Killer WASPs (30 page)

Authors: Amy Korman

BOOK: Killer WASPs

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O
N THE MORNING
of Holly’s housewarming—which was also Holly and Howard’s Getting-Back-Together
Party—my cell phone rang as Waffles and I were finishing up with some customers.
It was the Thursday after Mariellen had tried to kill me and the Bests, and in the
interim, I’d finally had a chance to go to the antiques markets and restock the store
with some pretty new chairs, tables, silver, and framed prints. It was almost lunchtime
now, and I’d been waiting for this call all morning: It was George, who was with the
Bests at the jewelry auction in New York.

“We’re all done here,” he said in a jaunty, triumphant tone. “I just stepped outside
with the Bests to call you. They wanted you to be the first to know that the ring
sold to an anonymous buyer.” I could hear car horns honking, bus gears crashing, and
other New York City ambient noise around him.

“And I’m bringing the Bests home now,” George continued. “With their check for $2.8
million.”

W
HEN
J
OHN, THE
Bests, and I got to Holly’s house that night at seven-thirty, a reggae band was playing
over by the pool, delicious Italian aromas were wafting from several catering trucks
parked behind her garage, and as soon as we rounded the corner, it was apparent that
the Colketts had gone absolutely nuts with roses, hydrangeas, and ranunculus, all
in varying shades of pink, and had set up about a thousand votive candles along the
pool. Flowers floated on the pool’s surface, and the Colketts had brought in dozens
of pink cotton embroidered pillows, which covered every available lounge chair and
chaise. There were Indian-print pink tablecloths thrown over cocktail tables, and
a candlelit bar at the side of the pool, and a buffet of crusty bread, cheeses, olives,
and—my stomach leaped with joy—shrimp! The food, of course, was catered by Gianni.

“What a spread!” said Jimmy admiringly. “Now that we’re rich, we should throw a shindig
like this.”

“We aren’t rich,” said Hugh admonishingly. “We have to pay a percentage to Sotheby’s,
and the house is going to need a ton of repairs, and then there are taxes—”

“Can’t you enjoy one fucking thing in life?” shouted Jimmy. “I told you, go ahead
and get the condo in Florida! Now leave me alone. I’m getting a drink.”

“You two are so cute,” Holly said, floating over in a white silk minidress. “Still
bickering. It’s like me and Howard. We fight, but we adore each other.”

“I don’t think it’s the same kind of relationship,” Jimmy informed her grumpily, heading
for the bar.

I looked around but didn’t see Howard anywhere. In the week since Howard and Holly
had reconciled, Joe had taken his former guest room and swiftly turned it into a specially
vented, cigar lounge/media center for Howard. It was now painted a glossy dark grey
and held leather furniture, carved bookcases, and a massive flat-screen TV. Holly
and Joe hated the room, obviously, but Howard liked it.

“Where’s Howard?” I asked Holly.

“He’s in his cave,” said Holly, with an airy wave of her hand. “Don’t worry, he’ll
be out once the steak and personally-handmade-by-Gianni gnocchi are served.” In
the candlelight, something flashed on her right hand. It was large but delicate, intricately
made, and looked familiar.

“Is that the
Bests’ ring
?” I asked her.

She nodded in a blasé way.

“Howard was the silent bidder at the auction. He got it to celebrate our not getting
divorced,” she said. “Plus he thought it would be nice for the Bests if it stayed
close to home, so he had it picked up and driven down here this afternoon. You can
borrow it anytime. It’s insured!”

“That’s amazing. I’d love to borrow it,” I told her, though honestly, I don’t think
I’d really want the responsibility of wearing that ring again. George is right. My
house and my store have flimsy locks.

“I’ll go say hi to Howard,” John told me. “He’s beaten me three times in the club
tennis tournament, but since I won this year, I’m ready to be friends with the guy.”

As John disappeared inside, Holly told me that she and Howard were heading down for
an off-season trip to Palm Beach the following week. “We’re going to meet up with
Channing and Jessica about their new restaurant. We might want to become investors,”
she said.

“Palm Beach?” shrieked a shrill, small voice behind me. “I love Palm Beach!”

Sophie and Joe stood there, holding hands, while Bootsie brought up the rear. I saw
Bootsie’s husband Will veer off to the house, doubtless headed for the man-room.

