The Good Girl's Guide to Murder by Susan McBride

working?”
    “Yes.”
    “What about the media clips I asked you to load?”
    “Done.”
    I pretended that we hadn’t already gone through this a million times before, an Oscar-worthy performance, if I do say so myself.
    “And how about the blog?” she asked, referring to the web log where she kept in touch with her fans by posting messages daily. Okay, she didn’t actually keep in touch; one of her production assistants did, pretending to be Marilee herself.
    “It’s already generating an amazing response,” I told her. “Your fans are looking forward to seeing what goes on at this party. The e-vite you suggested was a stroke of brilliance. I’m expecting the number of hits from people wanting to catch a glimpse of you and your guests to surpass our expectations.”
    She stopped in midstride and turned around, the pinch of displeasure gone from her face. A slow smile crept across her impeccably painted mouth, and she lifted a hand, pointing a manicured finger at me. “Cissy was right. You are a genius, my dear. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
    And the six webmasters before me.
    Aw, shucks .
    I felt a blush coming on. “Well, thank you, Marilee. It’s been, um, great working here, and I think I’ve got things in good shape for my replacement.”
    “Replacement?” She narrowed her eyes. “What on earth are you talking about? I don’t want to replace you, Andy. You’re doing magnificently. You seem to understand just what I want, and I don’t have to tell you over and over a hundred times.”
    No, just ninety-nine.
    Crap .
    That’s what I’d been afraid of.
    I reminded myself to stand my ground. “Um, remember I told you when I agreed to take the job that it would only be temporary. Usually I prefer to work with nonprofits. It’s kind of a personal thing,” I tried to explain.
    But I wasn’t even sure she’d been listening.
    Her gaze shifted, her attention turned elsewhere.
    “Carson!” she screamed at someone over my shoulder, the sudden rise in her voice causing my hair to stand on end. “What the hell are you doing with my homemade foie gras? Didn’t you hear a word I said about putting it out too soon? And are those water crackers? Did I not tell you a dozen times that I wanted toast points?”
    Only a dozen?
    Without so much as an “ excusez-moi ” she whisked past me, leaving me standing there with my mouth half-open. I felt like one of the many potted palms set about, draped in twinkling lights. A mere prop for Marilee and nothing more.
    Was she coming back?
    Or had she deserted me for good?
    I wasn’t sure which to wish for.
    I stayed put for a moment, gripping my purse in one hand and looking around, watching Marilee’s staff scurry about, the men in tuxedoes with red rosebud boutonnières and the women in cocktail dresses. Marilee surely meant for their “uniforms” to convey elegance and class, but I found the effect rather funereal.
    Was it an omen, I wondered, all those people garbed in black?
    Marilee was nowhere in sight. She’d disappeared through a closed door, stomping after a fellow whose head was hairless as a cue ball.
    Poor Carson , I thought and gave him a fifty-fifty shot of having a job after tonight. Marilee went through employees faster than Hugh Hefner did bunnies.
    Carson Caruthers and I had never crossed paths, since I normally restricted my work to Marilee’s office when I had to come in. I wasn’t sure exactly what his position was beyond the fact that food was involved. All the names on the site had my brain scrambled, and the crew was so large it was hard to keep track.
    Anxiously, I tapped my shoe against the floor.
    What to do, what to do?
    I couldn’t wait for her to return, not that she would. It was closing in on twenty minutes to liftoff, and I still had to double-check the cams and the live stream on the computer. I didn’t want to find a glitch in the system after the party had begun. Then the head on Marilee’s platter would be mine