Mayhem at the Orient Express Read Online Free Page B

me.” Luella, apparently, wasn’t one to beat around the
     bush. “The book and the movie. Couldn’t sleep for a week after and even then, had
     to keep the lights on.”
    I hoped another weak smile would convince them. “See? If the book is that scary . . .”
     I jiggled my shoulders to get rid of the cold chill that had settled there. “I’d rather
     not read it.”
    Marianne weighed the book in one hand. “They say O’Grady has retired, you know. He’s
     not writing anymore. So since there won’t be any more new books from him, this really
     would be a perfect opportunity.”
    She slid a look my way and apparently took pity on the abject terror in my eyes. She
     slipped
Darkness on the Edge of Death
back on the shelf, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, here’s a different sort
     of classic,” she said. “And there are one, two . . .” She counted below her breath.
     “We’ve got enough copies for everyone. How about it, ladies?” She held up the book
     so we could see the cover. “What do you think of a real mystery classic,
Murder on the Orient Express
?”
    “I adore Christie and wouldn’t mind reading it again.” Luella reached for a copy of
     the book.
    Kate took a copy, plunked it on top of her portfolio, and stood. “Now that that’s
     settled,” she said, “we can get out of here.”
    “Well . . .” Chandra turned the book over in her hands. “There was a movie, wasn’t
     there?” she asked no one in particular. “I’d rather watch the movie than read the
     book.”
    Because no one objected to Kate’s attempt at a quick getaway, I sidestepped toward
     the door.
    “You mean we’re not going to start talking tonight?” Luella looked from one of us
     to the other. “I thought we might have a lot to say about the influence of classical
     mysteries and . . .”
    Her words trailed away. But then, like I said, I got the feeling Luella wasn’t the
     type who wasted her time. And since Kate was already on her way out the door, I was
     hot on her heels, and Chandra was checking out the nearest stack of DVDs, I think
     she pretty much got the message.

3
    “O ne guest checked in this morning, and I’ve already had someone call and ask about
     rooms for the last weekend in June. You’ve got to admit, Jason, this was a good move.
     I told you I could do it.”
    “I don’t have to admit anything.” Since my attorney, Jason Arbuckle, was back in New
     York and at the other end of the phone, I couldn’t see his face. But, hey, I’d known
     Jason a long time; I pictured him with his bald head gleaming and that omnipresent
     toothpick twitching in the left corner of his mouth, the way it always did when he
     tried to stand up to me and realized from the start there was no way he could. “It
     just doesn’t make sense, Bea. You. On an island. Running a B and B.”
    “It makes plenty of sense, and you know it,” I told him. “I wanted out of New York,
     and I got out. I was looking for a place that was laid back and quiet, and I found
     it.” I was doing a last-minute check on the downstairs parlor, just in case my guest
     wanted to sit in front of the fire later in the evening. Thanks to the crackerjack
     cleaning crew I’d hired as soon as the painters and decorators were done with the
     house, the room was pristine, from the tin ceiling to the antique Oriental carpet
     in shades of indigo, madder, and tobacco that looked perfect with the leather furniture
     I’d brought with me from New York.
    Speaking of which . . .
    “You got an offer on the condo?” I asked Jason. It wasn’t the only reason he would
     call on a Sunday, but it was the best one.
    “You don’t have to sell,” he said.
    “But you got an offer.”
    “If you keep the condo, you can always decide to come back.”
    “If I don’t keep the condo, I can always decide to come back and buy another condo.”
    He grumbled, but he gave in, just like I knew he would, and when he told me how