Read Online Kansas Troubles by Earlene Fowler - Free Book Online Page A

herself a glass and leaned against the refrigerator. “Same old stuff those two have been squabbling about for six months now. Lawrence’s daughter, Megan, works for Rob.” She paused and took a sip. “Apparently there have been quite a few nights that she’s come home late. Working overtime, she says.”
    “So?”
    “So, apparently she’s not really working overtime. Or maybe she is in a way. Rumor is she and Rob are sleeping together, and Lawrence is mad as a hornet about it.”
    “How old is Megan?”
    “Twenty-two. Certainly old enough to make her own decisions, as stupid as they might be. Heaven knows, getting involved with Rob Harlow is about the stupidest thing I can imagine any woman doing, but to tell you the truth, I think that girl’s a spoiled brat and she’s messing with Rob just to cause her parents grief. I’m surprised she isn’t here so she could enjoy this little scene firsthand. I have no idea how two people as sweet as Lawrence and Janet could produce a daughter like that.” She shook her head and dug into an open box of Ritz Crackers sitting on the counter.
    “I thought Rob and Tyler were together.”
    She held out the box of crackers. I shook my head no. “ That has never stopped Rob before. Not as long as I’ve known him, anyway,” she explained.
    We sat silently for a moment, the only sounds the murmur of the wind outside and Becky eating crackers. She set the box down and leaned her head back against the refrigerator. “I’m sorry about all this, Benni. I wanted this party to be perfect for you and Gabe.”
    “Don’t worry about it. I’m having a wonderful time,” I said. “Anyway, what’s a party without a little prehistoric male head-banging?”
    “I suppose so,” she said, still sounding miserable.
    The door to the living room swung open, and four or five chattering women poured into the kitchen, each of them clasping something in her hand. Five seconds later, Gabe followed them.
    “Here,” he said to Becky and me, reaching into his pocket. He handed each of us a white poker chip.
    “You’ve got to be kidding! Whose idea was this?” Becky said.
    “Your husband’s,” Gabe answered. “He thought it might help get everyone away from the bar and get a little exercise, burn off some of this tension. It was either this or croquet.”
    “Please, not croquet,” she moaned. “Stan gets vicious when someone hits his ball.”
    “What’s this for?” I held up the poker chip.
    Gabe glanced at his watch. “I have to join the guys back down in the basement. We’re giving you ladies twenty minutes.” He turned to me. “Becky will explain it to you. I’ll catch you later.” He leaned over and gave me a swift kiss.
    “What’s going on?” I asked. Angel and Cordie June rushed past us, laughing on their way out the back door.
    “It’s poker chip tag,” Becky said, linking her arm in mine and pulling me out after them. “We used to play it when we were teenagers. The guys give us time to hide. The object of the game is to find people and get their chips. If you’re caught, you have two choices: give up your poker chip or, if you can, persuade the person to let you keep it.”
    “And the one with the most chips at the end is the winner?” We stood in the open doorway and watched the giggling women spread out through the field behind the house.
    Becky grinned. “Well, not exactly. The best-looking guys never seemed to get anyone’s chips.” She grabbed my arm and led me around to the front of the house. “Follow me. The Christmas tree farm is always a good place to hide. I just hope Stan called Otis. He knows we’re having this party and that we get a little crazy sometimes, but he also keeps a loaded shotgun under his bed.” We wove our way through the cars and ran down her driveway.
    “Who’s Otis?” I asked, following Becky across the dirt road and up the long driveway bisecting the farm. We were surrounded by six- and seven-foot pine trees which, in