A Crazy Little Thing Called Death Read Free Page B

what have you done?”
    “Be careful,” Emma warned. “You could endanger the Hubble telescope with that sparkler.”
    “It’s huge!” Libby cried. “It’s not stolen, is it?”
    “No,” I said, “I think he won it in Vegas.”
    Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding!
    “Of course I’m kidding.”
    She peered more closely. “A diamond that size can’t possibly be real.”
    “You actually gonna marry Mick this time, Nora?” Emma asked.
    I took a deep breath. “Yes.”
    Libby dropped my hand and cried out in anguish. “Nora, think of your family! You can’t besmirch our good name this way!”
    “Hell, think of Mick,” Emma said. “You realize this is his death sentence?”
    The Blackbird women all shared such genetic traits as auburn hair, an allergy to cats, and well-documented widowhood at a young age. Emma and I had lost our husbands before we turned thirty, and Libby’s marriages—three so far—had all ended in disaster. The joke around our social circle was that the only men interested in marrying us must be suicidal.
    I had fallen hard for Michael Abruzzo, however, and he insisted he was strong enough to withstand a little family curse—even one that dated back more than 150 years. I had refused to endanger his life, of course. But after months of holding out, I was finally weakened by too much champagne and a glorious Caribbean sunset. When he’d asked me again, I said yes.
    The fact that he was the son of New Jersey’s most notorious mob kingpin didn’t matter to me anymore. Not much, at least. But our love match was going to turn Philadelphia society upside down. The Blackbird family had been welcomed into sedate drawing rooms since the days of the Continental Congress, and a union with the Abruzzos—known for racketeering, not racquet club memberships—was going to be the scandal of the season.
    Libby groaned. “We’ll never live this down!”
    Emma patted her shoulder. “Take it easy. Maybe the mayor will get caught with a hooker or something.”
    Libby nodded. “Let’s hope there’s a catastrophe, so we won’t suffer the glare of the spotlight.”
    “Let’s hope,” I agreed, only half joking.
    “Anyway, where the hell have you been?” Emma asked Libby. “Lucy said you were going to seduce your accountant.”
    Libby was prim. “We met to review my tax situation, which stretched into the dinner hour, so we—”
    “Spent the night getting each other’s numbers straight?” I asked.
    “Wait a minute,” Emma said. “Wasn’t your accountant sent to jail for embezzling?”
    Libby waved her hand. “Oh, that was a simple misunderstanding. He explained it all to me. What a miscarriage of justice! A man with a soul like Malcolm’s is hardly going to cheat people.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Anyway.” She sneaked a look to make sure her daughter wasn’t listening, then lowered her voice just in case. “Last night was a one—well, a brief encounter, that’s all. I can’t be tied down right now, you know, and I’ve learned Malcolm is a strictly by-the-book kind of person who—well, he’s better suited to dealing with the IRS than tending to my more esoteric needs.”
    “He was lousy in the sack,” Emma guessed.
    “No,” Libby said sharply. “We are simply not suited for an intimate relationship. So I’m at loose ends. Ready for a new challenge! I need a creative project to focus all my energy. It gets pent up, you know, and then I’m all jittery. I need an outlet!”
    “Maybe getting reacquainted with your children could be an outlet for all your energy,” I said. “You could save yourself the jitters by cooking their dinner tonight, as a matter of fact.”
    “What kind of creative outlet is that? No, I need something really exciting—something that will engage my mind while making the best use of my social skills and boundless creativity. I want a real challenge! Look around at this wonderful party. Every single hostess here has indulged her fantasies and—”