The Readaholics and the Gothic Gala by Laura Disilverio Read Free Book Online Page A

him—”
    I was shaking my head before she finished. Lola would not thank me for encouraging Axie to neglect her studies in order to play Nancy Drew. “It’s really no big deal. Concentrate on making Thea feel better.”
    â€œNothing but Twizzlers will make Thea feel better,” she said, “and I had a bag on hand to give her, just in case. She’s convinced herself that licorice has some sort of mood-elevating property. I think she’s doing something for the science fair with Twizzlers.”
    I had a feeling Thea wasn’t going to win any prizes at the science fair, either.
    At the front door, Al Frink was snapping the legs down on the folding table he’d used for the auction registrations. “That Cletis is a hoot, isn’t he?” Al said. “He looks like he walked out of one of those old Western movies. I’m betting that ‘gosh darn, pardner’ routine of his is an act,” he added shrewdly. “He took one look at the sales list and added up the total in his head. And he rode out of here on a Mercedes, not a horse. I wasloading stuff up and I saw him get into a navy blue S-class with tinted windows. Sweet ride.”
    â€œDid we make a lot?”
    â€œSeven thousand four hundred and two dollars,” Al said.
    I whistled. “That’s a lot.”
    â€œYep. Gemma Frant was floating six inches off the ground when she left here. Of course, she’s so hippie-dippie she practically needs a tether anyway.”
    Al was not known for censoring his opinions of people, including important clients. Before I could tell him for the pazillionth time to be more discreet, he handed me a flowered hat.
    â€œSomeone turned this in. I think it’s Miss Bugle’s.”
    â€œI’ll drop it at the Columbine on my way home,” I said, sighing. My hot bath was beginning to look like an unattainable fantasy. “Good work today, Al. Just the costume ball to get through now. What are you coming as?”
    â€œPoe. Did you know he went to West Point before he started writing and got all creepy? One of my friends from high school got an appointment to West Point. He gave it up after a year, like Poe, but he kept his uniforms. He couldn’t stand all the rules—rules for what to wear, rules for how to fold your socks, rules for how to eat. We all tried to tell him he wouldn’t like it, but he was all about being an army officer. Watched
Taps
too many times. Anyway, he’s letting me borrow one of his uniforms. And I’ve got a stuffed raven that says ‘Nevermore.’ It’s proximity activated, like those Santas thatgo ‘ho-ho-ho’ if you walk past them in department stores near Christmastime? ‘Nevermore, nevermore,’” he croaked, beaming. “Maybe I’ll bring it to the office and keep it on my desk.”
    â€œDon’t you dare,” I said, tucking Francesca’s hat under my arm and making my escape.

Chapter 5
    T he Columbine is Heaven’s nicest B and B. The building dates from the late 1880s, when the town was incorporated as Walter’s Ford, and Sandy Milliken and her husband, transplants from the East Coast, spent beaucoup bucks fixing it up. It sits on a quiet, treelined street a block from downtown, and it isn’t hard for tourists to locate—its pale tangerine paint with the carnation pink gingerbread makes it visible for miles. In the spring, hanging baskets of pink and orange petunias, pansies, marigolds, and other flowers add to the colorful effect. At this time of year, with the nights already dipping below freezing, Sandy had replaced the hanging baskets with potted mums in bronzes and creams that sat on either side of each of the six stone steps leading to the Victorian B and B’s double oak doors.
    I nudged one door open and entered. The foyer, graced with wide-plank oak floors, Laura Ashley fabrics, and a Tiffany chandelier, murmured of history and