Who'll Kill Agnes? Read Online Free PDF Page B

and studied her full figure attired in a tailored beige suite, and then she admired her curly, bright orange-red hair. Just like her darling Kevin. She thought of all of the famous redheads of history, especially Queen Elizabeth I, thinking that in Magnolia Creek, at least, she was just as regal . She smiled to herself. Regal was such a lovely word.
    Yes, Agnes had never felt better about her life, her family with the exception of Bernadette, her friends, and her career. All admired, adored, respected, and perhaps even feared her, but none of them could exist without her. Life was wonderful.
     
    Red-haired, freckle-faced, good-natured Kevin opened his eyes and, like his mother, gazed past the pool to her gardens. Laconically, he smiled as he fleetingly thought about the vegetation mish-mash his mother so carefully and lovingly planted. His thoughts wandered back to the pool and how good a dip would feel before dinner, a dinner prepared by Mark-er-Marcel.
    He remembered that day at the diner when Bernie had jokingly bet him that Mark could fool Agnes into believing that he was a French chef. Mark had replied that he was too well known around town, and Bernie said she bet Agnes had never seen him and had never entered The Cracked Cup. Kevin had agreed and told Mark that it was worth a try. And sure enough, Mark showed up one day at Henley House, dressed like a butler, and put on a very convincing act. His mother had been enthralled and Mark was hired.
    But, he thought to himself, what the hell? ‘Marcel’ was a damned good cook!
     
    While Agnes was admiring herself in the mirror and Kevin was looking forward to Mark-Marcel’s cuisine, downstairs in the library three of Agnes’ admirers were toasting her health.
    “Here’s to the early demise of my beloved sister,” proposed Audrey, scornfully.
    “Here, here!” concurred Lester, her husband.
    “Don’t we wish,” agreed Bernie, her daughter-in-law. She didn’t really wish it, at least not now, but this seemed to be a daily ritual and one she thoroughly enjoyed, as her mother-in-law’s anticipated opposition toward her had been worse than she had imagined. She had found it refreshing to learn that the other household members shared her dislike of Agnes.
    As they clinked their glasses, Penny, Agnes’ companion for many years, strolled into the opulently yet comfortably furnished room.
    “So you’ve begun without me again.”
    “Sorry, honey, but we couldn’t wait,” said Audrey, exhibiting her never-realized-model’s smile. “We have to fortify ourselves before dinner and we need as early a start as we can get.”
    “Sure, sure. You seem to get earlier every afternoon. And don’t try to tell me the sun has long gone down over the yardarm,” joked Penny as she mixed herself a diet cola and rum at the elaborately carved mahogany wet bar, a priceless antique purchased over a hundred years ago by Agnes and Audrey’s great-great-grandfather.
    “Well, it has somewhere,” replied Audrey caustically, “and it will soon do it here, not that we have a yardarm I don’t suppose.”
    “Just what does that mean anyway, ‘the sun over the yardarm’?” asked Bernie. “You all mention that everyday.”
    “Some kind of sailor talk, I think, about when to start drinking,” feebly explained Penny.
    Lester snorted into his drink but said nothing.
    “I really don’t think sailors need a reason to start drinking,” said Audrey.
    “And neither do we,” asserted Bernie, “as long as we live under the same roof as Mother Witch.”
    “Gee, Bernie, you usually use stronger language when referring to your beloved mother-in-law.”
    “So sorry, Penny, I guess I’m slipping. Maybe all those lectures she gives me are paying off,” she said, smiling.
    “Well, don’t worry about it. Agnes lives to lecture other people on how to live their lives,” said Audrey, “and please forgive my alliteration. Blame it on Agnes.”
    “Of course,” laughed Penny. “We blame