Deadly Dues Read Online Free Page A

to drawing the night shift in the Paris sewers as far as I was concerned.
    â€œWell, he got around,” said Pete.
    I sipped my Chardonnay and mulled this over. Sherilyn and Stan were the perfect couple: coarse and vulgar, with dollar signs for eyes and hearts heavy with malice. Sherilyn Carp had bleached bouffant hair and wore pale pink lipstick. She usually sent a chill up my spine, but that was only because she reminded me of the girls who used to beat me up on the volleyball court in junior high. I thought Stan and Sherilyn were a lovely match.
    I couldn’t think of any other woman who would want Stan as a paramour. Poor Gretchen. Bashing him over the head with her Roxy award had cost her a lot. Maybe she now regretted defending herself. And wished she had closed her eyes and done the unthinkable.
    The rest of us had really enjoyed seeing him with that big beautiful bruise that didn’t fade for weeks. He told everybody he had fallen off a golf cart. Yeah. Sure. We had made a point of asking him about it every time we saw him. Very solicitously.
    We fell into an awkward silence. Normally, having known each other for so many years, a silence meant we were in a mellow tone, or sinking into group career depression. Tonight, we each knew it was more of a private contemplation about how much better our lives would be without Stan Pope in the picture. And, if my friends were like me, this also involved a nice load of guilt for being happy about his demise.
    But— damn! —I thought, as I swirled my Chardonnay around from behind one dimple to another , maybe I can get my hands on the royalty payments that Stan confiscated. Maybe —I started to smile over this— I might be able to give up my highly desirable job at McDonald’s. Wow. I was sure going to miss Geraldo and Thug and Robyn and the rest of the pubescent gang . . .
    I caught Pete looking at me reproachfully. “It’s not what you think,” I said, defensively.
    â€œSure,” he said. Ever since Sally had left him, Pete had lost his aura of sweetness. A sombre sadness hung over him, from his drooping moustache to his scuffed boots. Of all of us, maybe Pete had the best reason to hate Stan. He had adored Sally, had talked about her non-stop during on-set meal breaks, had rhapsodized about her needlework, had rushed home when a shoot wrapped to see how she was doing. He and Sally had been together over twenty years, a long time in entertainment business years, and he had never dreamed it might end. But it had, thanks to Stan and his bad seeds of gossip.
    I had fantasized repeatedly about force-feeding Stan Bow Wow Dog Food until he coughed up my royalties. I wonder what the others dreamed about, and whether any one of them had pictured a letter opener in his back. Stop that, Lu. Stop that right now. It is not nice to wonder if your dearest friends are murderers.
    But such a good cause , the other part of me piped up. There will be massive celebration in the entire film and television community. The world is a better place. Whoever did it should get a medal.
    Yow Yow Yow , I silently shrieked to myself. Stop that. Don’t even think that. Next thing you know, you’ll be blurting it out after the next glass of wine, and then you’ll be in the doggie doo-doo. This is a very good point, I said to myself. You do not want to look like a suspect. Even to yourself.
    My reverie was interrupted by Bent thumping his glass down on the table. We all jolted to attention. I noted, with some satisfaction, that Geoff, Gretchen and Pete all looked as guilty as I felt. Bent didn’t look guilty. He looked bent of out of shape. Which is how he got his name. I liked Bent, in the way you like the ornery little mongrel in the litter, the one who snaps at all the other puppies and then, when you aren’t looking, gets a lonely little look in its eye. And then chases its tail and bites you on the ankle. That’s Bent.
    He and I had met