Rehearsal for Murder (Maggie Ryan) Read Online Free

back to Ramona. “Did Nick do something bad today?”
    Under the friendly searching gaze, Ramona grew abruptly serious. “You mean, to deserve such a mean joke?”
    “Sure, I deserved it,” said Nick. “I was pretending to be a woolly mammoth and almost knocked her down.”
    But Ramona’s mood had shifted. “No, she’s right, Nick. I’ve been doing the great bitch-star routine today. I always thought I was too grown-up for that game. Haven’t been this childish since I was sixteen! It’s just that everything—No, you didn’t deserve it. Nobody deserved it. It’s nothing to do with the show, nothing to do with you. It’s just Simon.”
    “Is there some way we can help?” asked Maggie.
    “You? Mr. and Mrs. Happy Wedlock? Salt in the wound,” said Ramona bitterly. “Still goddamn soul mates, aren’t you? I’d forgotten what it’s like.”
    So had I, thought Nick, till Dr. Rank. No time these days for souls. Or bodies, for that matter.
    Maggie was hugging Ramona. “God, it must hurt!” Ramona let herself relax in the lanky arms a moment. Maggie could have that effect on people, Nick knew. Her vitality and lively compassion had often in the past been a source of strength to him too. But in a moment Ramona drew a deep breath and objected, “You can’t know, kid. You’ve never been divorced, right?”
    “Not in a law court, no. Even so, I’ve been totaled a couple of times.”
    “But you’re not forty.”
    “Not yet.”
    “Well, that makes it worse when your marriage is disintegrating. If yours lasts that long, you’ll see. Oh, some days I’m almost glad it’s ending. Glad to get out and conquer the world before it slips by. Other days I feel worthless. Old. Jealous of people like you. Wondering where all our magic went. What I did wrong.”
    Maggie patted her shoulder. “Nothing, probably.”
    “I know that with my head. He’s crazy. But inside, you know, you’re suffering and you think, ‘I must have done something to deserve this.’” She moved away, started pulling on her flame-red pantsuit and stylish Italian stack-soled boots. “When I was young and dumb and about to throw my life away, my best friend shoved me into a room and locked the door. I yelled and screamed. In the morning she came in and told me I was a good kid, but she’d had to slap me on the wrist because I’d forgotten. And then she gave me cocoa and everything was okay.”
    “You’re a good kid,” said Nick, “but I’m afraid we forgot to bring the cocoa.”
    Ramona looked at him in surprise. “God! You’re right! It’s the same stupid game I’m playing, isn’t it?”
    “We play all kinds of games when we hurt.”
    “Mm.” She adjusted the flared pant legs over her boots before glancing back at him. “Someone said Maggie was your second wife.”
    “Yes.”
    “You must know what it’s like, then, Nick. Divorce.”
    “Not exactly. My first wife died.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry! That’s different.”
    “Yeah, maybe. But anytime you’re rooted psychologically in another person, any kind of end has to hurt.”
    “You don’t say.”
    “Sigmund F. O’Connor, part-time shrink, at your service,” said Nick cheerfully in a thick Viennese accent. “In your case, madam, I prescribe cocoa.”
    She was laughing again. “Clown!”
    “Insight of the day. Free introductory sample.”
    “But you’re right, you know. I’ve got to stop taking it out on you people. This business of ours is hard enough on the ego. One day you’re applauded, the next you’re on welfare. All your self-doubts thriving like leeches. And then this thing of Simon’s.” She shook her head fretfully.
    “You won’t have to worry about welfare, Ramona. You’re still famous.”
    She stubbed out the cigarette, lips thin. “Still famous. Yes, indeed. Let’s get out of here.”
    Nick held her wrap for her, a cape lined with blond fur. “Where’s your date?”
    “Not far. We’re meeting at L’Etoile on Spring Street.”
    “Mind