Jennifer L. Hart - Southern Pasta Shop 02 - Murder À La Flambé by Jennifer L. Hart Read Free Book Online

population was riveted to her classless performance.
    "What'll it be, yous?" Judy, as always, was dressed impeccably in a long-sleeved black dress and a brightly patterned scarf wrapped around her slim waist as a belt. Her perfect white teeth flashed against her flawless ebony skin and ruby-painted lips. Her gold jewelry caught the light as she moved gracefully from table to table. When she reached for an empty glass, I noticed she had little white bird silhouettes painted on her long purple-polished nails.
    When Donna had first mentioned coming here, I'd been leaning to the more feminine drinks, something mixed with fruit juice or chocolate and topped with whipped cream, more dessert than drink. My gaze slid to Lacey, and my mouth uttered, "Tequila shooters."
    Judy raised an elegant eyebrow as she expertly cut a lemon into wedges. "Rough day, no?"
    "And it's not over yet." I nodded and then licked the back of my hand and poured salt on it.
    She served me the first drink, and I saluted her with the shot glass. I tipped the glass back and drained it dry.
    Dollar shots meant it wasn't the best tequila in the world, but it would take my mind off my multitude of troubles. I winced as I sucked on a lemon wedge.
    "I've got the tab." Donna opted for a Barbie shot, which looked like a Creamsicle in a glass.
    "No, I can pay my own way." I patted my pockets, checking for cash.
    She insisted. "Since I dragged you out tonight."
    It was probably a good thing to remember that I was still young and shouldn't be tucked away at five every evening. I wondered if Jones missed me yet. Or if he even remembered I'd left.
    "I really liked that little house," I confessed two shots later.
    "But?" Donna quirked an eyebrow.
    "No buts. It was perfect." I turned my fourth shot glass upside down on the tray Judy provided. "Lizzy's house is perfect too."
    "Except that it's Lizzy's house," Donna murmured.
    "Exactly." I blinked at her. "No one understands me like you do, you know?"
    "If you tell me you love me, I'm going to cut your inebriated hide off."
    I giggled at her word choice. "You're funny."
    She just rolled her eyes.
    Since Donna didn't seem interested in my newfound insight, I swiveled in my chair to survey the rest of the room. Lacey's song had ended, and someone new had taken her place onstage, singing some god-awful auto-tuned piece of garbage. I scanned the room and spotted my nemesis seated at a nearby table, surrounded by men.
    Including my man.
    "Is that Jones?" Donna asked. "What the hell is he doing with the French tart?"
    Good damn question.
    Lacey laughed and flirted as though she didn't have a care in the world, until her eyes met mine. Then a smug satisfaction slid over her congenial mask. Jones hadn't spotted me yet, the rat.
    "So let me get this straight. He can't leave the damn darkroom to talk to me, yet here he is hanging out with my bitter rival. Does that seem right to you?" I was impressed with how calmly I was taking this.
    "There has to be an explanation for this," Donna said a minute too late.
    I slid off my stool and made for my mark like a trollop-seeking missile.
    "Andy?" Donna sounded panicked. "Where are you going?"
    But my target was locked. Lacey's phony smile slid back into place as I approached.
    "Andrea?" Jones looked up and caught sight of me. To his credit, he didn't appear guilty of doing anything more than talking to Lacey. "What are you doing here?"
    "What am I doing here? This is my town. I live here. The better question is, what is she doing here, with you?" I didn't sound drunk, just belligerent. Good, Lacey needed to understand that I wasn't going to go down without a fight.
    She dipped her chin and fluttered her eyelashes for her bevy of admirers. "It's a free country, is it, no?"
    "No, I mean yes, it is. But that's not my question. Why are you here, in Beaverton?"
    "Settle down, Little Bit," Rudy Flannigan grumbled. He was one of Kyle's high school chums. "No need to go gettin' your bloomers in a