Free Dutch Me Deadly by Maddy Hunter Page B

already asked him, and he said he don’t do social networkin’.”
    A lightbulb slowly brightened over my head. “My dinner companions mentioned that all you guys had been pestering them about Facebook. ‘Accosted’ was the word one of them used. So why the frantic push to collect more online friends?”
    “You can’t never have enough, dear.” She whipped out her phone and fingered the touchscreen. “What’s their names? Maybe I don’t got ’em yet.”
    “You don’t. They’re not interested in sharing their personal information with strangers from Iowa.”
    “But I wouldn’t be no stranger if we was friends.”
    I narrowed my eyes at her. “Okay, what’s this really about?”
    She peeked at me over the tops of her wire-rims, her eyes sheepish, her voice resigned. “It’s on account’ve Bernice. She’s been so obnoxious braggin’ about how many Facebook friends she’s got that the rest of us decided to one-up her. So it’s kinda turned into a competition.”
    I regarded her sternly. “That’s why you’re pestering the other guests? You’re trying to sign up more friends than Bernice on Facebook?”
    She nodded contritely. “Yup.”
    I gave her confession a moment’s thought. “I like it! So how are you doing so far?”
    She snapped back into action like a brand new rubber band. “We got a lot a catchin’ up to do, but we been gainin’ on her.” She quickly consulted her screen. “I got forty-eight friends so far. Tilly’s got fifty-two. George has thirty-five.”
    “And how many does Bernice have?”
    She swept her forefinger across her screen. “Six hundred eighty.”
    “WHAT?”
    “Ain’t that somethin’? Bernice don’t got no friends except me, and sometimes even I’m on the fence, so how’d she come up with six hundred?” Her phone chimed. “Oh, boy. Incomin’ text message.” She read the screen. “It’s from Margi. She says everyone’s starvin’, so we’re gonna get some dessert. You wanna join us, dear?”
    Even though I hadn’t gotten beyond the Chinese vegetable soup course, I wasn’t ready to face any more food this evening, not with Ricky Hennessy’s command performance still so fresh in my mind. “I’m looking forward to a long soak in a hot bath, and then I’m going to hit the sack.” I looked beyond the lobby proper to the French doors of the dining room. “Is the hotel dining room open for dessert?”
    “Just a sec.” She typed my question and sent it off, then stayed focused on the screen as she waited patiently for a reply. “Margi’s good about gettin’ right back to me.”
    “Where is she?”
    “Right behind you.”
    I turned around to find Margi standing by the revolving door, less than ten feet away, typing a message into her phone.
    “She says the dinin’ room’s closed, so we gotta go someplace else.” Nana’s phone chimed again. “We’re s’posed to meet by the front door in two minutes.”
    I glanced around the room. “That shouldn’t be too hard, considering you’re all standing within ten feet of the door already.”
    “It’s nice to have a little cushion, dear. Takes some of the pressure off.”
    As I ushered Nana toward the front entrance, Jackie pushed her way through the revolving door and swooped into the lobby like a rock star in search of an entourage, heels clacking and eyes gleaming.
    “Well, would you look at that,” said Nana. “It’s that nice girl what you was married to.”
    “Mrs. S!” cried Jackie, smothering her in a rib-crushing hug that pushed her wirerims off her nose and flattened her hair. “I waved to you at dinner.” She readjusted Nana’s glasses and fluffed her hair. “But you had your back to me, so you probably didn’t see me. So what did you think of the meal? Pretty awesome Asian fusion, huh?”
    Nana gave her teeth a thoughtful suck. “Osmond said the rubber in the soup was a bit salty. Margi ate one a them slices a toast with the onions and said it bit back. And Bernice said