Blown To Pieces (PTO Murder Club Mystery Book 2) by Katie Graykowski Read Free Book Online

I opened the wine and filled our glasses.
    “It’s odd...” Haley sipped her wine. “I don’t know any of Big Tommy’s exes all that well. I’ve seen Kitty Van Duran at Lakeside Country Club a couple of times, and Carolina St. James used to be in my neighbor’s Bunko group, but I’ve never met Mira Lawson, Abigail Zigler, or Lulu Montgomery.
    “That is odd.” I played with the stem of my wineglass. Haley was on the board of most of the charities in Lakeside and had lived here her entire life. She knew everyone.
    Forty minutes later, I sat at the séance table with Haley on my right and Monica on my left. In true, crazy-assed rich lady fashion, Astrid had spent a fortune outfitting her media-room-turned-séance-prison. The windowless room was painted floor-to-ceiling in a dark red that was somewhere between gushing flesh wound and cheap Merlot. Tiny octagonal mirrors glowed from random intervals on the walls, and miles of black mosquito netting frothed all around us in what I liked to think of as Gothic Safari Chic.
    Haley, Monica, and I sat on hard-backed chairs waiting for the séance to start. In front of each of us sat giant glass bowls full of candy. According to Astrid, the spirits enjoyed a good sugar buzz more than a five-year-old on Halloween.
    “Think Astrid ever notices that the only candy eaten is yours?” Monica pointed to the bowl of Peanut M&M’s sitting in front of me.
    “Nope.” I had a gallon zipper bag folded in my back pocket. “I wait until everyone is chanting and their eyes are closed, and then I steal from everyone’s candy. Since Astrid is convinced that spirit guides like sweets, everyone feels like they were visited from beyond.”
    What can I say. I’m a humanitarian.
    “That’s sweet, in a weird way.” Haley reached over and grabbed a handful of Haribo gummy bears and dropped them into her open purse.
    “Stealing from the spirits?” Monica cocked an eyebrow.
    “No, I’m doing my part to end celestial type 2 diabetes. Insulin must be hard to come by in the afterlife.” Haley popped a white gummy bear in her mouth. “Plus, I like gummy bears.”
    Monica and I gasped in unison. Haley didn’t eat sweets, except for the occasional chocolate.
    Monica grabbed her chest dramatically with one hand and lifted the other heavenward. “Jesus, please don’t let the world end now. I’d hate to think that the last thing I see is that creepy crystal skull in the middle of the table.”
    “Stop it,” Haley said around the gummy bear. “I eat sugar...occasionally.”
    “Yeah, and I occasionally fix dinner for my son.” I have a recipe allergy and an inability to follow directions. I call it an independent spirit, while past employers have called it a pain in the ass.
    “Papa Murphy’s take-and-bake doesn’t count.” Monica reached across the table and helped herself to a Skor bar.
    “Hello, I have to turn on the oven to bake the pizza, so it totally counts.” Just like takeout counts as homemade if you serve it on plates.
    A loud, static-y blowing noise erupted from the whole house speaker system. Someone was doing a mic check. “The séance will begin in five minutes.”
    “I can’t believe I’m here...again.” Monica shoved the rest of the Skor bar in her mouth, crumpled the wrapper, and hid it under the crystal skull.
    Kudos to her for touching the thing. While I was pretty sure the skull had been mass-produced in China and didn’t have actual magical power, I wasn’t willing to take the chance. I eat carbs; that’s enough risk.
    “It’s not that bad.” Haley eyed the skull like it was toxic waste.
    Faint lines dented Monica’s Diet Coke–smooth brow as her eyes bored into Haley’s. “Are you high? This is right up there with computer solitaire and reality TV as the world’s stupidest ways to waste an evening.”
    As I’m known to play computer solitaire while watching Southern Charm , I declined to comment.
    There was more blowing on the intercom