Grace Under Pressure Read Online Free Page A

relief. The clutter was minimal. There were places he could sit or even lie down. Bennett’s bed was clear. I walked him to its side. “Why don’t you just relax for a little bit. I’ll get someone to stay with you.”
    As Bennett lifted himself onto his giant bed—a canopied monster with raw silk dressings in a muted butternut—I pulled up my walkie-talkie and requested medical assistance in the private rooms. The dispatcher asked if this was another emergency.
    I spoke quietly, but Bennett had rolled over and had his back to me. I don’t know that he even knew I was still there. “No,” I said. “But Mr. Marshfield has suffered an enormous shock. I think it would be a good idea if the doctor looked in on him.”
    “Roger that,” she said.
    I was about to take a seat to wait for the doctor when I remembered the walkie-talkie Bennett carried. Fortunately for me, it was on his left hip and easy for me to slide off without his noticing. I had just gotten it pulled away when he twisted back, grabbing my forearm with both hands.
    “Tell me,” he said.
    I took a shallow breath. “Tell you what?”
    Letting go of my arm, he tried to sit up. “Abe. Is he . . .”
    I bit my lip.
    At that moment, our walkie-talkies came back to life, still broadcasting the private channel. “Security alert. Emergency shutdown. Homicide confirmed. One dead. I repeat: Emergency shutdown. Initiate Level One security protocols.”
    Bennett’s eyes sought mine. Swollen red, they leaked rapid tears. He swallowed. “Abe was my friend.”
    I squeezed his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

Chapter 3

    “WAS THERE A LOT OF BLOOD?” BRUCE ASKED He grimaced, exaggerating a shudder. “Except for my great-aunt Agatha, I’ve never actually seen anybody dead except in a casket. And definitely not bloody.” He placed a hand on Scott’s knee and turned to him expectantly. “Did you ever see a dead body? I mean, besides at a wake?”
    On the love seat next to him, Scott nodded. “Yeah,” he said, but didn’t elaborate.
    I was extraordinarily grateful for my roommates right now. When I’d gotten home, still stunned from the day’s events, these two wonderful men had listened then comforted me as best they could. Leading me into the highceilinged parlor of our Victorian home, they sat me down on the sofa and pressed a glass of their finest Merlot in my hand, urging me to sip slowly. As the deep red liquid trailed down my throat and warmed my insides, I tucked my feet up under me and let the wine work its magic.
    Handsome, buff, and tanned, my roommates could have played the Hardy Boys at thirty-five. A former Wall Street executive turned entrepreneur, Scott was surfer blond and had deep dimples that made women swoon. At least until they realized they were no competition for Bruce. For his part, Bruce was shorter, and though not nearly as elegant as Scott, he was no less handsome. He had broader shoulders, darker hair, and a nose that had been broken once. The two men owned and operated Amethyst Cellars, a darling little wine and tchotchke shop in town. Although always thoughtful and willing to help, right now they looked ready to leap into action if I so much as sighed.
    Scott asked, “What happens now? I mean . . . your boss has been killed. Does that automatically make you the new curator?”
    Down to the last drops of a second glass of wine, I’d calmed enough to converse without shaking. But I hadn’t relaxed enough to consider what Abe’s death meant for my career trajectory. “I doubt that,” I answered slowly. “It seems awfully cold to be thinking about that, doesn’t it?”
    Scott leaned forward to pour me more Merlot, but I placed a hand over the top of my glass. “Come on,” he said. “You’ve had a bad scare. One more glass and maybe you’ll be able to sleep.”
    “I’ve had two. I’ll sleep fine. A third would put me into a coma.” I shook my head. “Remember, I have to go back there in the morning. Can you imagine