All the Single Ladies by Dorothea Benton Frank Read Free Book Online Page B

under the sun that related to yoga, fitness, and vegan living. I had charging stations for cell phones and mixes of whales singing, Native American drum recitals, and Peruvian flutes. You could take a class, shower up, have a fabulous juice, read the paper, and then be on your way. I offered every single ser­vice I could think of for the classic busy woman who wanted to get healthier. I hosted lectures and book signings. I had a registered nutritionist on call and I even had this sort of avant-­garde doctor from the Medical University who would take hair samples from clients, analyze them, and tell the clients what vitamins they needed. And there was a kinesiology expert on call as well to realign your electromagnetic field and an astrologer to discuss your destiny. Basically, I built it, nobody came, and I went down the tubes. When my inappropriate boyfriend left me for a bartender, I went back to eating bacon. I should’ve opened a nail salon or a micro pub. Seriously. Now there were yoga studios all over the place.
    Looking over the side of the Ravenel Bridge at the container ships below, I watched the sun-­dappled water sparkle all around. It was very hot but the humidity wasn’t too high, making the heat infinitely more bearable. I was still thinking about the fact that Wendy was wearing Kathy’s bracelets at the funeral and I wondered if Suzanne or Carrie would say anything to her about it. Between them, Suzanne and Carrie had enough nerve to confront a starving grizzly bear on its hind legs. It was hard to believe that someone who looked as respectable as Wendy—­minus the surgical adjustments and enhancements—­could do something so downright sleazy.
    I found a place to park on the street and walked the short distance hauling as many boxes as I could carry. I decided to use the kitchen house entrance that had been Kathy’s instead of ringing Wendy’s bell. There was less opportunity to knock something from a table and I didn’t want to make small talk with her anyway. I let myself in. Suzanne and Carrie were there wrapping up Kathy’s kitchen equipment in newspaper.
    â€œHey!” Suzanne said. “Boy. Did she ever have a lot of stuff in these cabinets! Let me take those from you!”
    â€œThanks,” I said. “I’ll go get some more.”
    I went back outside to my car and brought back another load of boxes. As I returned through the courtyard, I saw Wendy staring at me through the windows. She had a strange look on her face. I wouldn’t say that her mouth was twisted into a snarl exactly, but it was the expression of someone defiant and angry, not a good combo. Her bitterness was showing. I had to ask myself how a woman who lived in such a beautiful home and who obviously enjoyed all the benefits that come with money and privilege could do something so low. I was convinced of her guilt. It bothered me so much then that I wanted to confront her about the bracelets myself. What was the matter with her?
    I went back inside Kathy’s apartment, where Carrie was struggling with a clear tape dispenser whose tape kept sticking to itself.
    â€œGrrr! I hate these things,” she said, shaking a wad of tape away.
    â€œYeah,” I said, “you lose the edge of the tape and you can never find it again.” I dropped the boxes to the floor. “Okay, so how can I help?”
    Suzanne said, “Her clothes. I went through her closet and there’s a ton of clothes in there with the tags still on them, including a pile of brand-­new nightgowns. Why don’t we take all the stuff that’s used and put it in boxes and all the clothes that aren’t used in others? You know, separate them?”
    â€œGreat idea,” I said. “The used clothes, depending on how used, could go to a consignment shop or to Goodwill? Right?”
    â€œExactly!” Suzanne said.
    Carrie asked, “Could you use the nightgowns at Palmetto