A Soured Engagement: Delilah LaRue, #1

By Adam D. Rice

Delilah LaRue is a jinx.

 

At least, that's what her friends think. After years of crimes a little too close for comfort, this part-time sleuth has earned a terrible reputation: invite her to dinner at your peril.

 

Shut out from an engagement party, Delilah is forced to rely on backup. But will she be able to prevent a murder at arm's length?

 

"Till death do us part" may come sooner than later.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pitmix Press
• Release date: Oct 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201764036

Book preview

Chapter One

What do you mean, not invited? Delilah LaRue tightened her grip on the phone.

Just what I said.

Hang on a minute. She pressed a button. Dot, take a walk. You look tired today. There was no movement in the outer office. Now. A shadow filtered past the fogged glass.

Delilah’s finger smashed the button again. Dot, I know that was just you holding your coat up to the light. With your feet this time.

A taller shadow passed the door, joined by the click of short heels.

Right, Verna. I’m back.

Well, I don’t know what else there is to say. I just thought you’d like to know that Pearl got engaged.

... Honestly, dear, I’d like it a bit more if I had the opportunity to meet the happy couple. Sending a card isn’t exactly the same, now, is it?

I wouldn’t let you in that party for a million dollars.

But why? Delilah pleaded, running a hand through her hair. We’re old friends! We were best friends once, weren’t we? Remember when we were back at school, and your dress strap broke at that dance? Who lent you a hair ribbon to fix it?

You did.

And who used to help you study for those physics exams? It wasn’t Roberta!

You won’t believe this, but I ran into her the other day. She’s done very well for herself.

I don’t care. Delilah shook her head. Send her my best. Verna—tell me. I’m a rational, logical adult. I’m an engineer. It comes with the territory. Just tell me the reason. You owe me that.

... You’re not going to like it.

I deserve to know!

Verna sighed. You’re a jinx.

How dare you! Delilah jumped up. "You think, just because—well, I don’t! You always were superstitious, counting everything, leaving through delivery entrances. What’s any of that got to do with me? The problem is you, Verna. I hope you can see that. And I say that because I care about you."

I said you wouldn’t want to hear it. Don’t get mad at me now that the cat’s out of the bag. It’s not my fault someone always dies when you’re around.

That’s not true, Verna.

Yes, it is. It seems like, everywhere you go, Death tags along behind. I don’t blame you, of course. I don’t think you’re behind any of the murders. You’re just the catalyst.

Good, because comments like that could really damage a friendship.

So, that’s why you can’t come.

Nobody’s going to die. You’re being paranoid.

How was your vacation? Your secretary said you just got back from the Bahamas.

What does that have to do with—

It’s relevant. Answer the question, dear.

Delilah settled back into her chair. It was fine. I was only gone for a week.

... And how many people died?

She scanned a notepad. Two. Three if you count the one who died after I left. What are you getting at?

See? You’re a jinx. As far as I’m concerned, in order to set foot in my house again, you’ll have to make it three months without stumbling into a single murder.

It’s not my fault. They fall in my lap. I didn’t ask for this!

I’d accuse you of being a spy, but I don’t think you could keep a secret that long.

"That stings, Verna. I’ll have you know, I keep plenty of secrets. I work at the pleasure of the U.S. government. Well, for a contractor, anyway. What do you say to that?"

Good for you.

Delilah clicked a pen near the receiver. Let me go to the party.

You know I hate that.

The pen clicked again. I want to go.

You’re fifty-eight years old. Grow up!

... Invite me, and I’ll stop.

The line went dead.

Chapter Two

When her secretary’s shadow passed the window, Delilah slipped into the cramped waiting room. New perfume? She sneezed.

Yes, do you like it? Dot asked. Just got it over the weekend.

Sure, it’s lovely. Delilah felt a leaf on the potted plant in the corner. Was this? Does this need water or something? I don’t remember it looking like this... wilted.

I don’t know. I just noticed that myself.

It smells it, too, she thought.

It’s a beautiful day for a walk. Mrs. Cooper hung up her jacket. "Thank you for looking out for me, Ms. LaRue. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but you know, I did feel tired today. Days are getting longer, aren’t they? I suppose I don’t have enough energy built up for longer days—not yet, at least. Still used to the shorter ones."

Right. I got a call.

Did you? Dot put on her glasses, running her finger down a clipboard. Was that Mrs. Beck?

Yes, that’s right.

Was it a nice call? Dot smiled. I always enjoy getting a call from an old friend.

It was a terrible call. Delilah slumped onto the sofa. Her daughter, Pearl, is getting engaged. She was always like a daughter to me. I took her to baseball games and bought her toys and taught her how to skip stones at the lake. And, now, I can’t even congratulate her in person.

Did they move far away?

No, they live two hours from here. Dot opened a container of fish food. What are you doing with that?

... Nothing.

"You must be doing something with it. Why do you have that in your desk?"

Uh—Dot sniffed the container—smelling salts. I get dizzy sometimes.

Are you dizzy now? If you need to lie down, I can get up.

All better. Lived here for ten years, and the altitude still has a way of getting the best of me.

The altitude? In Terre Haute?

No, I mean the change. I used to live in Wyoming. You were saying?

I’m not invited, Delilah fumed. It’s because of the murders.

... There have been a lot of murders, Ms. LaRue.

I can’t help that, can I? I leave town for a work trip, and a woman falls at my feet with a knife in her back. I go to see that new movie—which, what’s the one? You know.

The romantic one?

No, no, the war one. The one where everybody dies.

Dot frowned. I’m afraid I don’t watch movies like that.

Anyway, I step up to the concession stand to get myself a box of chocolate-covered raisins, and a man keels over across the lobby with a dart in his neck—a dart! If I could stop it, I would.

Dot cleaned her glasses. What does that have to do with that girl’s engagement? Ruby.

"Pearl. Her mother said I can’t go to the party, because someone might die. I almost hope someone there has a scare—chokes on an olive or something. Nothing serious, just enough to make Verna Beck feel a twinge of guilt for slamming the door in my face. And it’s a heavy door, Dot."

You seem upset. How about I get us both a cup of coffee?

No—thank you, though. Delilah rubbed her forehead. I have an important meeting this afternoon, and I can’t have shaky hands.

That’s very wise of you, Ms. LaRue. I was just reading an article in one of my sister’s magazines. It said one of the top ways to spot a communist is if their hands are shaking.

Really?

"I’m telling you, that’s exactly what it said! If I can find it, I’ll give you the clipping. I almost threw out the coffee pot then and there."

Well, she laughed, maybe, I am a communist.

Don’t joke about that.

Delilah leaned her head against the wall, staring up at the fan. I want to go to that party, Dot.

Then, go.

No, it’ll ruin our friendship.

So, stay.

Delilah shut her eyes. Why do relationships have to be so difficult?

Oh, I know, dear, Dot said, pulling out her knitting.

Why does everything have to be a song and dance?

Yes, I agree. I like my dancing and singing kept separate. Otherwise, I never know whether to watch or listen.

... Why can’t you just go to an engagement party, regardless of whether there may or may not be a murder?

"Those are all very