Read Online Death, Taxes, and Peach Sangria by Diane Kelly - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Diane Kelly
Ads: Link
it.” With a little help from Nick’s mother’s sangria
recipe and a mason jar of spiced Georgia peaches.
The three of us sat at my kitchen table for the next hour, drinking peach sangria
and taking turns lamenting our man problems.
“Men,” I said, shaking my head. “You can’t live with ’em, and you can’t shoot ’em.”
“You’ve shot men plenty of times,” Alicia said.
“I’ve shot at them many times,” I corrected, “but I only actually put bullets in three of them.”
I took the left nut off the first and got the other two in the leg. But don’t worry.
They totally deserved it.
When we finished off the first pitcher of sangria, I made another. Alicia drank most
of the second pitcher herself. Before Christina prepared to leave she helped me drag
Alicia and her overnight bag upstairs to my guest room.
“By the way,” Christina said as she turned at my front door to go. “Ajay and I are
planning a Halloween party at the rec room at his condos. Tell Alicia she’s invited.
And you can bring Nick.… or Brett, or … whoever.”
“Whoever” was right. With the luck Alicia and I were having, we might have to be each
other’s dates for the party.
chapter seven
Pseudocelebrities
Wednesday morning, I arrived at work only to have Viola, Lu’s gray-haired secretary,
immediately summon me to the Lobo’s office. To my surprise, I found Trish LeGrande
already seated inside. Trish was a butterscotch blonde with excessive tenacity and
enormous tits. She worked as a reporter for a local TV station and had been a thorn
in my side for several weeks now, not only because she’d put me on the spot and made
me look like an idiot on camera but also because she’d openly flirted with Brett and
inched her way into his life via volunteering for the same Habitat for Humanity project
on which he’d been installing the landscaping.
Damn! For the first time it hit me that if I told Brett I wanted to take time off from
our relationship to give things a try with Nick, he might seize the opportunity to
seize Trish. The thought of Brett with this pushy, brazen, big-breasted woman made
me sick. Brett had assured me time and time again that he had no interest in Trish,
but that could change after our talk, couldn’t it? All bets would be off then.
Ugh.
Seated next to Trish was a middle-aged man with muscular shoulders, a large black
case at his feet. I recognized him as the cameraman who’d taken footage of me putting
my foot in my mouth on a recent case against an errant minister. I fought the urge
to kick him in the shins.
Lu jerked her beehive-topped head at Trish. “Tara, you remember Trish LeGrande, right?”
How could I forget the bosomy bitch? “Sure,” I told Lu. I turned to Trish then. “Hello,
Trish.” I didn’t bother saying, Nice to see you. A lie that huge would make my nose grow to the size of an anteater’s.
Trish used to do the happy feel-good segment on the late news but had recently been
promoted to a position as a business reporter. Now it seemed she was constantly up
in my business.
Trish cocked her head and looked me up and down, her lips quirking to indicate she
was less than impressed with my poly-blend pantsuit. Hey, I wasn’t crazy about it,
either, but it’s hard to say no to a half-price sale and it wasn’t like my job required
me to dress like a supermodel. Besides, I hadn’t done laundry or made a run to the
dry cleaner’s in a while and this was one of the few clean outfits I had left. I’d
paired the suit with my cherry-red Doc Martens, my takedown shoes as I thought of
them. They had thick rubber soles that provided good traction, as well as steel toes.
Perfect for kicking or serving as a doorstop if the need arose.
Trish finally raised her eyes to mine. “Hello, Tara.”
“Trish has heard about our sweep of abusive preparers,” Lu said. “She wants to do
a piece on the issue.”
Was
recipe and a mason jar of spiced Georgia peaches.
The three of us sat at my kitchen table for the next hour, drinking peach sangria
and taking turns lamenting our man problems.
“Men,” I said, shaking my head. “You can’t live with ’em, and you can’t shoot ’em.”
“You’ve shot men plenty of times,” Alicia said.
“I’ve shot at them many times,” I corrected, “but I only actually put bullets in three of them.”
I took the left nut off the first and got the other two in the leg. But don’t worry.
They totally deserved it.
When we finished off the first pitcher of sangria, I made another. Alicia drank most
of the second pitcher herself. Before Christina prepared to leave she helped me drag
Alicia and her overnight bag upstairs to my guest room.
“By the way,” Christina said as she turned at my front door to go. “Ajay and I are
planning a Halloween party at the rec room at his condos. Tell Alicia she’s invited.
And you can bring Nick.… or Brett, or … whoever.”
“Whoever” was right. With the luck Alicia and I were having, we might have to be each
other’s dates for the party.
chapter seven
Pseudocelebrities
Wednesday morning, I arrived at work only to have Viola, Lu’s gray-haired secretary,
immediately summon me to the Lobo’s office. To my surprise, I found Trish LeGrande
already seated inside. Trish was a butterscotch blonde with excessive tenacity and
enormous tits. She worked as a reporter for a local TV station and had been a thorn
in my side for several weeks now, not only because she’d put me on the spot and made
me look like an idiot on camera but also because she’d openly flirted with Brett and
inched her way into his life via volunteering for the same Habitat for Humanity project
on which he’d been installing the landscaping.
Damn! For the first time it hit me that if I told Brett I wanted to take time off from
our relationship to give things a try with Nick, he might seize the opportunity to
seize Trish. The thought of Brett with this pushy, brazen, big-breasted woman made
me sick. Brett had assured me time and time again that he had no interest in Trish,
but that could change after our talk, couldn’t it? All bets would be off then.
Ugh.
Seated next to Trish was a middle-aged man with muscular shoulders, a large black
case at his feet. I recognized him as the cameraman who’d taken footage of me putting
my foot in my mouth on a recent case against an errant minister. I fought the urge
to kick him in the shins.
Lu jerked her beehive-topped head at Trish. “Tara, you remember Trish LeGrande, right?”
How could I forget the bosomy bitch? “Sure,” I told Lu. I turned to Trish then. “Hello,
Trish.” I didn’t bother saying, Nice to see you. A lie that huge would make my nose grow to the size of an anteater’s.
Trish used to do the happy feel-good segment on the late news but had recently been
promoted to a position as a business reporter. Now it seemed she was constantly up
in my business.
Trish cocked her head and looked me up and down, her lips quirking to indicate she
was less than impressed with my poly-blend pantsuit. Hey, I wasn’t crazy about it,
either, but it’s hard to say no to a half-price sale and it wasn’t like my job required
me to dress like a supermodel. Besides, I hadn’t done laundry or made a run to the
dry cleaner’s in a while and this was one of the few clean outfits I had left. I’d
paired the suit with my cherry-red Doc Martens, my takedown shoes as I thought of
them. They had thick rubber soles that provided good traction, as well as steel toes.
Perfect for kicking or serving as a doorstop if the need arose.
Trish finally raised her eyes to mine. “Hello, Tara.”
“Trish has heard about our sweep of abusive preparers,” Lu said. “She wants to do
a piece on the issue.”
Was
Similar Books
