Free Too Rich and Too Dead by Cynthia Baxter Page B

switched on the TV, hoping to get the day's weather report and maybe some news. She liked tuning into local stations whenever she traveled, since the reports generally gave her an idea of the area's character. Here, for example, she expected storiesalong the lines of “Polarfleece shortage creates panic at Aspen area ski shops” or “Skyrocketing truffle prices send executive chefs back to the drawing board.”
    First, however, she had to decide whether to smear butter or orange marmalade on the warm, flaky croissant on her plate. She was so engrossed in making her first major decision of the day as she savored another sip of coffee that she was only half listening when she heard the handsome young anchorman somberly deliver a line that included the words “local woman,” “entrepreneur,” and “murder.”
    A local entrepreneur,
murdered?
she thought with alarm.
    Mallory immediately turned her attention to the television screen—and then felt her entire body go rigid as she saw the familiar face of Carly Cassidy Berman staring back at her.

“The most important trip you may take in life
is meeting people halfway.”
    —Henry Boye

    N o!” Mallory cried, her hand jerking so hard that coffee sloshed out of her cup. With trembling hands she set it down, then leaned forward to get a better look at the TV screen.
    “According to police, early this morning an employee discovered Berman's body at the spa she founded, Tavaci Springs,” the newscaster continued. “Berman is the creator of Rejuva-Juice, a beverage she claimed had the power to restore youth and vi tality.
    “The police are asking anyone who has any information about the murder of Carly Cassidy Berman to contact the TIPS hotline at one-eight hundred…”
    Mallory was finding it difficult to take in any more of what the newscaster said. Blood rushedthrough her temples with such ferocity that she could hardly hear, much less think straight.
    Carly Berman…
murdered?
    It just didn't make sense.
    I saw her last night! she thought, desperately struggling to make sense of the words the newscaster had just thrown at her. She can't be dead!
    Certainly not murdered!
    But slowly the meaning of what she had just learned began to sink in. Carly
was
dead. She really
had
been murdered. And the fact that Mallory had seen her only hours before was totally irrelevant.
    A feeling of the rug being pulled out from under her made Mallory dizzy. The feeling was familiar. It was the same one she'd experienced when her husband had died. The idea that the entire would could change in a split second, that her sense of order and normalcy could so quickly and dramatically be turned around…
    Desperate to know more, Mallory grabbed the remote and began clicking through the channels. But she couldn't find even a mention of the story on any of the other morning news programs. She decided it was probably because they'd all opened their broadcasts with the same story and by now had already moved on to other news.
    She slumped against the back of the chair, feeling as if all the wind had been knocked out of her. She'd barely had a chance to form the question, What should I do next? before she came up with the answer.
    I have to go back to the Bermans’ house, she thought.
    Not only was making another visit a way of paying her respects to Carly. It was the best way of following through on her natural instinct, which was to find out whatever she could about this shocking tragedy.
    Instantly energized, she catapulted out of her seat and began pulling on clothes.
    As Astrid had promised, the hotel concierge was only too happy to arrange for a rental car. In a surprisingly short time, a white Ford Escort was delivered to the hotel. Not exactly a Rolls, but it fulfilled Mallory's primary criterion: It would get her wherever she wanted to go.
    As she drove along the same bumpy dirt road she'd traveled on the night before, she was glad she'd paid enough attention that she could retrace her