A Dark and Stormy Murder (A Writer's Apprentice Mystery) Read Online Free Page A

hired or fired, but it didn’t seem the time to do so. “That sounds fine.”
    “And then, once I get your diagnosis for the book, we will know how much work needs to be done—by you and by me.”
    “All right. I can’t wait to read the book—and Salzburg! What a wonderful setting. You’ve never set one there before, although I recall one in Vienna.”
    “Yes. I visited Austria once, when I was in my twenties, and I never forgot its beauty. It was very—” A phone vibrated on the desk, and Camilla picked it up with a disgusted expression. “Excuse me,” she said. “I hate cell phones, but my publishers rather demanded that I have one.” She clicked it on and said hello. Her eyebrows rose and she stood up. “Yes, I know that,” she said. Her voice was cold. “Kindly do not call me on this phone unless it’s absolutely necessary. Yes, of course. Well, you can talk with John Kendall about that. That’s what I pay him for. Good—that will be fine. Good-bye.” She hung up the phone and wandered away from me, toward the back doors, where she stood looking at the view. Her body, from this distance, seemed old and frail. She wore a pair of black pants with a white blouse and a bright blue sweater; it looked chic, yet comfortable. I had always pictured her wearing silk and attending literary salons. Yet, now that I was here,I couldn’t imagine Camilla Graham anywhere other than in this gloomy antique of a house.
    “I have a few things to do,” she said, still looking out the window. “So if you’d like to take that manuscript upstairs and then show yourself around, that will be fine. I can have dinner ready for you at around seven, if that’s all right? Or were you planning to eat with our friend Allison?” She turned to face me again, suddenly looking more cheerful. The thought of Allison would cheer someone up; Allison is like a ray of sunshine.
    “She’s busy tonight, but I’m hoping to dine with her later in the week,” I said. “So yes, thank you, I’d be happy to have dinner here.”
    “Of course. I have meals served by Rhonda, a cook from here in town, and I’ll be sure she knows to make enough for two from now on.”
    “Thank you.” She had looked away again; perhaps she was distracted or uncomfortable with the newness of my presence. I waited until she made eye contact. “Camilla—I’m very happy to be here. I really appreciate the opportunity.”
    She smiled. “I think you might be just what this dark old place needs. The light of youth and beauty.” She looked sad then; I thanked her for the compliment and took my leave, feeling suddenly like an intruder.
    Upstairs I set the manuscript on my big desk, holding it as I would a sleeping child. I wondered suddenly if she had copies; surely she worked on a computer, and not a typewriter? Of course. I had seen the computer on her desk. This wasn’t 1975, although I had seen enough pictures of Camilla from that era, posing in a tasteful tailored suit and looking quizzically at the camera. In those shots it hadindeed been a typewriter in the photo, and she and her Underwood had seemed like ideal companions.
    Lestrade was still asleep; I had a sudden memory of the blond man saying that the catnip would make the cat high, and I giggled. I wondered who the stranger was and realized, with a bit of regret, that I should have introduced myself. How rude he must have thought me to have accepted his help and then simply driven away.
    I shut Lestrade in the room and made my way down the dark stairwell. What the house could use, in my initial estimation, was a lot of white paint on the dingy walls—something to bring in the sun (surely there would eventually be sun?) and cast out the gloom.
    The two shepherds were waiting for me at the foot of the stairs, but they weren’t growling now. Their heads were cocked, as though they wondered what I was up to. I realized that they were rather young, because there was still something puppyish about their