Killer Critique Read Online Free

boring that some of the guests got a little out of hand. A few golden youths who were pretty drunk to begin with decided that it would be great fun to wander off and blow darts into a portrait of the president of the republic that had just been unveiled in the reception room.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œActually, it’s a lot harder to shoot those things than you’d think. I must have smoked too much in my teens.”
    â€œYou shot darts into the president’s portrait? I don’t believe it!” Capucine shrieked.
    â€œCertainly not! Whatever gave you that idea?”
    â€œAnd were there any darts tipped with curare?”
    â€œThat’s what made me think of the reception. As it turned out, a few of them actually were, even though most weren’t. The exhibited items were on pegs on a decorated board. The darts were in little quivers next to gourds used for the poison. But some of them were behind glass in a kind of picture frame thingy to show how the tips were all dark black after they’d been soaked in the curare solution. A couple of the kids managed to pry off the back of the case and grab a handful of poisoned darts. The guy from the embassy was furious and snatched them all back, but I saw he missed the three that had already been shot into the portrait.”
    â€œDo you have any idea what happened to them?”
    â€œNope. The mood of the party had turned sour, so I left right after the incident.”
    â€œI’m going to have to look into that. I think I might just drop by the Brazilian embassy tomorrow.”
    The waiter came up, removed the empty carafe of vodka, and asked them if they wanted anything else. They both opted for smoked salmon on blinis topped with dollops of crème fraîche and a half bottle of Chablis.
    Capucine was flooded by a wave of embarrassment. She masked it by staring, apparently entranced, at the woman in the window of the restaurant slicing their salmon with a two-foot-long knife no wider than a wooden pencil. With consummate skill she produced oily pink strips so thin they were translucent. There were questions Capucine needed to ask. Questions that would have been asked routinely in a police interview but that somehow seemed out of place for a friend—even a very close friend.
    â€œI know it’s none of my business, but we’ll need it for the file. Who is this Honorine Lecanu you were having dinner with last night?”
    For half a beat Cécile seemed put out. Then, retreating into the bastion of her adamantine self-confidence, she smiled.
    â€œHonorine is one of my associates. An exceptional young woman. One of the brightest the firm has ever recruited.”
    There was something in the tone that wasn’t quite right.
    â€œAnd I suppose you were taking her for an expensive night out as a reward for some job well done? I’m going to start doing that with my brigadiers every time they solve a case. I wonder if the Police Judiciaire will spring for it.”
    â€œIt wasn’t quite that. Honorine and I are ... well ... we’re having a ... I guess you’d call it a liaison.”
    â€œWhat on earth do you mean?”
    â€œOh, Capucine, how can you be so dense? You know it hasn’t been going all that well with Théophile. We’ve talked about that, right? Well, I’m having a fling with Honorine to unload the tension. And just between you and me, I’m finding her a great deal more fulfilling than Théophile.”
    Capucine was staggered, utterly nonplussed. She had been best friends with Cécile since they were four years old at école maternelle . How was it possible she didn’t have the first clue about her sexual orientation?
    â€œSo what does this mean?” Capucine stammered. “Are you going to divorce Théophile?”
    â€œDon’t be silly. You can be such a little girl at times. It means that my life is very complicated right now. I’m at a