A Midsummer Night's Romp by Katie MacAlister Read Free Book Online Page A

anything wrong.”
    â€œYou implied that Lorina has a bladder that can’t make it through the night, and that, my dear, is insulting.”
    â€œIt also happens to be true,” I intervened with a smile at Cressy, who sighed in relief, and plunged into the tent to arrange her air mattress and belongings.
    Salma looked vaguely distressed. “Regardless, Cressida should learn when things should be spoken, and when they should be confined only to thought.”
    I tossed in my suitcase and shoved the bag with the extra camera equipment next to my air mattress, which Cressy was thoughtfully inflating for me. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not in the least bit offended. . . . Oh, hello.”
    The woman who leaned her head into the tent was one of the diggers. I wasn’t quite sure of her name, but thought it was Florence. “I’ve been asked to tell you that Roger would like you to go to his caravan. He said something about wanting to discuss a project with you.”
    â€œProject? What project?” I sat back on my heels. “Oh no! It’s the Roman reenactments, isn’t it? Look, I’m as willing to help out as the next person, but I have a gag reflex, and if I see people barfing, I’m going to barf, too, Florence.”
    â€œFidencia,” she corrected, and gave me a scornful look. “I’m afraid I don’t know why Roger wants you for a project when there are so many more qualified people, but he asked me to bring you to him. If you are ill, I suggest you visit the doctor.”
    â€œI’m not sick. I just meant . . . oh, never mind.” I sighed and got to my feet, doubling over to exit throughthe doorway, and hurrying out to follow Fidencia. “Just shove my things out of the way if they bother you, Cressy. I’ll be back later to finish unpacking.”
    I found Fidencia a few tents down the line, speaking rapidly into a walkie-talkie.
    â€œâ€”don’t know what happened to the potable water, but it’s not my problem, and I resent you treating me like I’m a lowly production assistant. I have better things to do with my time than to run around worrying about water for Roger.”
    â€œRoger,” came a staticky reply.
    â€œThat’s what I just said!” She slapped one hand on her leg in an irritated manner.
    â€œSorry, I got caught up in tent drama,” I apologized softly.
    â€œI know you did. I was saying ‘Roger’ in acknowledgment,” said the person on the other end of the radio.
    â€œOh. Well, that’s just confusing. Stop it,” Fidencia said before punching a button on the radio and attaching it to her belt. “Evidently I am to play nursemaid amongst other indignities. Are you ready? This way.”
    â€œAre you sure Roger’s not going to ask me to be a servant?” I trotted after her, worrying unduly about anything that would get in the way of my plan. “Not that I’m
not
a team player or anything, but honestly, I don’t think I’d be good vomit-scraping servant material. If I have to be a Roman, couldn’t I wear a long gown and pretend to play a lyre? I used to know how to play a guitar, so I could mime playing pretty well.”
    Fidencia evidently had other thoughts on her mind as we hurried out of the tent village and toward the line of RVs. “What? What are you saying?” she snapped. “I don’t have time for this!”
    â€œSorry. I’m just grousing to myself.”
    A static burst from a walkie-talkie had Fidenciapausing, listening intently for a few seconds, then responding, “Oh, for the love of . . . no, I do not know why someone is trying to move the portable toilets. I’m an archaeologist, not a lackey! Ask Roger what’s going on.”
    More static, this time with a testy note to it.
    â€œLook, just because I agreed to be a liaison between Roger’s people and the CMA