The Potluck Club Read Online Free PDF Page B

they call you? Evie? You should taste my brisket. Could I bring one with me, next . . .”
    Before Evangeline could help herself, she’d responded, “Saturday.”
    I smiled in triumph. “At your house? What time?”
    Evangeline looked a bit like a trapped animal. Imagine . . . there she was, holding a plate of warm cinnamon rolls, poised to take one more mouth-watering bite. Poor thing. She’d even looked to her friends for support. I saw that their faces registered both shock and admiration for my cleverness. And now, in front of an audience of her peers, holding sticky buns dripping in icing, Evangeline had not been able to refuse my question.
    “Noon, and bring your brisket.”
    So that’s how I got into Evangeline’s club, which of course will soon be my club. All it’ll take is a couple of briskets and maybe a couple of slices of my mom’s daffodil cake. Yes, the daffodil cake. Heavy artillery, I know, but I’m going to need it. Donna Vesey’s been a bit standoffish so far, but she’ll get used to me. And I have to admit my gratitude to Jan. She’s just the sweetest thing. I’m sure I’ll be able to wiggle her into the club too. Some of the Potluckers weren’t so sure about me, but Jan has treated me like a long-lost friend. Yep, that Jan’s from Texas, all right. She may have lost her accent, but she still has class.
    These women may have history, but I’ve got the goods.
    The ringing of the phone interrupted my reverie. The lake being all misty, I’d decided this night to grab a blanket and sit in my rocker for a spell. What I thought was mist turned out to be a snow squall just over the lake. I moaned, thinking it was too early in the season for snow. Then again, this is wild country up here, so who knows.
    Anyway, maybe Henry was calling in from the creek to see what’s for supper besides fish. I grinned as I reached for the phone, thinking that pretty soon the lake and creek will be frozen and Henry won’t be able to fish at all. That is, unless he’s figured out a way to cut a hole in the ice. Oh, dear Lord, do people do that around here?
    “Hello?” I answered when I’d reached the phone.
    “Hi, Lisa, it’s Vonnie.”
    Ah, Evangeline’s sidekick. She’s one of the polyester gals who shared in those warm cinnamon rolls that Sunday morning in the parking lot. “Lisa, something’s come up. I’m afraid tomorrow’s club meeting is off.”
    “Off? What’s up, Vonnie?”
    “Evie has unexpected company.”
    “Really? Who?
    “I really can’t say.”
    Can’t or won’t? “Thanks for calling; you’re a darlin’.”
    “Bye, now.”
    Unexpected company? I sat down on the pink Victorian. I figured this may work to my advantage. I’d long ago figured out that leaders have to actually serve the group before they could expect to be in charge. And just think, there I sat with my mouth-watering barbecued brisket in hand. Briskets are even better than warm cinnamon rolls in terms of persuasion. This could be my first attempt to win over Evie before taking over the Potluck Club’s presidency. She’d never know what hit her.

5
    Invader, that’s
a good word for her . . .
    Clay sat at his scarred desk, pecking away on his laptop.
    From the minute Lisa Leann Lambert invaded the city limits of Summit View . . .
    “Invaded, now there’s a good word,” he said to his two gerbils, Bernstein and Woodward, who dutifully watched their owner from the cage atop the desk. There was sure to be a tug-of-war between Lisa Leann and Evangeline Benson.
    “Evangeline doesn’t take kindly to anyone treading on her beloved Potluck,” he continued the conversation with “the boys,” focusing more on Bernstein than Woodward, who was climbing into the cage’s wheel for his nightly run.
    Bernstein blinked back at him as though interested in the rest of what his owner had to say. “No one has even dared. Even Donna Vesey treads lightly. Between you and me, I wouldn’t have even thought that lady knew how