Free How to Succeed in Murder by Margaret Dumas

died. This claustrophobic tiled room with two ledges for seating, and only one door out.
    “What’s this?” Brenda’s voice was shaky, but resolute.
    She was pointing at a large red button on the wall near the lower seating ledge.
    “A panic button?” I guessed. Could Clara have used it to call for help?
    Brenda pushed it, and we immediately heard a loud hiss as more steam came pouring out of nozzles in the walls.
    “Not a panic button,” Brenda coughed. “Can you breathe in here?”
    Not very well. I felt the ledge where Clara had hit her head, trying to keep from seeing the scene in my mind. The edge didn’t feel too sharp to me, but it was undeniably hard.
    “How slippery does it seem to you?” I tested my foot on the wet tile floor to get a sense of how easily a person might slip.
    Then I looked over to Brenda and realized what a bad idea this had been.
    I caught her just as her legs went out from under her, and half-dragged her out of there, apologizing for bringing her along in the first place and telling her we were leaving immediately.
    “No,” she said, gasping for air. “We’re staying. We came this far.” She sat on a bench and looked at the door to the steam room. “Just not…not where Clara…”
    She took a deep breath.
    “Just not in there.”
    So after taking a few moments to collect ourselves, we moved to the dry sauna instead. It was just as small and just as hot, but without the steam, and without the feeling that Clara’s ghost was watching us.
    We sat on the slatted wooden benches and didn’t say much for a while. At eleven forty-five we heard the second announcement about the gym closing.
    Brenda still looked shaky. She needed a distraction, so I blurted out the first thing that popped into my head.
    “I bought a candlestick with Simon today.”
    She blinked. “A candlestick?”
    She seemed less than impressed, but maybe it was just the circumstances. At least she sounded a little more like herself.
    “An antique French candlestick,” I elaborated.
    As a distraction, that seemed to do the trick.
    “That’s it?” she said. “An entire day’s shopping and you bought one lousy candlestick?”
    Okay, maybe it did the trick too well.
    “It isn’t lousy.” I wrapped the towel tighter. “And I made a lot of progress in figuring out what I want.”
    “Charley, I can’t believe you. I mean, I know your fear of commitment is epic—”
    “It is not!” I protested. “At least, not once I figure out what I want to commit to—look at the Rep!”
    “Well, sure, the Rep. It’s perfect for you. It’s always changing.”
    Your friends always know how to hit you with the truth.
    “What about Jack?” I countered. “I’d call getting married a commitment.”
    “Which is why I had a glimmer of hope that marrying Jack and buying the house might mean you’d grown up, but—”
    “Grown up? Since when do you have to buy custom upholstery to be grown up? What is it with you and furniture? Why do you care about—”
    “Because I want you to stay!” she yelled.
    “I am staying!” I yelled back. Then, “What?”
    She clapped a hand over her mouth.
    “Brenda, what are you talking about? Where do you think I’m going?”
    She exhaled slowly, and took a minute to do her getting-centered thing, before answering.
    “Charley, I know you weren’t crazy about the idea of buying a house, and I know you want to go away for your break. I just don’t want you to go off somewhere again and not come back. I want you to stay.”
    “Brenda, I—”
    But she was on a roll. “I want you and Jack to be happy and live here and raise babies and—”
    “Babies!” I suddenly had a hard time getting my breath. “Who said anything about—”
    “Okay! Maybe not babies right away. But I want you to have a home. I want you to have roots and be connected here. I know Jack has lived all over the place, and you—”
    “Hey, Brenda, just slow down for a minute.” The room was starting to