Gilt Trip (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series Book 3) Read Online Free

the plot for my next mystery.
    I resisted the temptation to browse Internet sales or to Google wedding sites. Even the telephone kept its vow of silence. When five o’clock rolled around, I leapt up, ready to storm the dojo in search of perfection.
    I trotted through the Back Bay as if I owned it, smiling at strangers, jaywalking with abandon. As I approached Newbury Comics I noticed a couple in the doorway locked in a passionate embrace. The man was a stranger, but something about his partner’s expert haircut jogged my memory. Of course. It was the saucy brunette who had slobbered all over Justin Ming. She had an odd name that I couldn’t quite recall, something Greek I think. This time she confined her favors to the slightly paunchy middle-aged man at her side. Here was a woman who took Shaolin Law number one very seriously, especially the part about loving your fellow disciples. I added fickle and nympho to my mental image of her and shrugged it off.
    Following orders is a skill set of mine, ever since Catholic school. I entered the Shaolin City pro shop and dutifully extracted a list of must have items. Justin Ming hadn’t stinted on anything, and despite my good intentions, the resulting tab gave me sticker shock. I surrendered my credit card, signed a disclaimer, and was given an official locker key that conferred an immediate sense of belonging. Maybe I could achieve my fitness goals and pass for one of the Swanns’ social set. Stranger things have happened.
    Back in the changing room I donned roomy black pajamas and preened in front of the mirror. Was it my writer’s imagination, or did I already look lean and mean? Speaking of mean . . . a heated conversation, conducted in furious whispers, caught my ear. I never deliberately eavesdrop, but writers learn so much by observing others that it is almost their duty. In this case, the female antagonists from the other night were at it again. Heather Exley was pinned to the back wall by the pointed talon of the unnamed brunette. She sprinkled expletives into the mix and growled the name Justin along with a puzzling reference to bullion. I leaned in, trying to make sense of a tricky situation. Unfortunately, just at the point where blows might have been struck, a gong sounded. As both women stopped the fracas and filed into the main meeting room, Mrs. Exley fired a passing shot at her adversary.
    “This isn’t over, bitch,” she hissed. “Fuck with me, and you’ll be sorry.”
    I scrunched into a corner, yearning for a cloaking device. Innocent bystanders can easily become victims, and I was a stranger in a particularly foreign land. My scheme seemed to work until something alerted the brunette. She turned and snarled a warning at me. “Mind your own business, whoever you are. It’s healthier that way.”
    The encounter robbed me of enthusiasm for our group session. I filed in like an obedient serf after keeping a weather eye out for trouble. Master Moore explained that we were exploring the second Shaolin Law that required students to be diligent in pursuing their art. He mentioned something alarming about physical and mental fitness too. I tried to observe the two combatants, but they were positioned on opposite sides of the room beyond my line of sight. Besides, I was there to improve my conditioning, not to stir up controversy. I stretched valiantly and made a tentative, somewhat feeble effort to learn a basic kung fu pattern. Justin Ming appeared and strolled down the line, observing each participant. He paused when he reached me.
    “How are you, Ms. Kane?” He stepped behind me and moved my hands into the correct position. “There. That’s much better. Side stretch, there you go. Now try a thrust.” The bland expression on his handsome face called the double entendre into doubt. Was I suspicious, too inclined to tar everyone else with my own lascivious brush?
    “Much better. Keep practicing.” Justin whisked away and returned to the center of the