Free How to Murder a Millionaire by Nancy Martin Page A

of art galleries stood alongside an antiques shop. Next came the Delaware Fly-Fishing Company with its tattoo parlor on the second floor. I knew Michael Abruzzo ran the flyfishing business and wondered if the tattoo parlor was his, too. Which got me wondering where, exactly, he might have his own tattoo.
    I shoved that thought firmly out of my head and guided my bicycle to the post office to mail my note to Peach.
    Then I rode down a side street to the Episcopal church. Too broke to afford the local health club, I'd found a cheap alternative among the Episcopalians. I dug a lock out of my backpack and locked the bike to the rack outside the entrance to the social hall. Moments later, I was inside the stairwell and trotting down to the multipurpose room.
    "Nora!" Eli called. "You're back!"
    After the yoga class filled up, I had joined the Saturday morning exercise class at the church. Except it had turned out to be a self-defense class on steroids. Our instructor was Eli—no last name ever mentioned—recently discharged from the Israeli army and delighted to find himself instructing New Hope housewives in the techniques of Mideast commandos.
    He left the group of women warming up in the middle of the open floor and came over to greet me.
    "Of course I'm back," I said with a grin. "You didn't think I'd cake out after two classes, did you?"
    "Marcie did not return," Eli said woefully. His English was carefully enunciated. "Do you think it was the body slam I demonstrated with her?"
    "Maybe she's just late," I suggested, peeling off my windbreaker.
    "I will be more gentle today," he promised. "I think Israeli women are stronger, maybe. Not so delicate."
    "Oh, come now, Eli. Do your worst!"
    "Not to you, Nora," he said, shocked. "You are the most delicate of all."
    "That does it," I said, annoyed at being thought a weakling by too many people in less than twelve hours. "Let's get started."
    It felt great to throw punches and kick would-be assassins. I pounded the floor and shouted my lungs out with everyone else. I laughed with my partner, Denise Trebicki, a third-grade teacher with a barbed sense of humor and a wicked left jab. Eli provided us with six-foot bamboo poles that we clashed and parried with, playing Robin Hood with gusto. The exercise felt cleansing and energizing.
    When the class was over an hour later, I definitely needed a quick shower in the church's tiny locker room. Half of the class disappeared to the parking lot while the rest of us guzzled from water bottles as we took turns in the shower and freshened up.
    "Want to grab some lunch?" I asked Denise when we were both combing our hair in front of the mirror.
    "I wish I could," she said. "But my daughter's got a T-ball game. Maybe next week?"
    "Great."
    "You were red-hot today, Nora," she added, going out the door. "You gave Eli a workout."
    I drank the rest of my water and took my bicycle over to Angelina's in search of food. The brunch crowd had thinned, and the lunch patrons hadn't arrived yet. I headed to the casual side of the restaurant with its counter service and Formica-topped tables and surveyed the damage the early birds had done to the pastry case. A sole chocolate pecan muffin stood forlornly on a plate and called my name. Feeling virtuous after my workout, I splurged on a caramel mocha latte, too. Comfort food, I told myself.
    I took my snack to the next room, winding through the clutter of antiques on sale. Angelina ran a consignment shop in her casual dining room, and every horizontal surface was lined with Depression glass and enough salt shakers to outfit a chain of pancake restaurants. It was all displayed with lengths of lace and pink satin for a frilly Victorian look.
    I chose a table between the parlor fireplace and the window, perfect for admiring the view of the canal. It was still too early in the year for the throngs of New Yorkers who rushed into Bucks County on Friday evenings to stay in bed-and-breakfasts and browse the many shops