Elaine Viets & Victoria Laurie, Nancy Martin, Denise Swanson - Drop-Dead Blonde (v5.0) (pdf) by Unknown (howl and other poems .TXT) 📕

about her safety pushing me to come down and find her. We told our story together, then separately, then together again, and Stokes finally seemed satisfied that we had nothing to do with the actual murder.

In between sessions with Detective Stokes, the paramed- ics attended to Millicent, advising the elderly woman that, given her age and the extent of her shock, a trip to the hospital might be in order. Millicent staunchly refused, and eventually got snippy when they kept insisting she con- sider it.

``I'm perfectly fine, just a little shaken. In my seventy- three years I've seen car accidents just as terrible. I didn't need to go to the hospital then, and I'm not going now, so you two can just run along and go treat someone who's really in need of your services, thank you very much!''

By this time other hotel guests, who had awoken to the noise of police and ambulance sirens were beginning to crowd into the lobby. One by one each guest was ques- tioned by the county sheriffs. While the procession of possi- ble suspects, witnesses, and bystanders crowded into the lobby, I sat with Millicent on the couch and watched the crime scene technicians file in and disappear behind the pool door. As we watched law enforcement work the scene, we were able to pick up little tidbits of information as snatches of conversations floated over to us.

Things like, ``. . . vic suffered multiple stab wounds and has been dead at least four hours, putting approximate time of death between midnight and one-thirty A.M. . . .'' and ``. . . crime scene in line with someone who knew their killer, evidence of a struggle present . . .'' and finally, ``. . . several witnesses claim the vic had a real knock-down, drag-out fight with one of the other hotel guests, someone named Deirdre Pendleton, earlier in the evening . . .'' floated over to our hungry ears.

Eventually, the bustle died down, and by seven A.M. the crime scene technicians were packing up and Celeste's body, cloaked underneath a maroon-colored blanket, was 294 Victoria Laurie wheeled out through the lobby and out a side handicap door.

Millicent and I got up as the coroner's van wheeled out of the parking lot, and together we walked tiredly over to the elevators. I was so drained and exhausted I could have slept for a month, but as luck would have it, at that moment Cat walked out of the elevator and right into us, nixing my opportunity for a little R & R.

``Abby! I've been looking for you everywhere. Did you hear there was a murder here last night?''

Twenty minutes later I was still no closer to going to bed, as Cat insisted we tell her everything, detail by detail . . . again. As Millicent was recounting the ordeal for the sixth time she was suddenly struck dumb when the handcuffed figure of Deirdre Pendleton, escorted by two deputies, passed by us on the way to the revolving front door.

Collectively we each uttered a gasp as Deirdre's bent frame shuffled past; her head bowed and her long wavy hair hiding her shamed face as she walked woodenly beside the officers escorting her to an awaiting police cruiser. As one we each turned and mouthed, Oh, my God!

``Deirdre murdered Celeste?'' Cat gasped.

My left side instantly felt thick and heavy--my intuition wasn't buying it.

``I knew it!'' Millicent added, ``The way she attacked Ce- leste yesterday, of course she was mad enough to finish the job!''

Again my left side felt thick and heavy. ``I don't know . . .'' I said thoughtfully as we all watched a deputy duck Deirdre's head into the waiting county car.

``Oh, come on, Abby!'' Cat insisted, ``Of course she did it. Celeste practically ruined her career last night. The woman will never get another book deal, and Celeste had threatened to go public about what a sham Deirdre was.''

``Yeah,'' I said, still uneasy, ``I know she's the obvious choice here, but I'm just not buying it. My intuition says it wasn't her.''

Millicent darted a look at me, interest lighting up her features. ``You mean your psychic sense can tell she didn't do it?''

I thought about that for a moment and nodded my head. ``Yeah, that's right. My intuition says that it wasn't Deirdre. BLIND SIGHTED 295 In fact,'' I added as I shifted into psychic mode for a mo- ment, ``my intuition is screaming that there was more than one killer. I keep seeing the number two, so my guess is that one lured her down to the deck, and the other stabbed her to death.''

``Deirdre and her manager!'' Cat said, excited to put the pieces together.

``Yes!'' Millicent hurried, catching on to Cat's excite- ment. ``It makes perfect sense!''

One skeptical eyebrow shot upward as I gave both women an unconvinced look. ``Ladies, ladies . . .'' I began, trying to insert a little reason into the lynch mob forming in front of me. ``Listen, I think it's fairly safe to say that at this point we don't know who did it, and I believe it's best if we let the police handle--''

``Oh, Abby, grow up,'' my sister interrupted, swatting away my good reasoning with a small condescending flick of her hand.

``Excuse me?'' I asked, offended.

``You know very well the police aren't interested in any- thing that's going to involve work, and since Deirdre is the most obvious suspect, it's clear they'll focus on her to make the murder stick. And if she didn't do it . . . well, I think we should absolutely devote the rest of our stay here to helping them discover who did.''

I ogled my sister for a full ten seconds. She couldn't be serious. ``Are you crazy?'' I finally spat, looking to Milli- cent for support, only to find her excitedly nodding