were in the same theater company,” I replied, ignoring her condescending tone.
    “Ah.” She sniffed. “An aspiring actress.”
    “You’re with the Port Players?” Her husband sounded genuinely interested.
    “That’s right,” I replied. “At least, for this production. What I mean is, it’s my first time onstage.”
    “Really? And what prompted this sudden interest in the theater?” he asked.
    “Actually, the reason I got involved is that a friend of mine who’s in the company asked me,” I explained. “Otherwise, I never would have attempted acting, much less singing and dancing. I don’t really think I’ve got what you’d call star quality.”
    “I’m curious,” the man continued. “Which cast member convinced you to join?”
    “Betty Vandervoort,” I replied. “She and I live on the same property in Joshua’s Hollow. She’s in the main house and I’m in the cottage. Which means she’s my landlady as well as my friend.”
    “No wonder you couldn’t say no,” he said, smiling. “What role are you playing?”
    “Anita Snook, Amelia Earhart’s first flying teacher.”
    “That’s a