Murder in the Aisles Read Online Free Page B

shoulder and chin.
    â€œIf it’s not Elizabeth Taylor in name only,” she said.
    â€œVery funny, old joke,” Liz responded.
    Felicia teased about her name for as long as she could remember and Elizabeth wouldn’t hesitate to remind her there wasn’t a night that she went to sleep and didn’t curse her parents for saddling her with the name of the movie icon and wife of too many, which may account for her own lousy track record with men.
    â€œEnough of the pleasantries,” she said to her best friend. “Word on the street is that something untoward happened in the hallowed hall of books. What’s up?”
    Felicia cringed. News certainly traveled fast. But she should have known that Liz, being in the world of television, would have heard something. She sighed heavily and told her friend what happened.
    â€œThat’s so awful. Are you okay?”
    â€œFine. More annoyed than anything else.”
    â€œAnnoyed? That’s an odd choice of words when one of your co-workers is found dead.”
    Felicia knew that Elizabeth thought she was borderline obsessive when it came to her work and that damned library. She often told Felicia that she acted as if she was the guardian of the Holy Grail instead of a bunch of books.
    â€œI didn’t mean it that way.”
    â€œDo explain.”
    â€œI can’t right now and I’d rather not over the phone,” she said, suddenly lowering her voice.
    â€œWhat’s going on?”
    â€œLet’s meet after work.”
    â€œSure. I get off around six.”
    â€œI’ll meet you in Georgetown at the Meridian.” It was their favorite after-work spot. The drinks were inexpensive but strong, and the food was delicious. Plus, if they got really lucky the live band would drown out conversation.
    â€œSee you then,” Liz said. “Gotta run.”
    Felicia hung up the phone. She swiveled her chair toward her computer and opened the files marked “PD Egypt.” For the rest of the morning she continued to compile data just as if Paul Dresden was still around. She was totally immersed in an article that she’d discovered when Emily poked her head in.
    â€œHey,” she said.
    Felicia looked up from the journals and notes in front of her. She rubbed her eyes with the pads of her fingers. “Hey.”
    Emily stepped inside. Emily Windsor was, well for lack of a better term, homely. Her fire-red hair was always frizzy and she was constantly running her hands over it to control it. The splash of freckles across her pug nose looked more like a rash on her unbelievably pale skin than endearing. She had an odd pear shape and the red and green flowered dress she wore did nothing to enhance her figure. However, she had the most incredible green eyes, wide and luminous, and a smile that could melt your heart.
    She closed the door with such reticence that one would have thought she believed it was made of imported crystal instead of oak. But that was typical of Emily Windsor, Felicia thought—mousey and unassuming—but a damned good researcher.
    Emily cleared her throat and folded her hands demurely in front of her. “I uh, didn’t want to bother you but I, uh, wanted to check on you and see how you were doing.”
    Felicia nodded. She was clueless as to what else she could possibly say about this horrid situation to the stream of concerned but mostly curious staffers who had intermittently come through her door throughout the morning. And since she certainly couldn’t say what was really on her mind, she’d opted for a sad smile.
    â€œI know this may sound insensitive but what did you, uh, see when you, uh, found him?”
    The average person would have flinched when being asked to recall the experience of finding the dead body of their colleague first thing in the morning. Most would have been too shaken to go on with their day. But Felicia was anything but average.
    She folded her