Lie of the Needle (A Deadly Notions Mystery) Read Free

exposed stonework were softened with paintings of rustic subjects like a folk art pig, and there were top-quality Persian area rugs covering most of the stone floors. It was a simple layout. A huge sleeping loft and a sitting room above, and a good-size living room, dining room, and kitchen with walk-in fireplace downstairs.
    Ruth Bornstein, the owner of this estate, was standing at the maple wood kitchen counter making a fresh pot of coffee. She had more connections than a crocheted shawl and had talked the photographer into doing the shoot for a cut-rate price. The gorgeous fieldstone building served both as his studio and temporary living quarters.
    She grinned at our downcast expressions. “Don’t despair, my friends. All is not lost.”
    Ruth made a beckoning motion, and we followed her to an alcove off the kitchen that was set up as an office. It also housed a closed-circuit TV system. She poked the power button on the computer monitor and it flickered into life, showing a quadrant of pictures of the front of the house, the back door, the main gate, and the interior of the garage.
    There was quite a bit of pushing and shoving so everyone could get into a good viewing position before the show started.
    We didn’t have long to wait.
    Serrano didn’t bother going back to the changing area to don a robe or a towel like the other guys. He simply pulled off his tie right where he stood and stripped off his shirt while we held our collective breath.
    Even in a grainy black-and-white image, the hard-muscled body was awe-inspiring.
    “Good
God
,” Martha said.
    The nighttime gray hues accented the rippled stomach and strong biceps that flexed as he moved, like a prowling mountain cat that wastes no energy, but is a focused, tightly coiled killing machine.
    I swallowed, but there was no moisture left in my throat.
    As Serrano slowly reached for his belt buckle, he glanced in the direction of the security camera, and it seemed as though his eyes met mine. Roos triggered the strobes to test the light meter near Serrano’s face, and the resultant flash made my heart bounce.
    With shaking fingers I turned the monitor off, suddenly ashamed of myself.
    Serrano was my friend, above all else, and not only was I betraying our friendship, but his hard-won trust in me with such giddy, schoolgirl behavior. “We shouldn’t be spying on the man like this. We’re just a bunch of sick old women getting our jollies.”
    “And
you’re
jolly annoying.” Eleanor pouted and slumped back in a chair, crossing her arms over her narrow chest.
    “Daisy, why don’t you come up to the house with me and visit with Stanley while the shoot is going on?” Ruth urged.
    “Okay.” My heart was still racing.
    “We’ll clean up here when it’s all over, dear,” Martha said to Ruth. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”
    As we left the room, I thought I could hear the whir of the monitor starting up again.
    I grabbed my coat from the kitchen, and Ruth and I walked the short distance up the curving driveway toward the magnificent main house.
    The original section was from the eighteenth century, with random width floors and fireplaces in most of the rooms. It had been added on to over the years, and the newer wings had the same sage-green siding as the carriage house. The carefully tended rose gardens, tennis court, and pool were situated behind with breathtaking views of the countryside, and verdant acres rolled away in every direction.
    The wind whipped across the land, and even though we were only open to the elements for a minute, I felt my body temperature plummet. I huddled down inside my jacket and walked faster.
    Ruth’s husband had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s a few years ago. Before his illness, Joe and I used to join the Bornsteins occasionally for dinner during the summers when we vacationed in Millbury. Stanley Bornstein had been a successful chemist for one of the large pharmaceutical corporations based in Montgomery County.