Psycho Killer Read Online Free

replied with a wan smile. She pressed the UP arrow on the window control, closing it. “Seventy-second and Fifth,” she told the driver.
    Her stomach rumbled as the cab eased away from the curb. Hopefully she hadn’t missed dinner. And hopefully Eleanor wasserving those little red velvet cake petits fours from Petrossian for dessert. The ones with the blood orange frosting were her favorite.
    As the cab headed west across Madison, she pressed the DOWN button on the window control and tossed the syringe out onto the avenue, where it rolled silently into the gutter. Closing the window once more, she sat back in her seat, removed her goatskin gloves, and tucked her diaphanous blond hair behind her small, diamond-studded ears. She wouldn’t have minded a little ramekin of venison tartare with chilled béarnaise sauce, either.
    Nothing like a little murder to whet the appetite.

an hour of sex burns 360 calories
    “What are you two talking about?” Blair’s mother asked, sidling up to Nate and squeezing Cyrus’s hand.
    “Sex,” Cyrus said, giving her a wet kiss on the ear.
    Yuck
.
    “Oh!” Eleanor Waldorf squealed, patting her blown-out blond bob.
    Blair’s mother wore the fitted, graphite-beaded cashmere dress that Blair had helped her pick out from Armani, and a pair of black velvet mules. A year ago she wouldn’t have fit into the dress, but Cyrus had paid for her to have thirty pounds of fat sucked out of her thighs and waist and she looked fantastic. Everyone thought so.
    “She does look thinner,” Blair heard Mrs. Bass whisper to Mrs. Coates. “And I’ll bet she’s had her chin stapled.”
    “I think you’re right. She’s grown her hair out—that’s the telltale sign. It hides the scars,” Mrs. Coates whispered back.
    Of course, she would know.
    The room was abuzz with snatches of gossip about Blair’s mother and Cyrus Rose. From what Blair could hear, her mother’sfriends felt exactly the same way about him as she did… minus the fantasies of impaling him with the fireplace poker, ripping out his entrails, and tossing them out the window.
    “I smell Old Spice,” Mrs. Coates whispered to Mrs. Archibald. “Do you think he’s actually wearing
Old Spice
?”
    “I’m not sure,” Mrs. Archibald whispered back. “But I think he might be.” She snatched a warm blood pudding canapé off Esther’s platter, popped it into her mouth, and chewed it vigorously, refusing to say anything more. She couldn’t bear for Eleanor Waldorf to overhear them. Gossip and idle chat were amusing, but not at the expense of an old friend’s feelings.
    Bullshit!
Blair would have said if she could have heard Mrs. Archibald’s thoughts.
Hypocrite!
All of these people were terrible gossips. And if you’re going to do it, why not
enjoy
it? Pretending not to be the biggest gossip in the room when you so obviously were was like standing in a room full of slashed-up corpses with a bloody hunting knife in your hand and demanding, “
Who did this?
”
    Across the room, Cyrus grabbed Eleanor and kissed her on the lips in full view of everyone. Blair shrank away from the revolting sight of her mother and Cyrus acting like lovestruck teens and turned to look out the penthouse window at Fifth Avenue and Central Park. The fall foliage was on fire—not literally, but figuratively. If it were really on fire she would have tossed Cyrus out into it and watched him burn like fat-streaked bacon. A lone bicyclist rode out of the Seventy-second Street entrance to the park and stopped at the hot dog vendor on the corner to buy a bottle of water. Blair had never noticed the hot dog vendor before, and she wondered if he always parked there, or if he was new, and if he usually stayed there after the sun had gone down.This hot dog vendor was using a long, sharp knife to spear his hot dogs out of the steaming water. Didn’t they usually use tongs, or was it always a knife?
    It’s funny how much you miss in what you see every