A Mold For Murder Read Free Page A

I said.
    “Where is Sharon?” she snarled at me as I started to ask her what was so urgent.
    “I don’t have a clue,” I said. “She’s your employee, not mine.” I was a little more abrupt than I probably should have been, but the woman was already getting on my nerves. If I were Sharon, I’d hide if I could, too.
    “If she doesn’t get here in time to introduce me, you’ll have to do it yourself.” She looked like she was as excited by the prospect as I was, which was not at all.
    “I’ll get one of my siblings to do it,” I said. I wanted to keep an eye on things in the store while the contessa gave her presentation. I was getting paranoid about our visitors.
    “You’ll do it yourself, Ben,” she said as she shoved a piece of paper at me. I glanced at her handwritten scrawl and was nearly knocked over by her use of adjectives describing just how wonderful she was. There was no way on earth I could say what she’d written with a straight face.
    “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have someone else do this?” I asked.
    “I’m positive.” She glanced at the clock on my wall. “If Sharon is still not here in two minutes, you’ll have to do the honors yourself. I pride myself on punctuality, and I won’t let that child thwart me. Two minutes, do you understand me?”
    “I get it,” I said.
    I started to leave in search of Sharon when the contessa asked, “And just where do you think you’re going?”
    “I thought I’d look for your assistant,” I said.
    “There’s no time for that. You will wait here with me, and we will walk down the stairs together.”
    “Fine,” I said. I watched as the second hand of my clock plodded slowly around twice, hoping for a reprieve, but none came. It appeared that I’d be doing the introductions myself after all.
    She offered me her gloved hand, then said, “Shall we?”
    “Certainly,” I said. Maybe if I fell going down the stairs and broke my leg I wouldn’t have to give the introduction. Try as I might, I managed to get down the steps without breaking anything, much to my dismay. She touched my arm at the door in back and said, “When you say my name, project it loudly enough for me to hear you, and I’ll enter.”
    “I’ll do my best.” As I walked to the microphone, I was frantically searching the gathered crowd, hoping that Sharon was waiting for us out on the sales floor. She was nowhere to be seen. All of the chairs in front of the worktable and microphone were full, and there was standing room only behind them. We’d had to move out some of our shelves in order to accommodate our visitors, and I’d worried about the lost revenue, but at least we were packing people in, and if the number of shopping bags they carried was any indication, the day might just be profitable after all.
    I tapped the microphone with my finger and a squeal cut across a dozen conversations like a fan through smoke. “Excuse me,” I said a little louder than necessary, causing some of the people sitting near the speakers to wince. “We’re ready to get started.”
    I took a deep breath, then adjusted my voice to the correct volume. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my privilege and honor to introduce a soapmaking master to you this afternoon.” Did she honestly expect me to read it all? There was more of it than I could stomach, so I scanned down a few paragraphs, then flipped the paper over. If the contessa had a problem with my truncated introduction, she was just going to have to deal with it.
    Ad-libbing, I said, “Please join me in welcoming our honored guest, the Contessa New Berne.”
    The applause was heartfelt, but there was no sign of the woman herself. I’d been expecting a grand entrance, but it looked like she wasn’t interested in coming out with less than her usual introduction.
    As the applause started to die, I tried one more time. “The Contessa New Berne.”
    It came back up again, but slowed rather quickly, and we were still without our