"Blanchard, Al - What Now My Love" - читать интересную книгу автора (Blanchard Al)

WHAT NOW MY LOVE?
By Al Blanchard

Clayton WentworthТs death had been ruled accidental, but William OТRourke knew it was a well-planned murder. WentworthТs young widow stood under a chandelier in the living room of her palatial estate. The soft light shimmered on her blonde hair. The black skirt and matching jacket did little to camouflage her voluptuous figure. OТRourke knew the effect she had on most men in the room. Her talk was punctuated by finger jabs and smiles. She certainly didnТt look like a woman who had buried her husband that morning. Of course, his fortune probably helped alleviate much of her grief.

OТRourke put his empty glass on a tray being carried by a tuxedoed waiter. The room where Carrie Wentworth accepted condolences was as big as his New York City apartment, a scant one mile away, and the antique furniture in the room was worth more than heТd received as an advance for his last novel.

The wine flowed and the canapщs, finger sandwiches and shrimp were almost gone. The crowd had thinned to about a dozen people. Carrie glanced at him and smiled. He wished he could stop staring. Maybe he'd put her in one of his novels. Dirt-poor farmers raised her in Kentucky. At twenty she packed her bags, moved to New York City and had a few minor successes as an actress. The tabloids linked her with a variety of lovers. After one theatrical performance sheТd met Clayton, who was thirty-two years her senior. Four years ago he'd taken her as the third Mrs. Wentworth, writing his other wives out of his will and leaving the bulk of his wealth to Carrie. If OТRourke did put her in a novel most people wouldnТt believe her good fortune.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts he wasn't aware that Adriana Evans, his editor, had moved next to him. She was dressed in a beige skirt and white blouse. OТRourke felt unkempt in his corduroy jacket by comparison.

"I haven't had time to read your latest manuscript yet," she said. "Matter of fact I'm bringing it up to the cabin in Vermont this weekend. If it's anything like your others I'm in for a good read."

William smiled, and then gulped the last of his wine. Adriana had auburn hair, green eyes, and a fine body. He was attracted to her, and at thirty-seven it was time he settled down, but Adriana wasnТt the woman he wanted.

Carrie threw her head back and laughed at something a good-looking young actor said.

Adriana leaned close to OТRourkeТs ear. "You've been skulking around for the past hour. What's going on in that devious mind of yours?"

"IТm fabricating a plot for my next novel. You know writers. We get paid to make up stories and the more mysterious the better."

"William, your imagination is superb, but I hope youТre not planning on doing a story about ClaytonТs death."

O' Rourke shrugged. "According to the police it wouldnТt be much of a story. Clayton was drunk and fell from a ladder while trying to retrieve a book in his library. Not much glamour in a broken neck."

"You saw how shaky he was at FridayТs dinner party," Adriana said. "Carrie told me he hadnТt been feeling well lately. Maybe he passed out."

William gave a half-laugh. "Or maybe he was murdered."

"Good, God, William. Is that what youТve been thinking all afternoon? It was an accident. Besides, when he was found the library door was locked from the inside."

"ItТs still possible he was killed." "How could someone pull it off? The killer would have to get past the guard at the front gate, avoid all of the surveillance cameras, turn off the alarm system and get into Clayton's locked library. Then he'd have to leave without detection."

OТRourke glanced at Carrie, who continued to talk to the young actor. Even at her husband's funeral she couldn't stop flirting. "For a shrewd killer those would be minor obstacles."

Adriana laughed shrilly. "You've written three best- selling novels and now you're an expert on murder." She shook her head and a look of amusement crossed her face. "And who would you suspect?"

"The one who had the most to gain by his death, of course."

"William, usually I find you amusing, but tonight I find your comments in very poor taste." She turned and walked quickly away.

O' Rourke refocused on Carrie. He knew her alibi. SheТd been at their Long Island house for the weekend. She arrived home, became worried when she couldnТt find her husband and called the police. TheyТd found his body sprawled on the library rug, a half empty bottle of brandy beside it. No sign of foul play. No forced entry. Open and shut. Accidental death. But that wasnТt how it happened. OТRourke rehearsed in his mind what he was going to say to Carrie when he got her alone.

A half hour later Carrie walked into the kitchen. She was standing by the sink taking out a cigarette when he approached.

"William, thank you so much for coming. When I didn't see you at the funeral this morning I was afraid you were out of town." "Are You Kidding? I wouldnТt have missed your performance for anything."

She flipped open a lighter, lit her cigarette and blew smoke into the air. If she understood the implication of what he said she ignored it. "It's been a tiring day. I just want to fall asleep. Maybe when I wake up I'll find this was all a dream and Clayton will still be alive."

"You're a very rich woman, Carrie. I imagine that youТll find a way to be happy."