Gluten for Punishment Read Online Free PDF

on her ample bosom, with her wet fingertip and popped them in her mouth.
    “I believe it. Everyone was watching the ribbon cutting,” Bill pointed out. “Whoever
     tossed the flour bombs was behind the crowd.”
    “There were two bombs thrown,” I pointed out as I sipped my coffee. “Seems like someone
     would have turned around after the first one hit.”
    “Have you seen the photo?” Grandma Ruth asked as she reached for the pumpkin bread.
     “Seriously. I would have been too busy laughing my fanny off at the sight of Pete
     Hamm covered in flour to notice another bomb coming or even who threw it.”
    “Laughing?” I drew my eyebrows together.
    “Sure, this is a classic Charlie Chaplin prank.” Grandma smiled like the Cheshire
     cat. “Did you look at the expression on your faces?”
    I winced as she pushed the paper toward me. In the photo, my eyes were wide and dark
     against the white of my face and my mouth was in the shape of an
O
. Great. I looked like a deranged mime ready to go into battle with an oversized pair
     of scissors.
    “It’s a great picture,” Bill had the audacity to say as he leaned back against the
     red brocade settee.
    “Mike told me the story was so good that they had to print a third edition of the
     paper,” Grandma added. Mike was a friend of Grandma and the editor of the
Oiltop Times.
She winked at me. “He also said to thank you for the boost in sales.”
    “I didn’t have anything to do with that.” I waved my hand at the offending shot. “The
     last thing I care about is selling papers.”
    “It’s a great story,” Bill said. “If interesting things happened more often in Oiltop,
     the paper would be making money instead of losing it.” The man balanced a full plate
     of pastries on one fat knee, a mug of coffee on the other. He had stuffed a napkin
     in his shirtfront and currently carried an entire piece of peach pie toward his mouth
     using his bare hand. I swear I had silverware on the tray next to the plates.
    His bushy white eyebrows wiggled above his bulbous nose and sparkling green eyes.
     His bald head shone in the light of the beaded shade beside him as he, too, licked
     his fingers.
    My gaze was drawn back to the paper and the full color photo. I sighed. “I suppose
     someone in the family is blowing this picture up to couch size as we speak to use
     as a prop in the next family reunion.”
    “Wouldn’t surprise me none,” Grandma Ruth said. “We do love our practical jokes.”
    A terrible thought occurred to me. “You don’t think someone in the family . . .”
    “Oh, no, no.” Grandma reached over and patted my knee. “Of course not, we’re all proud
     of you. Besides, we know how sick gluten makes you. A stunt like that could put you
     in bed for days.”
    “Did you call Doctor Proctor?” Bill asked.
    Doc Proctor had been the family physician since I was born and was currently approaching
     seventy years old himself. I kept my shudder to myself. “I’m fine, I promise. It’s
     not like they could do anything. They don’t have shots for gluten allergies.”
    “Great, you could die in your sleep.” Grandma frowned. The freckles on her face formed
     a dark pattern when she got upset.
    “Anyone could die in her sleep,” I pointed out. “I’ll be miserable for a while, but
     as long as I’m careful I’ll get better.”
    “Maybe I should spend the night.” Grandma’s blue eyes danced. “Make sure you’re okay.
     I could bring you tea and tummy medicine.”
    I love my grandma, but she could raise the roof with her snoring. Besides, she had
     no idea how to make tea and I had to get up early to start baking. I needed sleep.
     “I’ll be fine. I promise.” I made a point of looking at the grandfather clock in the
     corner. It was nearly eleven. “Really, guys, I have to go to bed. Four A.M. comes early.”
    “Wait, do you think this was an attempt to harm our little girl?” Bill asked, completely
     ignoring my strong hint