Overdue for Murder (Pecan Bayou) by Teresa Trent Read Free Book Online Page B

posture and tossed back her lustrous hair. I stood there awkwardly. "Miss Hoffman, where did you want me to sit?" I asked.

    The librarian looked up from her handouts, smile glued to her face. Her voice was as sweet as what comes in the pink packets with your coffee. "Oh, dear. I forgot about you, Becky." She glanced at the long table filled by the other authors. "I suppose we could add you over there on the end."

    I looked to the end of the table, where Pattie was sitting next to a dark man in black turtleneck. Not a very comfortable shirt for South Texas, but somehow on this guy it worked. He seemed so familiar to me. Where had I seen him before? Pattie raised her elbow and waved trying not to jab the dark man in the ribs.

    Martha took a chair off the front row of the audience and wedged it into the corner by Pattie.

    "Really, Miss Hoffman. I don't mind sitting out in the audience."

    "Don't be ridiculous, dear. You're an ... a presenter, just like the rest of my guests tonight."She flung her arm toward the chair, which was supposed to be a gesture of kindness but felt more like an order to sit down – now . I squeezed in next to Pattie, pulling my own elbows in and holding my purse on my lap.

    "She forgot," Pattie whispered, not sounding as if she totally believed it. "What a surprise," I whispered back.

    A brown hand extended to me across Pattie's front.

    "Good evening." The dark man's Hispanic accent was rich and flowing. He leaned forward to meet my eyes. "I am Damien Perez, the author of the Camazotz Chronicles ."
    I had no idea what a Camazotz was and why it needed to be chronicled. It must have shown in my face, because he continued.

    "Mexican vampire fiction, my dear." His voice was also familiar. Down the table, Vanessa Markham's glance turned toward the two of us. This was the man she had been embracing in the mall. It had to kill her that he was sitting so close to me and Pattie.

    "Oh," I said placing my hand in his. "Betsy Livingston, Helpful Hints."

    "Nice to meet you, Betsy Livingston." He dripped charm, reminding me of Bela Lugosi inviting the stranded travelers in for a bite. Pattie cleared her throat, and we quickly dropped hands.

    Martha Hoffman stood in front of the table and addressed the curious – or maybe somewhat bored – citizens of Pecan Bayou. My Aunt Maggie had come in and was now sitting in the seat Ruby Green had offered to me. When I caught her eye, she waved excitedly as if I had just hit the big time in authordom. I waved back slowly, so as not to further draw the attention of the entire crowd now staring directly at us.

    "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen." Martha Hoffman put her hands together under her chin to show her sheer delight at the attendance of author night. Her cheeks pudged out at each side, making her look like a happy chipmunk. "Tonight, at our first annual author's night, we will be hearing from all kinds of writers."

    Martha turned to face the other end of the table, where a scrawny-looking man with bug eyes held tightly to a stack of papers.

    "We have Mr. Oscar Larry, our resident UFO aficionado, who has penned the book I Saw It With My Own Eyes , in which he recounts his experience with an extraterrestrial." The audience clapped in respect.

    "We also have Destiny Wood, also known as Edith Martin from Andersonville. She writes some pretty steamy romance novels. Dashing men and beautiful women living adventurous lives are all over her pages." Edith Martin pulled at her closely cropped gray hair. She was thin, bony and in her fifties, and she reminded me of my fourth-grade teacher. She raised her shoulders in a giggle as Martha described her. This is why we see so few author pictures on the backs of romance novels. Just goes to show you don't have to look like a movie star to write romance.

    "Next to Destiny Wood we have our own Vanessa Markham. She is our best girlfriend in predicting the latest styles and fads, and if that weren't enough, Vanessa also writes