The Body Counter (Detective Jude Fontaine Mysteries Book 2) by Anne Frasier

Author:Anne Frasier [Frasier, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
ISBN: 9781503900981
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2018-06-11T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER 29

Iris’s life was a cliché, but she was trying to do something about that. She wanted to be more than the daughter of a rich, business-suit-wearing, briefcase-clutching CEO who only cared about money. She wanted to be more than the brat raised by so many nannies she’d lost count.

But yeah. Cliché. Rich kid. Wealthy family. Despised the parents. Dropped out of college. Nineteen, old enough to be on her own, but she continued to kiss ass while resenting them.

Tonight was one of those kiss-ass nights.

Her mother had insisted Iris come home so she could attend a small dinner at her parents’ multimillion-dollar house just off Lake Harriet in the upscale Lynnhurst neighborhood of Minneapolis. This was the price for letting them continue to support her. They paid for her apartment and had even bought her a new car. But none of it was really free. She had to attend their events, keep her spine straight and chin high, as she’d been taught. Smile, sound intelligent, be gracious, not get too drunk, engage guests in conversation.

She’d been doing it for years.

Her parents employed their own chef, yet this particular meal had been overseen by some fancy dude who’d waltzed in and out of their house, staying long enough to boss people around and berate their cook. Typical of her mother to bring in someone prestigious so she could attach his name to the meal. It was all about status. Get the best chef in town. Pay him a shit-ton of money. Invite the Minneapolis elite. This time it was a guy who owned the power company, along with his wife and son. The son was an obvious attempt at a set-up. Like that hadn’t happened before. His name was Tristan Greer. She’d covered a laugh with her hand when she’d heard that. Pompous and lame.

“I’m glad you left your surly goth look at home,” her mother told her.

They were standing in the kitchen and the guests would be there soon. They’d have drinks and talk boring talk before moving from the massive living area, with its expensive paintings, to the formal dining room.

Iris looked down at her black-and-white-print skirt. It was full, and it covered her well. No slutty stuff tonight. On her feet were black Mary Janes. Her top was red and sleeveless, with a neckline that allowed her to lean forward and flash some boob if she got the notion.

Lifting a cracker with caviar taken from some poor Russian fish, she paused with the black eggs on the way to her mouth, saying, “I gave up goth years ago.” She smiled at the server as if they shared a joke between them. And they did. They both knew her mother was obnoxious, and the money she’d spent on tonight’s dinner could probably put the guy’s kids through college. It was shameful. The server looked nervous and didn’t smile back.

Thirty minutes later, their guests arrived sans the potential mate, Tristan.

“He’s coming later,” Tristan’s mother explained as she passed her coat to Iris’s father.

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