Murder Under the Palms Read Online Free Page B

fingers raised to the cool, smooth ruby. In retrospect, the necklace seemed to have a magical quality, like an amulet. It was with this necklace that all that was good in her life—romance, fame, wealth—had begun. “May we keep our jewels on?” she asked, reluctant to relinquish the necklace that had set loose such a flood of memories.
    “Of course,” he replied with a gracious smile. “The necklace is yours until Monday at noon.” He turned to Connie and Spalding. “The same is true for you. The point of fine jewelry is to enjoy it.”
    “We certainly will,” said Connie enthusiastically.
    The swinging door to the kitchen opened, carrying with it the aroma of fine cuisine. A young man in a starched white jacket appeared, no doubt from one of the many companies that catered Palm Beach’s private parties.
    “Dinner is served,” he announced, and proceeded to shepherd the guests in the direction of the dining room.
    If Charlotte was already in love with Château en Espagne, she fell for it even harder once she saw the dining room. Like the rest of the house, it was simple almost to the point of being austere. But its severity was relieved by the rich paneling, which Paul said Mizner had imported from a Spanish monastery. The dining room table had also been designed by Mizner, in his heavy antique Spanish style, with sling-back chairs of rich Spanish leather, Wrought-iron candelabra stood in the center of the table, no doubt another product of the Mizner workshops, and the French doors opened on to a terrace lush with tropical foliage, including an orange tree whose fruits hung like gum-drops from the branches. Charlotte was surprised that she was so drawn to this style of house. It was quite masculine, and much more restrained than she was accustomed to. But she had found that the older she got, the more she wanted to strip away the excess. Elegant simplicity was her credo. She was way beyond chintz and knickknacks. It was her theory that this impulse to shed belongings that tended to overcome people in later life was a consequence of the accumulation of experience. If one went according to the premise that there was a finite amount of stuff with which the human mind could cope, then it became necessary to shed baggage as one accumulated more experience, and exterior baggage was easier to shed than the interior kind.
    The table was set with handsome Spanish stoneware, whose rustic style matched the mood of the room. The meal, which was quickly and efficiently served by white-jacketed waiters, was simple but delicious: a perfectly cooked filet of beef, with fresh vegetables, green salad, and crusty focaccia.
    Over the meal, which included an excellent cabernet, they talked about the Normandie . Or rather, Normandie . The name of the ship had inspired much debate. Though it was named after the French province in which its home port was located, and therefore should have been La Normandie , it was a ship and therefore should have taken the masculine article (the names of ships being masculine in French), Le Normandie . The powers-that-be had settled on Normandie , with no article at all, but Charlotte had always thought of the Normandie as a she. Despite the ship’s size and power, she was every inch a female.
    Charlotte was the only one among them who had actually sailed on the renowned luxury liner.
    “What was she like?” Marianne asked.
    “In my humble opinion, she was simply the most magnificent thing ever built by man,” Charlotte replied. Then she went on: “At the time, she was the biggest ocean liner ever built. If you can imagine the Chrysler Building turned on its side—that was how big she was. And the fastest. But she was much more than the biggest and the fastest. She was also the most beautiful, the most elegant, the most gracious. She was—”
    “The world’s most perfect ship?” Spalding broke in. “That’s how a friend once described her to me.”
    “Yes,” Charlotte agreed.