A Tale of Two Biddies Read Online Free PDF

had a feeling it was more to make me keep quiet than because she bought into what I said. “We all know Richie can be a little overemotional. Once he calms down, he’ll forget all about what happened and he’ll be as good as new.”
    “But I told you. Somebody pushed me!” Richie had a new audience, a group of well-wishers who’d come over to see how he was doing, and his lament filled the gazebo.
    “Of course, you’ve got to ask yourself how good ‘as good as new’ is,” Kate whispered, leaning my way.
    I didn’t have a chance to consider it. There was a commotion at the dock and, grateful for a break from the Richie drama, we all looked that way.
    “Well, that proves it. The storm is officially over,” Luella said. “One of the jet ferries is here from the mainland, and by the look of things . . .” She craned her neck. “Looks like lots of new visitors.”
    “Including my rock group, I bet.” I groaned. I hadn’t forgotten that the members of Guillotine would be checking in to Bea & Bees that evening; I’d just been a little too busy saving Richie’s life to care. “Chandra, can you drive me back to the B and B?”
    Chandra wasn’t listening. But then, I guess I couldn’t blame her. Like her, my attention was suddenly caught by a flurry of activity over near the cinder block building that housed the public restrooms, where a group of a dozen or so women emerged from what little protection they’d been able to find from the rain under the eaves. As near as I could tell from this distance, they were all about Chandra’s age, that is, close to fifty. You wouldn’t have known it by what they wore.
    Miniskirts.
    Leg warmers.
    Acid-washed jeans.
    Fishnet gloves.
    Shoulder pads.
    Lots and lots of shoulder pads.
    “A Madonna convention?” I asked no one in particular.
    “More like a flash mob stuck in a 1980s time machine.” Kate stepped back to watch the action. “They’re headed for the ferry.”
    Kate was right. The women ringed the dock, and when the first passengers stepped off the ferry, they started to squeal like teenagers.
    “You’re kidding me, right?” I had to raise my voice to be heard over the excited wails.
    “Guillotine has fans?”
    “Weird, 1980s fans,” Chandra pointed out.
    I pictured the posters hung all over the island to advertise the big Saturday night Bastille celebration here in the park that would feature a concert from Guillotine. In the picture, the five members of the band were dressed in faux French Revolution style. Tight trousers, shirts with puffy sleeves, hair pulled back in ponytails. None of this meshed with the eighties throwbacks jumping up and down and yelling their lungs out.
    But then, when five long-haired guys stepped off the ferry, suitcases in hand, I had to admit they didn’t exactly live up to what I’d been expecting, either.
    Kate’s expression was sour. “They’re old!”
    “And overweight,” Chandra added.
    “And my goodness, aren’t they loving the attention!”
    Luella was right. The women closed around the smiling rockers, who dropped their suitcases and offered handshakes and kisses like they were stumping for votes.
    With their groupies right behind them, Guillotine swaggered through the park.
    “I’ve got to get back home,” I said. “Luella, if you leave everything from dinner, I can come back later and help clean up.”
    She held up one hand. “No worries. I’ve got it covered.”
    By now, the five members of Guillotine were close to the gazebo. They smiled and waved, and I reconsidered my plan. If I raced home, it would only look rude when they realized they’d already seen me in the park and I’d left as soon as they arrived. I’d introduce myself, and offer them a ride.
    I stepped forward just as the guy leading the way—middle-sized, and with a round beer belly and a mullet so dark I knew there was no way the color could be natural—stepped into the circle of light thrown by a nearby lamp.
    “What the