Laughed ’Til He Died Read Free Page A

bristly cheeks in a T-shirt and boxers, muscular and tanned in swim trunks, sweaty in a polo and shorts on a tennis court, every glimpse evoked the same swift, passionate delight. Her husband, her wonderful husband.
    His blue eyes gleamed, and his arm slid more firmly around her shoulders.
    She wriggled free. “Your toe will be fine. Get some ice from the coffee bar. I need to arrange the sand.” She spread a drop cloth and troweled beach sand from the box.
    Agatha suddenly appeared and, with an effortless leap, landed in the display. One swift paw whipped out to bat at the trickle of sand.
    “Uh-oh.” Annie put down the trowel and reached for the cat, who eluded her grasp. “Agatha, don’t even think about it.”
    Behind her, Max laughed.
    It took some effort and a tempting dish of cat salmon to entice Agatha out of the window and down the aisle to the kitchen area. Annie returned, somewhat breathless. “In a little while, maybe you could put up a lattice so she can’t jump into the window.”
    “A lattice, the woman says. Presto.” He snapped his fingers. “One lattice coming up. Where’s the lattice store?”
    “Try the lumberyard.” There was a plea in her voice. “Maybe you could go get it while I arrange the sand.”
    He leaned against the wall. “I buy lattices and you arrangesand. You can’t say we aren’t original.” His tone was musing. “Now, what would anybody say if they heard you announce that you were arranging sand? Doesn’t that have a Laurelesque quality?”
    Annie laughed. “I’m not in Laurel’s league.” Was that ever true. Max’s mother, a gorgeous blonde who enchanted men from eight to eighty, was, to put it kindly, a free spirit who was ever and always unpredictable.
    “Even Laurel never asked me to carry sand. Do you have any idea how heavy that box was? Why not just put up a beach chair? People who read books can imagine anything. Show them a beach chair and a stack of books and they’ll make the connection: beach books! That would only take a few minutes and then we could go home and make some beach music of our own. As for a lattice, that comes later.”
    This time his hand started at the back of her neck and began slipping…
    Annie ducked away. “Look how much I’ve taken out. Now you can pick up the box and pour.”
    He moved with alacrity. “Then we can go home?” His dark blue eyes told her that she was desirable, that they could be home in their splendidly restored antebellum house in a matter of minutes, that the sun would spill into the master bedroom…
    She should finish setting up the new display. There were orders to fill and e-mails to answer. But Max was so near and she ached to tangle her fingers in his thick blond hair and lift her lips—
    The front bell jangled as the door opened.
    “Max.” Jean Hughes’s strident voice broke a golden spell. She burst into the central corridor, attractive yet with a frowsy look, a bit too much makeup, clothes a little too tight.
    Jean rushed toward Max without a glance or murmur to Annie.
    Annie folded her arms, determinedly maintaining a pleasant expression.
    Max took a deep breath, then managed a quick wry grin and a promissory glance before he turned.
    Before he could speak, Jean blurted, “I saw you through the window. I’d been to your office. I don’t want to bother you, but please, can I talk to you?”
    Annie considered clearing her throat since she was apparently invisible to Jean.
    Jean reached out and gripped Max’s arm, tugging him toward the door. “Please. Oh, please. I need help. You’re a nice man. Everyone says so. Please help me.”
    Annie’s resentment was abruptly swept away. The quaver in Jean’s voice was real, and the desperate appeal in her eyes revealed a depth of misery.
    Jean held out a trembling hand. “I’ve seen your ad in the paper. Confidential Commissions. Problems solved in a heartbeat.”
    That was a new ad, in which Max took great pride. He did not hold himself out to