Free The Corpse With the Golden Nose by Cathy Ace

pulling open the front door and heading off to the smoking porch as fast as my feet could take me, leaving Bud trailing behind.
    Even before I got there I was lighting up. “So,” I inhaled as I spoke, “interesting, right? A changed will, a typed suicide note with a possible fake signature. It all points to murder.”
    â€œNo, Cait, it’s a real suicide note, signed by Annette, but read by a sister who can’t forgive herself for not seeing her own sibling’s anguish. If Annette had been planning to kill herself, she might well have had the foresight to make sure that the next best vintner for the job would be bound to take it because he’d be part-owner. Besides,” he added somewhat grumpily, “look, there’s no way anyone could get up to this garage, where Ellen found her, without those nosey neighbors at the bottom of the hill seeing them approach. It’s definitely a suicide, I’m even more certain now.”
    â€œAnd I’m even more certain that it was murder,” I replied, cockily puffing toward Bud.
    â€œ Why? ” he cried. “What are you hearing or seeing that I’m not?”
    â€œWho stood to gain by her death, Bud? Ask yourself that. Not Ellen, she’s lost control of the family business. But this Raj character does. In Ellen’s notes, he’s almost the only one about whom she didn’t write a bad word. I reckon he’s trying to worm his way into her affections, and that he’s succeeding. It sounds like he’s as good as running things now—it’s all about ‘his vision.’ I don’t get the impression Ellen would argue against him if he said black was white. It’s a pretty good motive, Bud, you have to admit. He sounds dodgy to me.”
    Bud was tapping his foot. “Dodgy, eh? Is that another of your ‘technical terms?’” he sighed. “Finished that thing yet?” he asked crossly.
    â€œHey, you’re the one who used my ‘filthy habit’ to give us a chance to vent about Ellen. Don’t you go venting at me instead!”
    â€œSorry,” he said sheepishly.
    â€œMe too,” I said, puffing hard.
    Ellen emerged from the house and made her way to the waiting taxi. I ground the remains of my tiny cigarette into the sparklingly-clean ashtray that stood on the plastic table tucked beneath the roof of the porch.
    â€œTime to go?” I asked, knowing the answer.
    â€œTime to go,” replied Bud. “You’d better be sharp tonight, Cait. You know how much I value your skills, and we’ll need them all. You can read people against the notes that Ellen has given us and you can use your wonderful photographic memory to conjure up the events of the evening for us to discuss at leisure afterwards. And you can make me proud to be the man who’s bringing the best looking woman in the world to the party.” He smiled.
    â€œThanks, Bud. That’s kind of you.”
    â€œNo, it’s not ‘kind’ of me, I really mean it,” he replied abruptly.
    â€œOh, but my hair . . .”
    â€œOh, for goodness sake, shut up about your damned hair. It looks great! Just learn to accept a compliment, Cait.”
    â€œI can’t help it. I haven’t had a lot of experience at receiving them.”
    â€œWell, get used to it, or I’ll stop giving them to you.”
    I was beaten, and knew it. I sighed.
    â€œOkay. Thanks for the hair comment. Let’s just hope it stays where I’ve put it,” I sulked.
    Bud lost it. “Oh, good grief,” he tutted and began to walk away.
    â€œDon’t go, Bud. I’ll be good.” I added, “Let’s try and have a good time, even though we’re sort of working. I am looking forward to the food, after all. Is that bad of me?”
    Bud didn’t answer. Instead, he opened the door of the taxi, I wriggled my way inside, he followed, and we all set off for