find.”
Judith recalled how Renie had eaten her way through
seventy-eight dollars worth of chocolate bunnies during an
infamous Lenten season a few years earlier. Her cousin loved
Russell Stover’s chocolate almost as much as she loved
eggnog.
“I certainly hope you can quit smoking when the weight’s
off,” Judith said darkly. “God knows, it was tough for me to
give it up.” Her dark eyes strayed to the open cigarette pack
Renie had left on the counter.
“I will,” Renie said complacently. “I’ll do it for Lent.”
Judith was about to mention the chocolate bunnies when
the cousins heard a commotion in the dining room. Renie
remained in place, but Judith went to see what was going
on.
At first, she thought it was a food fight. Then she realized
that only two people were involved: A plump, pretty woman
with upswept silver hair had just thrown a handful of raddicchio salad at Margo Chang. The white wine vinegar dressing
and the hand-shredded magenta leaves clung to Margo’s flat
chest.
“Now, now,” said a jovial voice. Judith recognized the
speaker. She had seen Frank Killegrew’s picture in the
newspaper often enough to realize that he was the broadshouldered, balding man in the well-cut charcoal suit who
had a slide rule next to his place setting. “We’re steering
this ship on a steady course. Let’s not get personal, ladies,”
Killegrew urged good-naturedly.
Margo whirled on Killegrew, who was seated two places
down the table on her left. “I’m not a lady! I’m a
“You’re a slut!” the silver-haired woman shouted, plump
shoulders shaking with wrath.
“That’s kind of mean,” said a tall, lean man on the woman’s right. “Couldn’t we all sort of simmer down?”
“Why should we?” demanded a handsome woman who
looked as if she might be Samoan. “Don’t we come on these
retreats to air our differences?”
“Now, now,” Killegrew repeated, though not quite so
jovially, “we don’t have that many differences. We’re a team,
a seaworthy crew.” The gray eyes suddenly took on a steellike
quality as he gazed at the silver-haired woman. “Andrea, pull
yourself together.” His gaze shifted to Margo. “You’d better
clean up, what do you say?”
Margo said nothing, but got up from the table, threw her
napkin onto the floor, and marched past Judith to the kitchen.
Judith followed.
“Hi, Margo,” Renie said, revealing only a flicker of astonishment at the spray of salad on the other’s woman’s chest.
“How’s it going?”
Margo glared at Renie. “Terrible! Andrea Piccoloni-Roth
is such a bitch that I can hardly stand to be in the same room
