A Tale of Two Biddies Read Online Free PDF Page B

hell!”
    Behind me, I heard Richie Monroe grumble and, surprised, I turned to see what he was talking about.
    I shouldn’t have bothered. Richie was gone, so fast that he left behind that blanket Hank had brought him. It was soaking up that puddle of lake water.

3
     
    I f there was one thing I’d learned to appreciate over the last six months, it was having a routine.
    Back in New York, see, I didn’t have one at all. Sure, I worked, but I also partied and jetted from one place to another on a frantic schedule that included more work and more parties, plenty of schmoozing, and lots of stress. It was all good in its own weird way, and I’m not complaining. Working like a madwoman back then allowed me to live the life I was living now. But as exciting—and profitable—as it all was, my hectic schedule never left me with enough leisure to develop a day-to-day, make-it-a-habit, sit-back-and-enjoy routine.
    No way I would ever go without again.
    I reminded myself of all this when I grabbed my first cup of coffee on Tuesday morning and, just like I did every day, took a deep breath of sun-kissed air and headed out to the front porch for a few minutes before my guests stirred and breakfast was served at nine. From the white wicker couch with its floral pillows in shades of teal and purple that matched the colors of the house, I could watch the never-ending changes in the lake across the street, listen to the gentle whoosh of the waves against the shore, and savor these special, quiet moments.
    That day, I was fully prepared to do it all over again. After all, that’s what a routine is all about.
    I would have fallen right back into the comfortable habit if a couple things didn’t happen the moment I stepped outside.
    Number one: I caught a glimpse of the hindquarters of Jerry Garcia, Chandra’s cat, just as he leapt over the front porch railing—and out of the flower box where he’d no doubt been continuing his lowdown dirty ways by peeing on my pink geraniums.
    And number two . . .
    Well, number two left me stunned and frozen in place just outside my front door. Otherwise I would have made at least a symbolic stab at chasing Jerry and reminding him (as I did every morning) that he was one very bad pussycat.
    “There’s a guillotine on my front porch.” Yes, this was me talking to myself, but let’s face it, it’s kind of hard not to say something when you suddenly find yourself staring at a six-foot-tall instrument of death.
    I edged around the dangerous-looking thing, checking out the honed-to-a-deadly-edge blade that hung at the top and the ghastly red wooden frame that held the stocks where a victim’s head could be locked into place.
    “There’s a guillotine on your front porch.”
    When Chandra spoke from down on the front lawn, I shrieked and pressed a hand to my heart.
    “Sorry.” Her sandals slapped against the front steps. “I was just coming to say good morning and—”
    “Hey, there’s a guillotine on your front porch.”
    Out on the street, Kate beeped her car horn. Since it was a beautiful morning, she had the top down on her BMW convertible.
    “A guillotine!” As if I wasn’t capable of seeing what was three feet in front of me, Kate waved and pointed. “There’s a guillotine on your front porch!”
    I gave her the thumbs-up to make it perfectly clear that I realized this, and when she drove off, I took the time for another once-over of the guillotine.
    As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t take my eyes off the head chopper. “Coffee?” I asked Chandra.
    “I brought some tea. Japanese red glossy ganoderma.” She stuck her mug under my nose and I sniffed and made a face. “It’s great for detoxing,” Chandra said, “and I figured after what happened last night, that couldn’t hurt. I mean, at this point, the detoxing is only for me, but at least that’s a start. First me, then the rest of the island. I need to find a way to dissipate the prevailing aura.”
    It wasn’t easy,