Death of a Gigolo by Laura Levine

Author:Laura Levine
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2019-08-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

That night I dreamed I was trapped on a spin class bike, being chased by a mob of giant M&M’s, cursing me for having scarfed down so many of their relatives.

Sweat gushed from my pores as I pedaled my heart out. But no matter how fast I pedaled, the bike refused to move. In no time, the M&M’s had me surrounded and were using me as a human bull’s-eye—pelting my chest with stinging darts.

It was then that I woke up and realized that the stinging in my chest was just Prozac, clawing me awake for her breakfast.

She’d been cold as ice when I came home from the spin class last night.

“Oh, Pro,” I’d moaned, my privates still aching from that torture chamber of a bike seat. “Every inch of me hurts.”

She’d barely glanced up from the hairball she’d just deposited on one of my cashmere sweaters.

That’s what you get for leaving me alone while you go out gallivanting with The Affirmation Kid.

Clearly I had a long way to go in my efforts to win her over to Team Dickie.

Banishing all thoughts of Prozac—and my ghastly M&M’s fiasco—I showed up at La Belle Vie that morning eager to resume my investigation.

I definitely needed to chat with Raymond and Solange. Both of them had their salaries slashed under Tommy’s tyrannical rule and would have lost out on a hefty inheritance had he tied the knot with Daisy.

More than enough motive for murder, don’t you think?

After a morning toiling in the turquoise mines, I tracked down Solange in her room, taking her afternoon break.

“Come in,” she called out after I knocked on her door.

I walked in and blinked, more than a little taken aback. The place looked like a tornado had just whizzed through it—clothes, shoes, and grooming aids scattered everywhere.

Solange was lounging on her unmade bed, sheets tangled, in pajama shorts and tourniquet-tight tank top.

Her hair, normally coiled in a French twist, was loose and tousled, her long legs bare, not a speck of flab on her thighs. She looked up from the copy of Vogue she was reading, a half-eaten banana at her side.

“Excuse the mess,” she said, gesturing at the surrounding chaos. “What with all the cleaning I do around here, I don’t have the energy to keep my own room neat.”

I’ll say, I thought, spotting a dust bunny the size of Prozac.

“So what’s up?” she asked.

“Actually, I stopped by to talk about Tommy’s murder. The police think Kate is the killer, and I’m trying to help clear her name. Okay if we have a little chat?”

“Sure,” she said, patting the mattress next to her.

After clearing away the banana, two fashion magazines, and a curling iron, I joined her on her bed.

“You really think Kate is innocent?” Solange asked. “After all, Esme saw her heading for the gym right before Tommy was killed.”

“She did go to the gym but only to curse Tommy out. She swears he was alive when she left.”

“I guess that’s possible,” Solange said, plucking an emery board from the sheets.

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