Blackbird 10 - A Little Night Murder Read Online Free Page A

Light on the tonic.”
    “Coming right up!” With an apologetic look thrown over her shoulder, Lexie fled toward the house.
    Michael’s cell phone rang in his pocket. He took it out and glanced at the screen before apologizing to me. “Sorry. Business. I gotta take this.” He walked to the far end of the terrace before answering his call. If I’d had a towel in my hands, I’d have twisted it up and used it to strangle him.
    As both of them abandoned me to fend for myself, I was left standing in front of Bridget O’Halloran while she dug into her handbag and rooted out a stick of gum. She peeled it open, giving me another chilly once-over that made me feel like the fat lady at a carnival sideshow. Dropping any pretense of politeness, she said, “How far gone are you?”
    “Seven months,” I replied, mustering good cheer.
    “Still puking every morning?”
    “No, I’m past all that. I feel wonderful, actually.”
    “It’s a girl, Mick says.”
    “Yes, we’re delighted.”
    “Girls can be trouble. I sure gave my parents the runaround. Got a name picked out yet?”
    “Not yet. Michael is cautious about giving a name to someone we haven’t met yet,” I said, although I wondered if his mother might change her mind about me if I offered to name our firstborn after her.
    “I once had a boyfriend who was the superstitious type. He was a swami, wore beads, real in touch with his feelings. But he ran off with a hippie chick, and last I heard he was telling fortunes outside a circus. I said good riddance.” She folded the gum into her mouth, continuing to squint at my silly shirt. “You and my Mick aren’t exactly a match made in Vegas, know what I mean? Like, the odds aren’t good.”
    “We couldn’t be happier,” I assured her.
    “Wanna know what I think?” She glanced around to make sure we weren’t being overheard. Then she glared straight into my face. “I think you’re a gold digger holding out for something better to come down the pike. You’re broke, right? And he’s just starting to hit it big. Well, he’s more than the dough he carries in his pocket, lemme tell you. Mick’s the best of the best. You should grab him before he goes back to one of the real women he used to date.”
    The gold-digger crack infuriated me. But her last remark sidetracked my sputtering temper. “The real women he—?”
    Bridget turned her back on me and walked to the edge of the terrace, toward the piano music. “So, what’s the story next door?”
    “Just a minute,” I said.
    But she bulldozed over me. “I hear they’re auditioning for a musical. A Broadway musical. What do you know about it?”
    “They rehearse a lot, but other than that—”
    “You know anybody over there?”
    “At the Tuttle house? Why do you ask?”
    Bridget turned on me, tall and aggressive. “Do you know anybody who could get me in?”
    “Ah,” I said.
    Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “You came here to get an introduction to the Tuttles,” I said, unable to keep the note of accusation from my voice. “You want an audition.”
    She lifted her chin. “And why not? I’m still damn good on my feet, babycakes. And I can belt a tune as good as anybody. They’d be lucky to get me in their little show.”
    I had my doubts that any Toodles Tuttle musical could be called “little,” not even if it had been discovered long after his demise. But with another look up and down Bridget O’Halloran’s spectacular body, I had to agree with her. She might look very good indeed on a Broadway stage. She had presence and sex appeal and a certain well-traveled womanliness that said
star quality
.
    She said, “Mick tells me you’re connected. That you know everybody who’s anybody. So how about getting me an introduction to your friends?”
    “They’re not my friends,” I said. “I’m barely acquainted with the Tuttles.”
    “But you do know them, right?”
    “Not enough to ask a