Free The Good Girl's Guide to Murder by Susan McBride

going.
    Though dusk had yet to bury the setting sun, the place glowed like a house afire. The tiny trees lining the front parking lot sparkled with a million tiny lights. Garlands of flowers entwined with more of the glittering bulbs gracefully draped the deep green awning stretching forth from the front doors.
    I swung the car around, looking for an empty space, as a young man in white shirt, black vest, and bow tie ran out to greet me. Marilee even had nattily garbed valets for early birds, I mused, what with the party thirty minutes away. I was running a little later than I’d hoped, but there was still plenty of time to make sure the web cams were properly placed.
    I slowed to a stop as the fellow approached my window and motioned for me to roll it down. Perspiration clung to his freckled skin, and I smiled at him. It was Dewey, an intern from UT-Dallas who was spending the summer earning college credits as one of Marilee’s assistants. In other words, he was slave labor.
    “Hey, Andy. I’ll be happy to take care of this for ya,” he said, looking eagerly at my dusty Wrangler.
    And who was I to deny him his fun?
    Or his tip?
    “Thanks, Dew.” I put the car in Park and unbelted myself as it idled, rumbling familiarly. As he popped open the door for me, I grabbed my purse and began my less than graceful slide out, accepting his proffered arm gratefully.
    “You be careful in there,” he advised, wiping sweat from his brow with a sleeve. “It’s even stickier inside than out.”
    “Marilee’s in a foul mood again?” I dared to ask him as I tugged down the hem of my dress so it covered my thighs or a small portion thereof.
    “Let’s say, I’d rather be out here sweating.”
    “That bad?” I grimaced.
    “She already made someone cry.”
    “Who was it this time?”
    “Her daughter.” He sighed. “They had another fight. God knows what this one was about.”
    Kendall?
    The girl could be a bitch and a half, but she was still no match for Marilee.
    Poor thing .
    I swallowed hard.
    “Hope you have your thick skin on under that cute little number. Try to have a nice evening, ya hear?” Dewey said and grinned, looking pleased as punch not to be in my pretty pink shoes.
    He hopped into the Jeep quickly, and I almost dove in after him. I kept my eyes on the taillights until I saw it round the nearest bend, no doubt aiming for a bank of empty spaces around back.
    Didn’t take me but another moment of standing on asphalt, breathing the remnants of exhaust, before I sucked in my gut, gritted my teeth, and told myself that, if Marilee made anyone cry, I was leaving.
    Especially if it were me.

Chapter 6
    A couple of Marilee’s regular security guys in blue suits and watch caps were taking a lap around the building when I crossed to the front doors. A tuxedoed man I didn’t recognize stood inside, whisking the glass portals open for me as I approached. He checked my name off on his clipboard before letting me pass with a hesitant, “Um, good, um, evening.”
    As if even he didn’t believe it.
    “Lord help me,” I said under my breath as I proceeded up the wide hallway toward the soundstage, the sage green walls on either side of me filled with framed poster-sized photographs of Marilee doing various things domestic: baking, gardening, scrapbooking, decorating, and stenciling.
    There was even a shot of her in a yoga pose that had me wondering if someone hadn’t done a bit of airbrushing to get that foot behind her head. Or else she was double-jointed. I marveled at the gorgeous lighting that made Marilee look amazingly ethereal, so calm and sweet, hardly resembling the demanding diva for whom I’d been working these past two weeks.
    If only real life could be so picture-perfect.
    But even supermodels had cellulite (seriously, I read it in Cosmo ).
    If Marilee had any cottage cheese on her thighs it would soon be public knowledge, according to the rumor mill. I’d heard the buzz around the office that an