Statue of Limitations by Tamar Myers Read Free Book Online

face hinted at more than one facelift, and her deep, even color spoke of days spent supine on a tanning bed. And why is it that some bottle blondes let their dark roots grow out to the point that they look as if they’re wearing dead skunks on their heads? This woman’s short hairdo even included a flip that resembled a tail.
    â€œHi, I’m Abigail Timberlake Washburn,” I said. “I’d like to welcome you to Charleston.”
    â€œAre you with the Post and Courier ?” She referred to our local newspaper, which is an excellent publication, by the way. It was, however, an odd assumption, and raised some interesting questions.
    â€œI’m afraid not. I’m just a private individual—a friend of the family. I heard that you are stranded in town, so speak, and I want to offer you hospitality.” Strictly speaking, it wasn’t a lie. I was a friend to many families—just not the Webbfingers family.
    â€œOh, I thought you might be here to do a story on my husband. You know, him being a Wall Street mover and shaker. You probably don’t get too many of those in Charleston.”
    â€œActually, we get a surprising number of celebrities. Why just last week I thought I saw Brad Pitt walking up Pitt Street.” I couldn’t help but laugh when I realized the connection.
    â€œIs that supposed to be a joke?”
    â€œNo. Honestly. A lot of movies are shot here because of the mild climate, and because there is so much historical architecture.”
    She nodded. “Well, Miss—uh, I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name.”
    â€œThat’s Mrs. Washburn.”
    â€œYes, of course. At any rate, I’m afraid my husband and I have a few things to do, so if you’ll excuse us—” She started to close the door.
    â€œNot so fast, Irena.” Tall, dark, and handsome was turning into a blabbermouth.
    â€œI came to invite you to lunch,” I said, while I still had the chance.
    â€œTo lunch?” the woman with the roadkill hairdo asked.
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    â€œWhy would you do that?”
    â€œIt’s just our way of showing hospitality, ma’am.” I doubt if knocking on hotel doors and inviting the occupants to lunch is customary anywhere. In fact, one would think a normal person would consider it rather strange. But when a well-dressed middle-age woman with a strong Southern accent offers a free lunch, it is apparently a hard thing to pass up.
    Irena, however, was obviously still wary of Charlestonians bearing Greeks gifts. “Lunch with you and who else?”
    â€œJust me.”
    â€œAre you part of some kind of organization? Because if you’re trying to convert us to your religion, I’m telling you now, it isn’t going to work. Nick and I already belong to one, and I assure you, we’re not going to change.”
    They may be tiny tootsies, but sometimes I can think fast on them. “Yes, ma’am, it is an organization, but it isn’t religious. It’s called People Interested in Treating Yankees. We’re just a group ofcitizens who are proud of our town and love to show it off to those not fortunate enough to live here.”
    â€œHmm. We’re from New York City. You can’t beat that.”
    â€œYes, but do you have a chapter of P.I.T.Y.?”
    She looked like a cat that had been asked a calculus question. “Uh—we have thousands of organizations. I’m sure we have one of those.”
    â€œThere you go. P.I.T.Y. must be nationwide. So then, how about it? Lunch at Slightly North of Broad? That’s the name of the restaurant, by the way, as well as its location.”
    She glanced at a watch which, if genuine, cost as much as a year’s tuition at the College of Charleston. “Isn’t it a little early for lunch?”
    â€œYes, of course. My reservation is for twelve. Would you like me to pick you up?”
    â€œHey, that would be