Read Online The Book Club Murders by Leslie Nagel - Free Book Online Page B

through glass that had been polished to manic perfection.
    The big bay doors for the fire engines were almost directly across from Old Hat. When somebody called 911 and those sirens cranked up, normal speech became impossible, even with the shop door closed.
    Worse, by far, was the emergency notification siren. About the size of a refrigerator, the siren was mounted on a 360-degree swivel platform on the roof of the Safety Building. This device, reserved for tornado warnings, air raids, alien invasions, or, rumor had it, if the Browns ever made it to a Super Bowl, was tested at high noon on the first Monday of every month. It was only a sixty-second test, but to anyone in close proximity it seemed much, much, much longer. Dogs howled. Children buried their heads in their mothers’ laps. Being closed on Mondays allowed Charley to dodge the worst of this invasive experience. But even a quarter-mile away on Hawthorn, it was loud enough to wake the dead.
    In the two hours she’d been semi-spying, she’d seen no dark blue Fords containing detectives of her acquaintance arriving or leaving. Conclusion? Marc remained blissfully unaware of their little field trip to the scene of Serena’s murder. If Mikey had blown the whistle on them, Marc would’ve wasted no time busting her chops. And he’d have done it in person.
    As she watched, a gleaming late-model SUV pulled up to the curb. Four doors popped open and out climbed what might have been a delegation from the Agathas Book Club: Ronnie Bailey, Kitty Sizemore, Jelly Markes, and, surprisingly, Wilson Delaney. Odd, she thought, that Wilson would be included in this foursome. Well, perhaps Midge didn’t play tennis. All four women were talking at once. As they approached Old Hat, Jelly saw her and pointed. They immediately fell silent.
Hmmm.
Charley gave a little salute and backed butt-first into the shop.
    “I’m glad to see everyone.” She held the door as they filed in. “I’ve left messages for Lindy. She must be devastated. How are you all holding up?”
    The women glanced at each other. Despite the fact that they were all wearing designer tennis clothes and had presumably just finished a round of doubles, all four wore full makeup and quite a bit of jewelry. She put Kitty’s diamond earrings at a carat each. Hair was carefully coiffed. A clingy black Serena Williams microfiber dress did nothing to soften Ronnie’s skeletal thinness. In a white outfit that drained the color from her wan complexion, ash blond hair braided and pinned within an inch of its life, Wilson managed to look the most capable of the four, with impressive biceps and muscled calves. Jelly had on matching socks, wristbands, and tennis visor, all with the distinctive purple Wimbledon crest. Her two-piece ensemble flattered her chubby figure, a level of fashion artistry Charley knew didn’t come cheap.
    All in all, they appeared to be holding up remarkably well.
    “We’re all terribly upset, of course,” Ronnie said at last, sounding anything but. “I’m dropping a casserole off at the Taylors’ this afternoon. We can put you on the rotation if you like.” Her tone implied she’d be doing Charley a huge favor.
    “Rotation?” Charley had no idea what she was talking about.
    “Casserole rotation,” Wilson giggled, hands fluttering. “Supporting dear Lindy and Evan in this time of trial.” She stopped speaking abruptly, glancing nervously between Ronnie and Kitty, as if seeking their approval.
    “Oh. Right.” Charley smiled brightly. “Absolutely. Put me on the, uh, rotation.”
Casserole rotation?
It was always something with these women. Charley sighed inwardly, wondering if she’d ever stop feeling as if she were playing catch-up. Maybe she could get Lawrence to whip up a dish.
    Kitty drawled, “Actually, I’m here for a miracle, Charley. Time grows short, and I had absolutely no luck in New York. Imagine, thinking I could find vintage couture on Fifth