Read A Crazy Little Thing Called Death for Free Online Page A
Authors: Nancy Martin
motorcycles—a sentence extended for his bad behavior once behind bars. When he’d finally gotten out, he’d spent a few years dabbling in his notorious family’s businesses, but eventually decided he needed to change his ways or risk going back to prison, a fate that seemed more horrible to him as he grew older.
It had been a long struggle for him, but I thought he’d finally turned his back on his criminal inclinations. He was working to disengage himself from the rest of the Abruzzo family.
“I don’t remember a fence,” I said. “Maybe it’s for security.”
He shrugged, accepting my guess. “So what’s this shindig all about? Are your distant cousins raising money for a disease or a music hall?”
“Actually, it’s a memorial service. For Penny Devine.”
He frowned. “That old actress? Sweet Penny Devine?”
“Not so sweet, if the truth be told. In private, Penny was nothing like the characters she played. Before she got into movies, she was famous for pinching her sister black-and-blue and clobbering her brother with his own electric trains. Later, she became a terror in Hollywood. She pushed Dolly Parton into a swimming pool just to show her wet T-shirt to the press.”
“How could anybody be mean to Dolly Parton?”
“Penny Devine.”
“So everybody’s here to pay their respects to an old bitch?”
“Actually, everybody’s here for quite a different reason. Secretly, they’re all hoping Penny shows up for her own funeral.”
Michael frowned. “I don’t—oh, is she the one who kept disappearing? And turning up just in time to get her picture taken?”
“After this last disappearance, she didn’t come back, though. She stayed disappeared, so her family is having her declared legally dead.”
Cocking one eyebrow, he said, “Usually the family keeps hoping their loved ones stay alive. Or is there a reason for all the rush?”
I often thought Michael would make a very good police officer, but when I once voiced that opinion, he had been offended. I said, “They’d rather have her dead, I guess. She shares ownership of a company with her brother and sister. Devine Pharmaceuticals.”
Michael whistled. “Her share of that gold mine must be worth a few shekels.”
“I imagine so, yes.”
“How are they so sure she’s really gone? They have a habeas corpus?”
“Nope.”
Michael surveyed the estate again, as if calculating its worth. I could see his mind working at various angles of the story. He asked, “Did they check her bank records to see if she’s moving money around? Credit cards to make sure she’s not staying at the Paris Ritz maybe?”
I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. “Professional interest?”
“I like to keep up on the latest techniques for disappearing.” Michael slipped his arm around my waist. “Want to run away with me? We could have, whatayacallit, an extended honeymoon?”
Abruptly, Lucy said, “There’s my mom.”
A few hundred yards away, Libby had slogged to a halt in the mud and was now using semaphore to communicate with us. Either that or she was doing an interpretive dance.
“She looks mad,” Lucy said with a sigh. “She doesn’t like you, Mick.”
“I think she’s mad at all of us.” I could read Libby’s body language from any distance. “Better run along, Lucy.”
“Don’t run with that damn sword,” Michael said. “Give it to me, Luce.”
Without a fight, Lucy magically surrendered her weapon to Michael and scampered off to her waiting mother, tutu fluttering.
We watched her go, and I said without looking at him, “A tire blew?”
With an easy motion, he pretended to use the foil as a baseball bat and took a swing at an imaginary pitch. “An accident. No big deal.”
“How much damage to your car?”
He hesitated.
“Michael—”
“It was just a bad tire.”
“You, of all people, have never had a bad tire. You maintain your cars with more attention than Barbra Streisand gives to her
It had been a long struggle for him, but I thought he’d finally turned his back on his criminal inclinations. He was working to disengage himself from the rest of the Abruzzo family.
“I don’t remember a fence,” I said. “Maybe it’s for security.”
He shrugged, accepting my guess. “So what’s this shindig all about? Are your distant cousins raising money for a disease or a music hall?”
“Actually, it’s a memorial service. For Penny Devine.”
He frowned. “That old actress? Sweet Penny Devine?”
“Not so sweet, if the truth be told. In private, Penny was nothing like the characters she played. Before she got into movies, she was famous for pinching her sister black-and-blue and clobbering her brother with his own electric trains. Later, she became a terror in Hollywood. She pushed Dolly Parton into a swimming pool just to show her wet T-shirt to the press.”
“How could anybody be mean to Dolly Parton?”
“Penny Devine.”
“So everybody’s here to pay their respects to an old bitch?”
“Actually, everybody’s here for quite a different reason. Secretly, they’re all hoping Penny shows up for her own funeral.”
Michael frowned. “I don’t—oh, is she the one who kept disappearing? And turning up just in time to get her picture taken?”
“After this last disappearance, she didn’t come back, though. She stayed disappeared, so her family is having her declared legally dead.”
Cocking one eyebrow, he said, “Usually the family keeps hoping their loved ones stay alive. Or is there a reason for all the rush?”
I often thought Michael would make a very good police officer, but when I once voiced that opinion, he had been offended. I said, “They’d rather have her dead, I guess. She shares ownership of a company with her brother and sister. Devine Pharmaceuticals.”
Michael whistled. “Her share of that gold mine must be worth a few shekels.”
“I imagine so, yes.”
“How are they so sure she’s really gone? They have a habeas corpus?”
“Nope.”
Michael surveyed the estate again, as if calculating its worth. I could see his mind working at various angles of the story. He asked, “Did they check her bank records to see if she’s moving money around? Credit cards to make sure she’s not staying at the Paris Ritz maybe?”
I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. “Professional interest?”
“I like to keep up on the latest techniques for disappearing.” Michael slipped his arm around my waist. “Want to run away with me? We could have, whatayacallit, an extended honeymoon?”
Abruptly, Lucy said, “There’s my mom.”
A few hundred yards away, Libby had slogged to a halt in the mud and was now using semaphore to communicate with us. Either that or she was doing an interpretive dance.
“She looks mad,” Lucy said with a sigh. “She doesn’t like you, Mick.”
“I think she’s mad at all of us.” I could read Libby’s body language from any distance. “Better run along, Lucy.”
“Don’t run with that damn sword,” Michael said. “Give it to me, Luce.”
Without a fight, Lucy magically surrendered her weapon to Michael and scampered off to her waiting mother, tutu fluttering.
We watched her go, and I said without looking at him, “A tire blew?”
With an easy motion, he pretended to use the foil as a baseball bat and took a swing at an imaginary pitch. “An accident. No big deal.”
“How much damage to your car?”
He hesitated.
“Michael—”
“It was just a bad tire.”
“You, of all people, have never had a bad tire. You maintain your cars with more attention than Barbra Streisand gives to her