Maggie Needs an Alibi by Kasey Michaels

Author:Kasey Michaels
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: funny cozy mysteries, cozy mysteries women sleuth, female mystery authors, funny mystery romance in kindle, funny paranormal romance mystery, funny romance mystery, humorous cozy murder mystery series
Publisher: Kasey Michaels

Chapter Twelve

Maggie sat nursing a Caffeine Free Diet Pepsi (no ice, no fruit), lost in her small corner of the large room tucked inside the Waldorf-Astoria.

It was Thursday afternoon, just past four, and Kirk Toland sat center stage in the room in his fairly flashy, trashy gold urn. After being sliced and diced by the medical examiner Wednesday morning, bits and pieces of him preserved for posterity, he’d been carted away, cremated.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, publishing magnate to tacky centerpiece. What had Napoleon said on his way home from Russia? Something about how moving from the sublime to the ridiculous is just a step? Or a couple of mushrooms...

“I should have had them put something alcoholic in this,” she said aloud to herself, looking into her glass.

“Are you all right, Maggie?”

She looked up, smiled at Sterling. He looked so cute in his brand new navy-blue suit. “I’m fine, Sterling, thank you. How are you?”

“Rather amazed, bewildered, and all of that,” he said, motioning to her for permission to sit down at the small table. “The man only cocked up his toes yesterday morning. This haste to have the ceremonies completed? Well, it’s unseemly, don’t you think? Even in my time, we knew to pack bodies in the ice house and have time to gather the relatives.”

“Jewish people do it all the time.”

“Oh, he was Jewish?”

Maggie shook her head. “No, he wasn’t. He was a devout atheist, or at least that’s what Bernie told me. His lawyer contacted Bernie late yesterday, told her that a letter he had in his possession from Kirk stated that there were to be no services, and his ashes should be scattered at his tennis club before the annual end of the season tournament, right on the court, just like his father and mother before him.”

“For people to tramp on, you mean?”

She tried to be nice. “Kirk loved to play tennis. I think he saw himself as always being part of the club, something like that.”

“Oh, then that’s all right. Actually, it’s rather touching, don’t you think?”

So much for being nice. “No, I think it was pretty cheap. You don’t know how badly I wanted to send a bouquet of plastic forks.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Sterling. I know I’m being snarky. And I’m really glad Bernie had this all done so fast. There was barely any press, and she decided inviting no one from the Social Register was the only way not to invite all of Manhattan. So far, it seems to have worked. There couldn’t be more than what—seventy-five, eighty people here? And no Playmates of the Month. God does grant small favors.” She sat up slightly, for she’d been slouching in her seat. “Where’s Alex?”

“Saint Just?” Sterling stood, looked out over the black-clad crowd; all of them circling the buffet table like carrion crows. Soon the only things left would be some cheese and the lettuce garnishes. “I’m not sure. Last time I spied him, he was introducing himself to everyone.

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