The Corpse With the Golden Nose by Cathy Ace Page B

on a bit about return on investment and brand building . . . if I have to talk about anything to do with marketing at all. After all, it’s unlikely, right? I mean, we’re both going to be trying to direct our conversations towards possible motives, opportunities, and all that. Right? ”
    Bud shifted uncomfortably.
    â€œCome on, Bud. That’s why we’re here. That’s why we’ve come. Well, Annette’s death, and the food, of course.”
    â€œDiet on the back-burner this weekend?” he asked.
    I patted my tummy. “I’ll start again on Tuesday.”
    â€œGood luck with that.” He smiled indulgently.
    I dragged my thoughts away from the long days filled with little more than Greek yogurt and lettuce that I’d have to endure for weeks to make up for my forthcoming indulgences, and refocused on the matter at hand.
    â€œListen, Bud, about Ellen’s notes: the physical descriptions and the factual backgrounds—you know, who does what and lives where—might be useful, but I don’t think we should rely on any of the character assessments she’s written. Maybe I should just call them what they are—character assassinations . People might not have had a bad word to say about her dead sister, but she sure as hell has a lot of bad things to say about everyone we’re about to meet. Something I didn’t have a chance to comment upon before we got here was that she says nothing at all about Annette in the notes, other than, as I just mentioned, that no one ever had a bad word to say about her. Now, if, as you say, she also told you that everyone loved Annette, I don’t quite know what she expects us—sorry, you —to do. Why would anyone want Annette dead? Well, other than this Raj Pinder, the guy who inherited half of Ellen’s family business . . .”
    I suspected that Bud was desperate to gloat, but he didn’t. “Yes, okay, I admit it’s not looking too fruitful on the motive front yet,” I continued, “but it’s early days yet, right? Maybe we’ll meet someone with clear homicidal tendencies at the party tonight. I really do want to clean up, and I’ll need to take my time getting ready. First impressions are so important.”
    â€œYep, me too. I could do with a long, hot shower, to ease the stiffness in my legs and back a bit. In my own shower, of course, in my very own bathroom!” He smiled. Naughtily. “You got all that, eh? The separate rooms?”
    â€œYes, Bud. Hence repressed !” The question of rooms, and sharing, hadn’t even crossed my mind until Ellen had mentioned it. The weekend was about food, wine and probable murder, in that order.
    â€œI’m fine with separate rooms. Then I can take as much time in the bathroom as I like. Okay with you?” I asked. Bud nodded, still grinning wickedly. “You’d better come across the corridor and get your bag, if that’s where it is. Then I can jump in the shower and get ready for this thing we’re going to tonight.”
    As soon as Bud had left, I brushed my teeth, twice, and gargled with Listerine until my eyes watered. It was the only alternative to having a cigarette, which wasn’t an option, because Bud had made me promise I wouldn’t smoke all weekend.
    Finally, my fussing and primping, which seemed to take forever, was done, and Bud knocked on my door at five-twenty-five, with a warm smile on his face, and his arms open wide.
    â€œYou smell good,” he said, reaching out to hug me.
    â€œYou too,” I replied, as I tried not to get lipstick on his jacket or my hair caught under his arms.
    He looked very handsome in his dark navy suit, crisp white shirt, and red and gold striped tie. In an effort to be more dressy I’d decided to keep my hair down, rather than tied back, which is my normal thing. I’d done my best with curling tongs, half a container of