Murder with a Twist by Tracy Kiely

appeared that his interest was more than professional. I nudged Daphne. “Who’s that with Toby?” I asked, indicating the woman.
    Daphne looked over to where Toby was sitting. Her expression registered surprise. “Of all the … he’s out with her ?”
    “Yes, but who is she?” I pressed.
    “Susan Henkley. She’s a broker. I can’t stand her.”
    I looked back at the woman. Once you got past the red lips, the rest of the package came into focus. She had the wiry build of someone who takes their workouts seriously. Her light brown hair hung in a pin-straight curtain halfway down her back. Her face was not unattractive; it was symmetrical with high cheekbones and a straight nose. But there was also an intensity to it that was a little off-putting. I watched as Susan leaned over and whispered something in Toby’s ear. Toby laughed and put his hand on her back.
    “I guess Toby doesn’t share your opinion,” I said.
    “I guess so,” Daphne agreed.
    _____
    It was well after midnight when we returned to our hotel and even later than that when the phone rang. I fumbled for the light before lifting the receiver. “Hello?” I mumbled.
    The voice was gruff and to the point. “Do yourself a favor,” it said, “and go back to L.A. before you get your other pretty leg shot up.” With that the line went dead, which was fine by me. It didn’t seem like it was going to be a good conversation anyway.
    “Who was that?” Nigel asked, as I turned off the light.
    “ The Ladies Home Journal ,” I replied. “You’ve been selected to receive a free trial subscription.”
    “Tell them no thanks,” Nigel said as he pulled me close. “Their centerfolds are terrible.”

eighteen
    The next evening found us at Max and Olive’s apartment for their annual “Christmas Cocktail Coterie.” It’s almost as intolerable as its name. However, Nigel’s parents, Doris and Paul, were going to be there, so Nigel and I agreed to go as well. While Paul had learned to tune out his sister, Doris could only take Olive in small doses. As a result, Doris had taken up smoking when visiting. It enabled her to politely disengage when tolerance ran out.
    By the time we arrived, the party was in full swing. Joe answered our knock, his expression stoic. Behind him, the room was packed with men and women, all of a certain age, race, and income. A woman wearing a low-cut, black velvet dress was loudly singing along to Dean Martin’s rendition of “Marshmallow World”. It was not readily apparent why she was crying. Two men in dark suits were noisily comparing their stock options while downing martinis. Another woman was shouting into her cell phone at her children to go to sleep. My initial reaction, to quietly leave, was thwarted by the sudden appearance of Olive. She greeted me warmly; proof that the cocktail in her hand was not her first.
    “Nicole!” she cried. “How lovely to see you. You should wear green more often, dear. It brings out your eyes.” Turning to Nigel she said, “Nigel, dear, is it me or do you get more handsome with every passing day?”
    Nigel laughed. “It’s not you, darling. Don’t be silly. Are my parents here?”
    Olive nodded. “Your father is in there somewhere talking to Max. Your mother is out on the balcony. Again .” Her nose crinkled with disapproval. “It’s such a nasty habit. And so disruptive. It seems like every time we start talking, she has to duck out for a cigarette.”
    As Nigel went to search for his father, a task made easier with Skippy to part the crowd, I went out onto the balcony and joined Doris. In her younger days, she had studied ballet. With her tall, graceful frame, and auburn hair pulled back into a bun, she looked as if she still did. Seeing me, she smiled and waved. “Nic! Thank God. We’ve only been here an hour, and I’m already on my third cigarette.”
    “I’m supposed to tell you that it’s a nasty habit.”
    “So is telling your sister-in-law to put a sock in