Read Online Death by Deep Dish Pie by Sharon Short - Free Book Online

wall. A musty smell to the filthy carpet. Broken light fixtures overhead.
    â€œWow,” said Charlemagne. “What a mess. Trudy told me your uncle and cousin are doing the work to get this place renovated in time for the July Fourth Breitentstrater Founder’s Day play. That’s just two weeks. You think they can—”
    â€œHush up, Charlemagne,” I said.
    We went through the double doors into the auditorium. No work had been done in there either—but that’s not what caused me to gasp.
    This was supposed to be a simple meeting of just nine people: Mrs. Beavy, the director, who’d pass out the same scripts that had been used forever to the six people who had played the six roles forever. Cornelia Hintermeister (our mayor) and her husband Rodney played the Foersthoefels; Luke and Greta Rhinegold (who own Paradise’s only motel, the Red Horse) played the Breitenstraters; Sandy Schmidt, who owns the restaurant across from my , and Terrence Jones, who taught English and drama over at Mason County East High School, played the Schmidts. Cherry Feinster (of Cherry’s Chat N Curl) was in charge of set design and props, all of which were stored out in the Hapstatters’ barn at their farm on Mud Lick Road.
    That left me. I’m in charge of costumes and PR (which means changing the date on the program each year, seeing if anyone wanted to update their ads, getting the program printed, and updating the date of the play for the same article that had always run in the Paradise Advertiser-Gazette).
    All I was supposed to have to do that night was be polite to everyone and gather up the costumes from the storage closet in the “green room” upstairs and take them back to my for any cleaning and repairs. Simple, right?
    But what I saw before me was anything but simple. The nine people that were supposed to be at this meeting were certainly there. But so were a whole bunch of other townspeople, including most of the members of the Paradise Chamber of Commerce, seated in the seats to the right of the center aisle. And about twelve young people—all dressed in black and metal—were seated to the left.
    Cletus Breitenstrater was standing on the left side of the stage, looking very happy. And Alan Breitenstrater was standing on the right side of the stage, looking very unhappy. Standing near him was Dinky (surprising, given that there was no love lost between Alan and his nephew) and another man—a mighty handsome man, I noticed right off—whom I didn’t recognize but that I guessed was Dinky’s friend Todd.
    In the middle of the stage was Trudy (and Slinky, who appeared to be gnawing at the leather choker) speaking as loudly as she could over the murmurings in the audience. There was no podium; the stage was empty except for the Breitenstraters and a toolbox on the right side of the stage.
    â€œFirst I want to thank Josie Toadfern for sponsoring my and my friends’ visit to tonight’s meeting,” she read from a paper.
    What? I hadn’t done any such thing. But Trudy’s lie didn’t bother her. She spied me as I sat down on the townspeople/chamber of commerce side (Charlemagne had gone over to the young-people-in-black side) and gave me a wave. I slunk down in my seat. Several people turned to stare at me.
    â€œYoo hoo, Josie, thank you!” Trudy hollered, before looking back at her paper. “Now, I admit I knew that my father—who is of course already an honorary member of your dear historical society and doesn’t need a sponsor—invited our dear town leaders—” did I detect sarcasm in Ms. Breitenstrater’s young voice? From the gasps in the audience, yes, yes, I did. “—to attend this meeting because he has such an important announcement to make.”
    The sarcasm peaked on the word “such.” Cletus grinned. Alan’s face grew redder. I’d heard he was on medicine for stress and high