Progressive Dinner Deadly Read Online Free PDF Page B

when hosting a supper club of thirty people. And especially when you provided them with alcohol, as Miles had so thoughtfully done for the hors d’oeuvres and cocktail leg of their culinary journey.
    A booming belly-laugh erupted just feet away from them. Miles looked startled. “What was that?” he breathed.
    “Georgia Simpson,” said Myrtle. She frowned. “I wonder what she’s doing here. She’s isn’t a reader. She wouldn’t have even been in book club. And it looks like she’s been drinking. I mean seriously drinking. With effort.”
    “Tippy called all the hosts to tell us to add one more person to the guest list. Apparently someone was interested in a supper club, but not a book club. I guess it must have been Georgia.”
    “So now we’ve reached a new club low,” growled Myrtle.
    The woman threw back her head and laughed her booming laugh again.
    “The epitome of genteel Bradley womanhood. Stinking drunk in acquaintances’ houses,” muttered Miles.
    “Keep it up, Miles. Don’t think she won’t hit a guy who wears glasses.”
    Miles looked somewhat affronted at this attack on his manhood.
    Georgia embodied the idea of a tough cookie, from her big hair that never moved even in high winds, to the tattoos covering her arms and legs. Her eyelashes were so heavily encrusted with mascara that her eyes stayed permanently at half-mast, giving her a kind of glowering look. She had plucked out most of her eyebrows, the better to draw in a pair in whatever theme her expression-of-the-day was in. Her hair was black on the bottom with a white-blond layer on the top. She was fond of wearing tee-shirts that sported rude sayings. Myrtle nudged Miles with her foot. “You’re gaping.”
    “She looks like a guy I was in Vietnam with,” murmured Miles in wonder as Georgia strutted over to them and grunted a greeting.
    “You know what this party needs?” Georgia asked in a grating voice.
    Miles stopped gaping and managed a look of polite interest.
    “Port-a-johns. You coulda had a couple put into your backyard, you know. Nice place, but one bathroom?”
    Miles nodded eagerly in agreement. Myrtle rolled her eyes. “Miles lives by himself, Georgia. Why would he need more than one bathroom?”
    But Georgia was already walking away. “Got to find a bathroom.”
    Myrtle looked after her, thoughtfully. “That’s the best mood I’ve seen Georgia in for a while. Parties must agree with her.”
    “You know this person?” asked Miles. He had an awe-struck note in his voice. “You—the Charles Dickens and William Butler Yeats fan. You know this Georgia creature.”
    Myrtle looked at him as though he were addled. “Of course, Miles. I taught her.”
    “Taught her!”
    “Miles, when you’re as old as I am and taught for as long as I did, you’ve taught everybody in the town between the ages of thirty-five and sixty.”
    Jill quickly joined the line behind them, peering around Myrtle at Georgia’s retreating back. This was interesting— Jill actually avoiding someone.
    Myrtle hoped Miles didn’t have anything in his medicine cabinet that he wanted to keep private.
    “Dear God,” breathed Miles, “there goes the party.”
    Myrtle craned her neck to see the front door. The inaptly-named Tiny, his looming figure filling the door frame, looked apprehensively into the room.
    “What is he doing here?” wondered Myrtle. “He’s no book club member. Or book club spouse. I’m not actually sure he’s a reader at all.”
    “He’s probably looking for a mate,” said Miles. He gloomily took a swig of his cocktail. “Now that he’s single again he’s out on the town looking for a new wife to torment.”
    “Was he ever tiny?” mused Myrtle. “I can’t actually remember a time that he was.”
    Tiny, by this time, had crammed his bulk into Miles’ living room. He’d managed to squeeze his six foot seven, three hundred pound frame into an uncomfortable-looking, shiny suit. And, somehow, forgotten his