Read Murder at the Bellamy Mansion for Free Online Page B

going to snatch that hair stylist bald,” Jon whispered to me.
    “ Don’t say a word,” I warned him.
    Jon and Cam continued to stare. “I’m not sure . . .” Cam started to say.
    But Melanie had not risen to the status of billion-dollar producer by insulting her clients. Her smile broadened and her tone became as syrupy as a bottle of Aunt Jemima’s own when she said, “You look gorgeous, Candi. The style and color suit you.”
    “ Oh, do you really think so, Melanie? Because your opinion is most critical to me. These other women,” and her shallow arm rake indicated the bevy of well-turned out women who were her guests, “what do they know about style?”
    Only those who know Melanie as well as Jon, Cam, and I could spot her fake smile – a smile that had been practiced endlessly in front of a mirror during her pageant days. Or detect that the syrup in her voice would soon harden to rock. Oh, Candi would pay dearly for this lapse in judgment, and she would pay big, in big bucks.
    “ Come on, Melanie,” Candi whined, catching Melanie’s hand. “I want you to meet some very important people.”
    But Melanie withdrew her hand and said, “Show us to the powder room first, Candi. I’m a little windblown.”
    And as Candi motioned to an attendant who scurried forward rapidly, Melanie grabbed my arm. “Come on, Shug, let’s go comb our hair.”
    Candi instructed the attendant to show us to the day head, then without so much as a greeting to me, or a glance at Jon and Cam, she turned on her heel to mingle with other, more important guests than we.
     
    Inside the day head, it was my turn to screech. “Oh my god, Melanie,” I cried, as I ran my hand over the smooth cream-colored lavatory basin and counter top.
    “ What?” Melanie asked distractedly, gazing at herself in the mirror, and plumping up her waves and curls. “Now I’ll have to get a new do,” she groaned. “The nerve of that skinny-assed skank.”
    “ Oh, Melanie, forget it. She looks ridiculous. Anyone can see how silly she is. Do you know what this is?” I asked with alarm, my palm caressing the sink bowl, my voice as high-pitched as Candi’s.
    “ Wait till I get my hands around the neck of that hair stylist,” Melanie threatened. “How dare she duplicate my style and color on that . . . pompous creature.”
    “ Melanie,” I cried, “forget the hair. This is ivory! Ivory! They’ve made a sink bowl out of ivory. Now we know why this yacht was built in Hong Kong. There’s no American company that would commit such a sin. Why there are laws against the importing and sale of ivory.”
    “ What?” Melanie said, still fingering her hair with a repulsed expression on her face.
    “ Ivory, Melanie. Ivory. Forget your hair. Some poacher shot an elephant just so that . . . what did you call her? . . . that skinny-assed skank? She does have the figure of a pre-pubescent eleven year old, doesn’t she? Anyway, listen to me. Those elephants suffer. They are left to bleed to death after the poachers hack off their tusks.”
    Melanie stared at me, an expression of horror on her face.
    “ Oh, Melanie, dump that dreadful woman. You don’t need her. You’re the best realtor in this town. Everyone knows that.”
    Melanie redirected her focus to the sink bowl. “Are you sure it’s ivory? Maybe it’s something else. Corian?”
    “ No, it’s ivory all right.”
    “ I saw a show on the Nature Channel about how the poachers bring down elephants. I detest anyone who is cruel to animals or who profits from the cruelty. And also those who support those miserable . . . miserable . . . If that selfish bitch has outfitted her yacht with illegal exotic materials, well, I’m going to stick it to her good. She is going to pay, and pay big time. I’m going to make her suffer just like that elephant suffered.”
    “ What do you have in mind?” I asked.
    “ I haven’t figured that out yet. But it is going to be good, and I’m going to make the