Read Online Sour Grapes (A Savannah Reid Mystery #6) by G. A. McKevett - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: G. A. McKevett
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of her roommate--Atlanta decided that she had enjoyed as much of Barbie's scintillating
company as she could stand. Besides, in spite of what she had said, Atlanta prided herself on usually being prompt, or at least, not scandalously late.
So she quickly wriggled into the simple, white-linen dress she had brought for the occasion, slipped on sandal, strap-around-the-ankle pumps, single-stud, rhinestone earrings, and a delicate tennis bracelet.
Barbie turned to give her a once-over. "Is that what you're wearing, Georgia?"
For half a second Atlanta felt a twinge of self-doubt. But just in time, the Reid Super Self-Confidence kicked in. She twisted slightly, until the side slit of her skirt showed a shapely expanse of thigh. "Yeah, eat your heart out, Miss Barbie." She sauntered over to the door and jerked it open. "Later," she said as stepped outside and slammed it closed behind her.
"Ah . . . a breath of fresh air. . . ," she said as she strolled down the hallway toward the gallery, with a distinct Reid sashay to her walk.
Chapter
6
rrhe moment Savannah stepped into Villa Rosa's tasting
room, she looked around, caught her breath, and grabbed the sleeve of Ryan's tuxedo.
"Whoa! Get a load of this place!" she said, "I want a living room that looks exactly like this."
Ryan laughed. "I suppose you do."
Savannah gazed about, awestruck, taking in the enormous room with its twenty-five-foot-high, open-beamed ceiling, its old oak wainscoting, its mile-long, brightly polished, mahogany bar, and its massive stone fireplace. The carpeting beneath her feet was the deep, ruby shade of a fine Bordeaux, and when she stepped on it, she felt like she was sinking in to her ankles.
"Yeah, right," she said, giving Ryan a nudge with her elbow. "Easy for you to say. You have a living room like this. Just like this."
He grinned down at her. "Not just like this. You can't
stand up in my stone fireplace, and I don't have twenty dining tables, or forty beautiful girls and their friends and families sitting around them."
"You would, if you just crooked your finger. But then, what would you do with forty beautiful girls?"
"Precisely. And I couldn't stand to hear that much giggling. That's one thing I've always liked about John; he hardly ever giggles."
Savannah sniffed the air, fragrant with the aroma of roasted meat, herbs, and wine sauces. China, silver, and crystal gleamed in the candlelight, spread across snowy, linen-draped tables.
The "Welcome Dinner" was semiformal, and gentlemen, looking wonderfully elegant in their tuxedos, escorted the beauty contestants, their mothers, sisters, and friends, who were decked out in evening dresses made of luscious fabrics in every pastel and jewel tone
imaginable.
As usual, when hobnobbing with the rich and famous, Savannah felt a bit underdressed. Her "little black dress" was a good one, and the strand of pearls around her neck had been her Granny Reid's. But her one-and-a-half-inch, practical pumps were $15.99, and she had even waited to buy those until she'd found a 10
percent off coupon from Spend Less.
Savannah wasn't fooling anybody. . . least of all herself
She was hardy, peasant stock without a drop of aristocratic
blood in her veins. But, considering Granny
Reid was only two generations away, she considered herself
fortunate. Royalty or not, she was of noble blood.
"Mmm . . . that dinner sure smells good," she said. "I
wonder what it is." The ruined breakfast that she hadn't
Jt_l 1J IC UrIttir.GO
eaten had worn off long ago, leaving her weak with hunger.
"Whatever it is," Ryan said, "I'm sure that Mrs. Lippincott made certain it has no calories. She's scary, that one. Reminds me of a Marine drill sergeant I once knew."
Savannah looked around the room until she saw the
lady in question. A pale lavender, satin gown hadn't softened Marion Lippincott's stern appearance one bit. Although she had exchanged her sensible loafers for
two-inch heels,
company as she could stand. Besides, in spite of what she had said, Atlanta prided herself on usually being prompt, or at least, not scandalously late.
So she quickly wriggled into the simple, white-linen dress she had brought for the occasion, slipped on sandal, strap-around-the-ankle pumps, single-stud, rhinestone earrings, and a delicate tennis bracelet.
Barbie turned to give her a once-over. "Is that what you're wearing, Georgia?"
For half a second Atlanta felt a twinge of self-doubt. But just in time, the Reid Super Self-Confidence kicked in. She twisted slightly, until the side slit of her skirt showed a shapely expanse of thigh. "Yeah, eat your heart out, Miss Barbie." She sauntered over to the door and jerked it open. "Later," she said as stepped outside and slammed it closed behind her.
"Ah . . . a breath of fresh air. . . ," she said as she strolled down the hallway toward the gallery, with a distinct Reid sashay to her walk.
Chapter
6
rrhe moment Savannah stepped into Villa Rosa's tasting
room, she looked around, caught her breath, and grabbed the sleeve of Ryan's tuxedo.
"Whoa! Get a load of this place!" she said, "I want a living room that looks exactly like this."
Ryan laughed. "I suppose you do."
Savannah gazed about, awestruck, taking in the enormous room with its twenty-five-foot-high, open-beamed ceiling, its old oak wainscoting, its mile-long, brightly polished, mahogany bar, and its massive stone fireplace. The carpeting beneath her feet was the deep, ruby shade of a fine Bordeaux, and when she stepped on it, she felt like she was sinking in to her ankles.
"Yeah, right," she said, giving Ryan a nudge with her elbow. "Easy for you to say. You have a living room like this. Just like this."
He grinned down at her. "Not just like this. You can't
stand up in my stone fireplace, and I don't have twenty dining tables, or forty beautiful girls and their friends and families sitting around them."
"You would, if you just crooked your finger. But then, what would you do with forty beautiful girls?"
"Precisely. And I couldn't stand to hear that much giggling. That's one thing I've always liked about John; he hardly ever giggles."
Savannah sniffed the air, fragrant with the aroma of roasted meat, herbs, and wine sauces. China, silver, and crystal gleamed in the candlelight, spread across snowy, linen-draped tables.
The "Welcome Dinner" was semiformal, and gentlemen, looking wonderfully elegant in their tuxedos, escorted the beauty contestants, their mothers, sisters, and friends, who were decked out in evening dresses made of luscious fabrics in every pastel and jewel tone
imaginable.
As usual, when hobnobbing with the rich and famous, Savannah felt a bit underdressed. Her "little black dress" was a good one, and the strand of pearls around her neck had been her Granny Reid's. But her one-and-a-half-inch, practical pumps were $15.99, and she had even waited to buy those until she'd found a 10
percent off coupon from Spend Less.
Savannah wasn't fooling anybody. . . least of all herself
She was hardy, peasant stock without a drop of aristocratic
blood in her veins. But, considering Granny
Reid was only two generations away, she considered herself
fortunate. Royalty or not, she was of noble blood.
"Mmm . . . that dinner sure smells good," she said. "I
wonder what it is." The ruined breakfast that she hadn't
Jt_l 1J IC UrIttir.GO
eaten had worn off long ago, leaving her weak with hunger.
"Whatever it is," Ryan said, "I'm sure that Mrs. Lippincott made certain it has no calories. She's scary, that one. Reminds me of a Marine drill sergeant I once knew."
Savannah looked around the room until she saw the
lady in question. A pale lavender, satin gown hadn't softened Marion Lippincott's stern appearance one bit. Although she had exchanged her sensible loafers for
two-inch heels,
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