Sour Grapes (A Savannah Reid Mystery #6) by G. A. McKevett Read Free Book Online Page B

hawed for a moment, then shrugged. "I can't think of names right this minute, but take my word for it. . . a bunch of them. . . a big bunch."
    "So, you don't care if you win the pageant or not, as long as you get discovered."
    "That's right. Although I'll probably win, too. And that would be pretty neat."
    Savannah had to laugh. The Reid women possessed many virtues, but humility wasn't among them. The Fear of Failure gene didn't appear to be swimming
    around in their pool.
    As she pulled the Mustang up to the front of the Villa
    Rosa visitors' center, she saw Ryan Stone standing beside the door, wearing a tuxedo that complemented his dark good looks--as if they needed enhancing.
    "Ryan is here?" Atlanta nearly bolted out of her seat. Like most females between the age of eight and eighty, Atlanta was wildly smitten with the handsome hunk. On her subsequent visits to California, she had fallen madly in love with him, convinced that if only given the chance, she could permanently alter his sexual preference. "Oh, wow! You didn't tell me that Ryan was going to be here!"
    "Yes, he's working security with me. But don't worry . . . like I told you before, we'll be sure to stay out of your way. I don't want you to feel smothered or--"
    "Oh, hush up. You know what I meant. I don't care if you and Ryan hang around me. . . some."
    "Especially Ryan?"
    "Well, he is mighty easy on the eyes."
     
    Savannah gave Ryan a wave as she headed into the
    parking lot. He waved back and flashed her a breathtaking smile that set her hormones aflutter.
    "Oh, yeah . . . Ryan's easy to look at," she agreed. 'This is gonna be fun. A nice, easy gig . . . hangin' out with the gorgeous and genteel Mr. Stone. The worst thing that's apt to happen is a couple of girls wrestling
    over a can of hair spray. We'll stay out of your way, so that you don't feel smothered."
     
    She shot a sideways look at her baby sister.
    Pouting . . . again.
    "What if I don't like this girl they stuck me with . . . this Barbie Matthews?" Atlanta's lip was protruding even farther than Savannah thought was physically possible.
    Hefting
    two suitcases under each arm, Savannah led the way from the gallery down the center hall of the adjoining
    guesthouse. "You don't have to like her. You're not marrying her; you're rooming with her. And it's only for a few days."
    "But I thought we were going to get rooms of our
    own. That's what it said on the web page."
    Halfway down the long hall, they found the door with the brass "1D." Savannah set two of the suitcases on the floor and gave it a "shave-and-a-haircut" knock.
    "Yeah, whaddaya want?"
    Savannah flinched. If the current occupant of 1D was as rude as she sounded, this pageant could be a long, dreary experience.
    One glance at her younger sister told Savannah the
    kid was ready to do battle. A harbinger of evil to come.
     
    Atlanta pushed the door open with a much harder
    shove than was necessary, and it flew open, slamming against the wall.
    Inside was a cozy, delightfully feminine room, a vision of hand-carved antique furniture, rose-printed damask spreads on the twin beds, and wallpaper sprinkled with tiny pink-and-red rosebuds. Atop a marble-topped dressing table was a lush spray of spring flowers.
     
    The only item that seemed out of place in this dainty
    room was a young lady who was stretched out on one of
    the beds, drinking diet cola from a can. Though the term "lady" might be used loosely, considering the skimpy leopard-print teddy she was not-quite-wearing and the
    fact that she had one leg raised and propped on a bookshelf
    on the wall.
     
    The teenager had impossibly red hair--a color that could have been achieved only with a bottle of hair
    coloring that contained the word "fiery" on its label. Her makeup was the heaviest Savannah had seen on a
    young woman north of the Mason-Dixon line. Beneath all the carefully applied goop, her face might have been considered pretty, had it not been pulled into a nasty