The Love Killers Read Online Free Page A

her picture or some anecdote about what she was wearing or doing, or with whom she had been seen. Lara became the darling of life in the fast lane.
    * * *
    The shooting of Margaret Lawrence Brown made headlines, but the photographers still turned out at Kennedy Airport to welcome Lara Crichton.
    She posed briefly in her Yves Saint Laurent suit and big hat, her cool green eyes hidden behind fashionably large sunglasses, Gucci bracelets jangling alongside her black-faced Cartier watch.
    â€˜What are you here for, Miss Crichton?’asked an inquisitive reporter.
    â€˜Business,’ she replied, unsmiling. ‘Personal business.’
    There was a limousine waiting for her. With a deep sigh she sat back and tried to relax.
    Margaret was dead.
    Margaret had been murdered.
    Oh, God! Why?
    In excruciating detail she remembered her last meeting with her sister. Visiting New York for two days of concentrated shopping, she’d almost skipped phoning her. But then she’d called, and as usual Margaret invited her over. She’d fitted the visit in between lunch at ‘21’ and a hair-streaking session at Vidal’s.
    Margaret had greeted her in her usual outfit of faded jeans and worn shirt. The perennial blue-tinted shades she wore to help her eyesight covered her eyes, and her long hair was unkempt. Naturally she had no makeup on her striking face.
    Lara tut-tutted. ‘If you bothered,’ she said, ‘you could look really ravishing.’
    Margaret laughed. ‘Do you realize how much time you waste plastering yourself with stupid crap?’ she asked good-naturedly.
    â€˜Don’t knock it. I’m getting a directorship of a big makeup company,’ Lara said firmly. I’ll send you a crate of perfumes, lipsticks, glosses, all sorts of things. You’ll love it.’
    â€˜No way, kid!’ Margaret replied. ‘You might think
you
need it. But honey-pie—
I
don’t give a damn.’
    â€˜Well, you should,’ Lara said primly.
    â€˜Says who?’
    â€˜Says me.’
    Margaret smiled. She had a wonderful smile; it lit up a room. ‘What’s happening in your life, baby sister?’ she asked, full of warm concern.
    Without further prompting Lara launched into a full discussion of what was going on. Margaret fixed her a drink, and they sat down in the cluttered apartment, and she let it all come out. She always did with her sister; it was better than going to an analyst.
    Without pause she’d talked about her problems for over an hour. Was Prince Alfredo the one? Should she sell some of her blue-chips? What did Margaret think of her new emerald ring?
    Boring small chat. Looking back, Lara shuddered. She’d never asked Margaret about herself. She’d never bothered to discuss any of her sister’s burning causes, even though she knew how important they were to her.
    How narrow she must have seemed. How selfish and completely involved with herself. And yet Margaret listened patiently, as if she had all the time in the world. She always did.
    Why was it you always found out how much you needed someone just when it was too late?
    * * *
    Lara stared out of the window as the limousine headed toward the city. Margaret was dead, and she intended to find out why.
    Somebody was going to pay for her sister’s death. She would make sure of that.

CHAPTER FIVE
    Beth Lawrence Brown came to New York by train. It was the first time she had been there. In fact, it was the first time she had been anywhere outside of the commune that had been her home since she was fifteen. Now twenty, she was clear-skinned and fair-haired, with hair that hung straight and thick, reaching below her waist. She was a very pretty girl. Her face had a childlike innocence, with large blue eyes and a wide, soft mouth.
    Beth wore her usual outfit, a long dress of Indian fabric, patched in places, thonged sandals on bare feet, and many necklaces of thin leather with hand-painted beads