Murder in Wonderland Read Free

there?"
                  "Stop it, you’re killing me."
                  "Stop? Are you sure?"
                  "Ok, don't stop," she said coyly.
                  "Com'ere, my honey." Ben leaned in, put his cheek to hers, and whispered softly, "Sweetheart, you have a booger in your nose."
                  With a nearly audible gasp, she threw her hand over her nose and swung around 180 degrees in search of anything resembling a tissue. The rest of the guests were milling about in the living room. Brushing past them, as if to put out a fire in the kitchen, she went and tore a swatch of paper towel from the roll beside the sink.

3
                 
                  Every town, no matter how small, needs a corresponding cadre of social elite. Verdenier's crème de la crème were here in Allie Griffin's living room.
                  Almost. No sign of Tori Cardinal yet.
                  But, from the Metzger twins active fundraising that won them the mayoral award for community excellence three years in a row, to Del Collins' summer stock productions that made her a Verdenier household name—how could you not be when your name was a weekly adornment in the pages of the Verdenier Sentinel, one of a handful of small town print newspapers left in the entire known universe—here was Allie's in to this strange, strange world. Ever since Tom died, she'd been searching for something to define her post-widowed life. She checked herself in the metal of the carafe, which gave her a funhouse mirror image right back, but at least it was a reflection with no superfluous embellishments to it. With a nervous tuck of the hair behind the ear, she joined her party.
                  Del was in the midst of holding the floor when she came in.
                  "... like a baby on a bonfire. Please. And I told her so, too. 'Sweetheart, you have no right to criticize me as long as that hairstyle sprouts out from atop your hideous melon.'"
                  Allie's expression must have spoken volumes, because Ben was quick to fill her in.
                  "Tori," he said.
                  "Ah," said Allie.
                  Del turned to her. "No, but really? Tell me I need to work on my appearance? I mean, I realize I'm not exactly Giselle over here; I'm not one of those Victoria Secret shoelace cases who gets full on a raisin. But I need fashion advice from that black widow? Sorry, Allie."
                  "No offense taken."
                  "No, but really. I too can marry an oilman who's just about to croak. Please, don't get me started."
                  Ben chimed in. "Yeah, Allie, don’t get her started." He then mouthed a word to her while Del continued. Allie struggled for a moment, and then mouthed back, "What?"
                  He mouthed it again, with a surreptitious tug at his lapel to nail it home: "Coats."
                  "Oh," Allie said, a bit too loudly. "Can I take your coats? I'm so sorry."
                  She gathered them up over her arm and brought them into the bedroom. Dinah was underneath the bed, as per her routine whenever there was company. Good. She had forgotten about the possibility of cat hair...
                  ... on the bed.
                  She muttered that word again to herself. Too late now. Del's word ing coat was at the bottom of the heap. Perhaps she could lint-roll it for her before she left.
                  When she came back, it was Rachel Forrester now, not Del, who was dishing on Tori Cardinal.
                  Rachel was the careful type, choosing her words with great finesse and tact. Only now, there seemed to be a little something more to her rant, and the ugliness underneath it all shone through several careless cracks in her