Ride a Painted Pony (Superromance) by McSparren Carolyn

Author:McSparren, Carolyn [McSparren, Carolyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin Enterprises
Published: 2011-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

THE CHESSMANS LIVED IN A NEW, very expensive one-story house on the outskirts of Germantown. The style was what Realtors called “mansion architecture”—brick veneer with plenty of windows and little character. Margery opened the door herself.

“You’re late.” Margery stood aside grumpily. She wore a navy turtleneck sweater tucked into taupe wool gabardine slacks. Taylor wondered whether that perky bosom and flat tummy had been achieved with the help of Jane Fonda—or plastic surgery.

Around her neck Margery wore three heavy twisted gold chains, each with a different pendant—a broad white jade disk, a sixty carat citrine, a three-inch gold reproduction of an antique hypodermic needle. No doubt an award from one of her hospital boards. She wore heavy gold hoops in her ears and a three-inch gold cuff on her left arm.

The inside of the house wasn’t nearly as cozy as the mortuary in Oxford. No magazines, no books, no family photos. No antiques. Two beige sofas, so overstuffed they looked as though someone had pumped them up like truck tires, sat on either side of a black marble fireplace. The sofas were piled thickly with down pillows the shape and color of raw ravioli.

On second thought, Taylor decided it looked more like an upscale conference center than a funeral home. Even the dining-room table seemed designed for board meetings. Taylor peeked to see whether the chairs were on casters. They were.

Josh came to meet them. Max struggled out of one of the sofas. From the other end, Veda smiled and waved her glass of white wine in their direction. Then she glanced up at Max. She looked worried.

Max swayed slightly and sat down as far from Veda as he could on the same piece of furniture. “Ah, the main event.” He held up a half-full highball, dark enough to be straight bourbon. He spoke with the exaggerated care of a man who refuses to slur and knows he’s drunk enough to do just that.

“I’ll leave now, Josh,” Margery said and kissed the air in the general area of his cheek. “I have an opera board meeting.”

Chessman opened his mouth to protest, but by that time Margery was through the archway into the kitchen without a backward glance or acknowledgment of her guests. He shrugged. “Drinks?”

Nick took a beer; Rico scotch-and-water, Taylor, diet ginger ale.

Taylor, Nick and Rico sat on the second sofa. Taylor realized that she was ravenously hungry just about the time she found there wasn’t even a bowl of salted peanuts on the glass coffee table between the sofas.

She watched Max over the rim of her glass. He smiled sardonically into his highball, and she felt waves of antipathy from him. She had no idea how she’d managed to antagonize him so quickly or so completely, but she knew an enemy when she met one. Were his feelings personal, or did he fear she’d discover he was a thief and a killer?

“So,” Max said, “the suspects are gathered ready for the great detective to do his—pardon me, her stuff.

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