Free A Killer in the Rye by Delia Rosen

evolved into a shoulder-shrugging sigh. “Don’t worry about anything here. I’ll keep Goofus and Gallant from killing each other.”
    I kissed Thom on the ear, embarrassing us both. I got my purse, made sure I had my keys, and headed for the door.
    â€œNash, wait!”
    Dani came almost skipping from behind the counter. “I forgot to tell you something.”
    â€œWhat?” My bowels tightened.
    â€œI made a Facebook page for Murray’s Deli last night!”
    â€œWonderful.”
    â€œIt is!” she said, wigwagging her cell phone. “We’ve got two hundred forty friends already! I just checked! That’s two hundred twenty-one more than the I-Heart-Kosher page I started the day before.”
    I smiled. That was just wonderful.
    I was still smiling stupidly as I left.

Chapter 7
    I was headed to Hendersonville, which was more exquisite than a fresh box of chocolates on a lonely Valentine’s Day.
    Only about twenty minutes from downtown, each sprawling house was more stunning than the last. I snaked through the curves of the exclusive neighborhood, craning and dipping my head to take in the view of each rural palace as I rolled by. I was overwhelmed by the mansions, the giant trees, and the smaller ornamental flowering cherries, trident maples, and redbuds. There were also fountains, dogs running loose in unfenced yards, driveways as long as runways, ponds, lakes, and four-car garages. No wonder country music stars chose to live in this lofty yet reclusive enclave.
    As did the Nashville National’ s Robert Reid.
    When I rolled up to the Dale Avenue estate—I’d gotten the address from the work order for Sunday’s bash—I started to wish I’d called ahead. There were a number of cars in the driveway. His or guests’?
    What the hell, I thought. If I didn’t get any alone time to apologize for snapping at him the day before, I could always say I was here to check the venue before the event.
    Robert’s house was a three-story, Tudor-looking mansion, the kind where you could see the timbering-wood beams from the outside and every part of the residence had a giant thatched triangle roof feel to it. Overhanging floors, pillared porches, and a spiraling brick chimney sticking out of every wing. Lush foliage clung to the exterior, and flower gardens lined the stone path leading up to the brick-embossed, stained-glass entrance, which was big enough to comfortably accommodate a giant.
    I didn’t dare pull in the driveway. That would leave me no quick exit, as if the driveway were the tongue of this massive beast that would never let me escape should I lose my nerve. I parked my car along the street and started the long walk to his front door. The sun filtered through the surrounding trees, bright, dark, bright, dark, like an old nickelodeon slowly turning. The whole thing was like a dream. The killing, my being here, my being divorced, my dad and uncle gone, me being alone.
    Stop that! I yelled inside.
    A few stone steps away from where I was, the real house steps began, winding up like the grand staircase of Tara. It was all light now, no shade, no darkness.
    â€œGwen!”
    I froze.
    â€œGwen?”
    I looked around—left, right, behind. Of course, the speaker was standing in front of me, at the open door of the mansion. It was Robert Reid.
    â€œHi!” I said.
    â€œHi. Security camera saw you. Did I forget that you were coming?”
    â€œNope,” I replied. “I, uh . . . I just thought I’d check the place out before tomorrow. Get the lay of the land.”
    â€œAha.” Robert was still a little bewildered but congenial. He was wearing a baby blue, lightweight V-neck sweater, his sleeves partially pushed up, and khakis, with no shoes or socks on. His moderately tan skin accented his short, slick golden brown hair.
    â€œActually, that isn’t entirely true,” I said.
    â€œOh?”
    â€œNo.” I