Free Dutch Me Deadly by Maddy Hunter

squad? Lau-ra, Lau-ra, she’s so scary. Looks like a dog, and acts like a ferret .”
    I stared at Paula, horrified. Oh, my Lord. If my schoolmates had been that cruel to me, I’m not sure I would have had the courage to show my face in class again. The Francis Xavier cheerleaders apparently weren’t paragons of school spirit and good will.
    They were bullies.
    I sucked in a deep, calming breath.
    I hated bullies.
    “Ferret doesn’t rhyme with scary,” Sheila pointed out.
    “No one asked you,” spat Mindy.
    “Was there anyone on your squad of losers who realized that ‘scary’ could be rhymed with ‘fairy’?” questioned Paula. “Laura acted a hell of a lot more like the good fairy than a rodent.”
    Mindy skewered her with a look that inspired more fear than the Death Star’s going operational. “You would have sold your grandmother’s dentures to be on the cheerleading squad, Paula Peavey, so I’m not listening to any of your trash talk. Here’s a cheer for you: Paul-a, Paul-a, can’t you see? You’re eaten up by jeal-ou-sy .”
    Paula snorted with laughter. “Oh, please. Your glory days have gone to your head.” She flashed a snarky grin. “And everything else has gone to your butt.”
    “Is the Laura you’re talking about Laura LaPierre?” I asked, leaping into the fray.
    Dead silence, followed by an incredulous look from Mindy. “You know Laura?”
    “In a roundabout way,” I fibbed. “She’s quite the celebrity. Did any of you read the interview she gave to Fitness Magazine? It was dynamite. She offered tips on how to stay ultra toned and flab-free past sixty-five. And she should know, because she looks like she has about zero percent body fat.” I smiled at Mindy. “She provided statistics on the high correlation between a pissy attitude and the high incidence of halitosis, boils, and rickets.” I smiled at Paula. “And she gave pointers on how to turn ordinary business ventures into cash cows. I guess she’s an entrepreneurial genius with more money than God.” I smiled at Gary. “Have you spoken to her?”
    Eyes bulged. Expressions froze. Jaws fell.
    “We haven’t run into her yet,” Mindy finally said in a small, tight voice.
    “Well, you might not recognize her because she looks like she graduated last year instead of fifty years ago. What a knockout! You must be thrilled that a member of your class has made such a big name for herself. I think Vanity Fair is doing a feature article on her next month, and after that, she’ll be on the cover of Vogue . You should corner her sometime so you can reminisce about old times. I bet she’s dying to thank all of you.”
    Ricky looked confused. “What’s she got to thank us for?”
    “For treating her the way you did. If you’d been nice to her, she probably would have stayed in Bangor … and ended up like the rest of you.”
    The floor tilted as we quartered into a wave. “Oh, jeez,” Ricky squawked, grabbing the table with both hands. We slammed into a trough with a boom strong enough to shake the table and cause the silverware to jump. Dishes rattled. Soup sloshed onto the table-cloth. And Ricky’s head fell forward as if he’d been guillotined.
    “Is everyone ready for the next course?” I asked brightly as our waiter strode toward us, seemingly immune to the lurching deck. “Wow. Looks like a week’s worth of food. Hope everyone’s hungry.”
    Ricky let out a groan like a wounded animal.
    “Would you get him off the table?” Paula exploded. “Unless you expect the waiter to serve the next course around his head.”
    “Is he going to be sick?” Sheila asked anxiously.
    I stuck my nose in the air and sniffed. “Smells like onions, and hot chile oil, and peppercorns, and—”
    “Somebody …” Ricky pleaded in a whisper of breath, “shut her up.”
    “Bang Bang Chicken,” our waiter announced as he snapped open his tray jack and set his heavy serving tray atop it. “Very piquant.” He arched his brows