More Bitter Than Death Read Online Free PDF Page A

red to her roots, which were now what I assumed was her natural brown, for about two inches, then to another three-inch fringe of platinum. It looked interesting, but I couldn’t tell whether she was doing it on purpose or just getting sloppy about color maintenance.
    I blinked. “Well, I—”
    “I mean, only if it’s cool,” she hastily added, when she saw my surprise. I realized she’d been watching me, waiting for this moment.
    “Well, we’re actually pretty full.” I saw her face go carefully blank, and she nodded. “It’s just cards, Meg. It’s just a bunch of us getting together, you know, to catch up and all. It’s nothing special.”
    “You don’t have to explain,” she said quickly. But if the look on her face was any indication, I did have to explain.
    “Honestly, Meg, it’s not like it’s the hot ticket of the social season. It’s just…friends…no big deal. I mean, we don’t even talk about work, all that much. If it was only up to me,I’d say yes, but it’s not. You understand. Maybe you and Neal will be free later for that drink?”
    She nodded, but she turned away, her jaw set. “Sure, no problem. I’ll catch you later.” Meg hurried off, even before I could say another word. I saw her find her fiancé Neal and lead him to the dance floor. He complied with a fair competence and I wondered why I should be at all surprised he could dance.
    She didn’t understand, I realized, she even thought that I was trying to keep her out of something. Well, I was, but not the way she thought. This was not some kind of Star Chamber, a sanctum sanctorum where important and discipline-changing decisions were made. It was a room of friends in their late thirties and forties trying to act like human beings.
    Shit. Well, I would have thought exactly the same thing at her age. I didn’t even know whether I’d have had the guts to ask to join the game, if I’d been in her place. But it wasn’t my decision, and it was over now.
    With a sigh, I turned and headed for the elevator banks.
     
    “Hike up your skirts, ladies, we’re entering the gates of hell,” I said, as I finished dealing the cards. Brad DuBois removed the emptied plates. “Who’s in? Carla?”
    “Wait a minute, don’t change the subject!” Scott said. “Never mind skirts! You were in your underwear ?”
    Jay Whitaker furrowed his brow. “Never mind that. Are we here to play cards or what? Chris, man, lend me twenty?” Jay ran his hand through thinning brown hair; at least he’d had the sense to cut off the damned ponytail he’d been clinging to for years, leaving the last of his misspent youth behind him. He’d been partying hard since he arrived the night before and needed a shave and a change of chinos, but that was understandable as this was as much of a vacation as he evergot: The struggling contract company he’d founded kept him digging all summer, and in the lab all winter.
    “Of course I was in my underwear,” I said. “That’s what makes the story embarrassing. What about it, Chris?” I was only asking to keep Jay on tenterhooks; it was just so funny to watch, and plus, it kept him off his game. He and I played hard in our competitions over the years.
    “I’m folding.” Chris threw down his cards in disgust. “I might as well still be at home, snowed in with Nell and the herd. Here,” he said, handing some bills to Jay, “make these last awhile this time, Jay-Bird.”
    “I’m sure that Nell would love to hear that,” I said. “Looks like lots of folks got hit by the storm on the way in last night; I noticed the crowd seemed pretty thin. What about it, Brad?”
    Bradford DuBois, occasionally known to his intimates as “Brad the Boy,” stood up, which didn’t take long. He was short, thin, brown hair curled as tight as his uptight attitude. He was one of the most phenomenally lucky archaeologists I ever met, which counts almost as much as being good, which he also was. “I’m out. Anyone want a