MURDER on the ROCKS (Allie Griffin Mysteries Book 2) Read Online Free Page B

of the two of them here. The piano held pictures, and she could see of whom, but she was willing to bet they weren't family members. However warmly or luxuriously decorated the house was; it didn't seem to be for anyone . It was generic decoration with no personality to it.
                  Bennett Reilly entered with a tray of cups and creamers. "There's milk and cream here. Sugar as well. Not sure how you take it."
                  "Black is fine," she said. "Thank you. Honey spent a lot on...things, didn’t she?"
                  He sipped and nodded. "Mmm hmm. It got to be a problem sometimes."
                  "Was it just antiques?"
                  "Antiques, clothing, shoes."
                  Allie nodded. "Shoes are a girl thing."
                  "Not like this. She had a problem. I think she was trying to fill up some giant emptiness inside of her. At any rate, I was always sickened by the expenditures so I stayed out of it mostly. Except for the antique hunting; I liked that."
                  "Bennett, I'm sorry to ask this, but do you have any idea who could have killed your wife?"
                  He looked at her with the combined expressions of incredulity and insult. "No," he said flatly.
                  "It was just a question. I'm sorry. I really am. There's no way to phrase it correctly." She cocked her head to one side, a move she'd read about in Psychology Today , utilized for when you want to convey sincerity.
                  "I guess it was just the suddenness of the inquiry."
                  He looked at her, sizing her up. Then he excused himself. "It's about time I showed you what I originally wanted to show you."
                  He left the room for a moment, and then returned brandishing a battered envelope.
                  "Two weeks before Honey was killed, I received this in the mail. No postmark. No nothing. Whoever wrote it either delivered it himself or had someone deliver it."
                  He handed it to her then sat down solemnly.
                  She opened it up and read the computer-printed note:
     
                  Your not a verry nice persun. Don’t forget I know things. 25 large to kep it quiet. We talk in 1 week.
     
                  "You have any idea who could've written this?"
                  He nodded, staring down at his shoes. "I think it's one of the workers."
                  "Down at the quarry?"
                  He nodded again.
                  "Now, Bennett, you know what I'm going to ask next, right?"
                  He gave a nervous smile. "What do they know?"
                  "Bingo."
                  He stood up and paced over to one of the windows. "This used to be a nice town. Things like this never went on here, you know? I was born in Verdenier. And I grew up before the money started coming in. That's when it all changed, with the arrival of the money. That's what money does." He turned to her. "She was cheating on me with one of the workers, maybe more than one. I don’t know who; she refused to say. But she'd confessed the affair to me after this note arrived. I never told her about the note. She said she had ended it a week before and wanted to make a clean slate. Anyway, I guess he was going to rat me out. Make me look like a cuckold. Humiliate me. For all I know he had pictures."
                  "You sure it was one of the workers?"
                  "She told me it was."
                  "But Bennett, she – how do I put this delicately? – she didn’t hold your workers in too high a regard."
                  "Yeah, but with affairs, she preferred to slum it."
                  "Affairs? There was more than