“We should go to Palm Beach, too, honey bunny,” Sophie said to Joe.

“Er, that might be fun.” Joe hesitated. “Let’s go get some cheese,” he said, steering
Sophie, in a dark purple floor-length gown that could only have been designed by
Donatella Versace, over to the food. I guess he hadn’t purged all the purple from
Sophie just yet.

“I need more information on the ring for a story in the paper,” Bootsie said to Holly,
whipping out a notepad. “In fact, I should probably wear it tonight, just so I can
write about it authoritatively.”

“Okay,” said Holly cheerfully, sliding the bauble off her right ring finger and handing
it over to Bootsie. “I need to go tell the Colketts to move the candles, because I
think Sophie’s dress just caught on fire. Joe threw his drink on it, though, so she’s
fine. Plus I just saw Honey Potts arrive.

“Oh, look, Kristin,” added Holly, as she waved to Mrs. Potts. “Mike’s here, too.”

“H
OW ARE YOU?”
said Mike, handing me a glass of wine. Since everyone else was either inside in the
cigar lounge, or helping Sophie pluck pieces of burnt hem from her dress, we were
alone by the bar.

I gulped. Mike had on a blue shirt tonight, sleeves rolled up, and looked even more
tanned and scruffed than he had when I’d last seen him at his cottage.

“I heard you had a rough time with Mrs. Merriwether,” he added. I looked at him thoughtfully.
I guess I could picture him living in the manor house at Sanderson, though he really
seemed more the cottage type.

“I’m doing great,” I said, truthfully. “Everything’s good at the store, and I think
it’s going to be a quiet summer. How are you?”

“I’m going away for a couple of months,” Mike told me, leaning against a pillar on
Holly’s patio. “You should think about visiting me. I’ll be in T—”

My ears went numb, and I stopped listening. I knew it!

I knew he’d go back to Thailand. The
Lonely Planet Guide
flashed in my mind, and I silently thanked the stars that I’d met John. Mike might
be secretly rich and smell good, but this was too much. I recovered myself, and answered
Mike.

“Thanks,” I said, “but I won’t have time to fly to Thailand this summer. Have a great
time, though.”

“No, I’m not going to Thailand,” said Mike patiently. “I’m going to
Tuscany
. For two months. Meeting with some Italian bovine breeders, and drinking some wine.
I rented a farmhouse.”

“A farmhouse in Italy?” said John, appearing at my elbow. “Hey, Mike, how’s it going?”
he said, shaking Mike’s hand. “Tuscany sounds like a great place to spend the summer,”
he added. “Maybe Kristin and I can come visit you there. I was planning to ask her
if she’d like to go Italy with me in August.”

I looked at John, surprised and pleased. I would
love
to go to Tuscany with John. Then again, I wouldn’t mind going with Mike, either.

“Toscana?” said Chef Gianni, who’d fled the sweltering food trucks, and was out in
his chef whites, mingling with guests, leaning on a cane and limping along with support
from the Olivia Munn girl from his restaurant. Apparently, he was getting over Jessica’s
departure to Palm Beach. “I too will be in Toscana this summer,” said the chef.

“Me too!” said Sophie, whose dress had been extinguished, and who looked none the
worse for wear. “I need a Versace fix. Joe and I are gonna make it over, for sure!”

“Then that’s that,” said Holly, who had appeared with Howard in tow. “Tuscany in August.
It’s the perfect place to wear my new ring. Howard and I will meet you all there.”

Stay tuned for the next installment of

the Killer WASPs Mysteries

On sale March 2015 from Witness Impulse!

About the Author

AMY KORMAN
is a former senior editor and staff writer for
Philadelphia Magazine
, and author of
Frommer’s Philadelphia and the Amish Country
. She has written for
Town & Country
,
House Beautiful
,
Men’s Health
, and
Cosmopolitan
. She lives in Pennsylvania with her family and their basset hound, Murphy.
Killer WASPs
is her first novel.

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www.AuthorTracker.com
for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of
the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.
Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead,
is entirely coincidental.

KILLER WASPS
. Copyright © 2014 by Amy Korman. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American
Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the
nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on
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system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or
hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

EPub Edition SEPTEMBER 2014 ISBN: 9780062357847

Print Edition ISBN: 9780062357854

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