Member-only story
A Person of No Importance
No reason to kill
I always lie more convincingly in a red dress. Good thing I was wearing one when the police arrived. And the bloodstains! They would have been positively lurid against the cream-colored Stella McCartney cocktail dress I was this close to putting on the night before. Well, I always have been lucky. If you met me in person, you’d hate me. You really would.
You’d admire my flawless good looks, expensive clothes, and frolicsome charm. You wouldn’t be the first to go weak in the knees for my Rolls-Royce Sweptail. Oh, you thought they only made one? Officially maybe, but the world I live in is a few steps higher than exclusive. The word “no” does not exist here. Not for me.
So, as I said, you would hate me on sight. I have that effect on people. It’s not anything I do precisely, although I have done some very unpleasant things. It’s more a function of who I am: blessed from birth, incalculably rich, and someone you will never be. Life is hard. For you, I mean.
Fate deals you cataclysmic events while tossing me nothing but minor inconveniences like the one sprawled at my feet in an embarrassingly awkward position on the second most expensive rug ever sold at Sotheby’s auction house. Cagey of me to kill him on that rug, don’t you think? Only a fool would commit premeditated murder and ruin a $30…
