Free Dead at Breakfast by Beth Gutcheon Page A

it in fucking high heels!”
    â€œThat was unavoidable and I told you how much I—”
    â€œOh shut up. I know you think I’m stupid, you blame me for everything. Walk the damn dog yourself.” Suddenly she started to cry and began to unbutton her Oquossoc Mountain Inn jacket.
    â€œCherry! Please!”
    Furiously, Cherry threw the jacket onto the reception desk. There was a gob of chewing gum stuck to it. She began unzipping her skirt. Gabriel was horrified.
    â€œCherry!” Gabriel cried helplessly. “You’re in a public space!”
    She took off the skirt and threw that on the desk. Then she took off one tan faux patent leather pump and threw it at him, and found it so satisfying that she did the same with the other one. Then she stalked off in her blouse and ragged slip, through which you could see her magenta thong underpants.
    The cooking class had a rather antic quality in the afternoon of that day. With both blond interlopers gone, the mood was oddly bubbly. People kept asking Hope if she would do their charts.
    â€œI knew this would happen, that’s why I never tell people. Anyway you need to know what time of day you were born.”
    â€œI know mine,” said Teddy. “March eighteenth, 1965, Houston, Texas, four-thirteen A.M .”
    â€œI’ll call my mother and find out,” said Nina.
    â€œI’m February fifteenth,” said Margaux Kleinkramer, “and I know I was born right after midnight because my father said I had a red ribbon in my hair. I’d just missed Valentine’s Day.”
    By the end of the class Hope had everyone’s birth date and place, and she had promised to take her laptop to town and see what she could do. She also had no idea how to make the ceviche or gravlax the rest had been working on but Maggie said she’d teach her. And that, by the way, her own birthday was October 16.
    â€œI know,” said Hope, “and you have Scorpio rising. I did your chart ages ago.”
    â€œYou did?”
    â€œI was on the search committee that hired you, remember?”
    â€œYou mean you chose me based on my sun sign, or whatever it’s called?” Maggie was offended.
    â€œOf course not, we chose you because you are wonderful. I just find it a useful tool.”
    Maggie was slightly cool to Hope the rest of the class.
    It was teatime when Mr. Rexroth’s seedy Grand Marquis made its way majestically up the drive. He parked in front of the steps, then got out and started around the car to help Lisa get out, but Glory got to her sister first. Maggie and Teddy Bledsoe, playing bridge with Bonnie and Nina, watched the arrival from their table in the bow window of the lounge. The whole right side of Lisa’s face wasblack and blue and swollen, the eye nearly swallowed within puffy purple-green bruising, the skin stretched shiny and taut. Both her right wrist and foot were in high-tech splints involving a lot of Velcro. Glory put her arm around her sister and acted as her crutch as she negotiated the porch stairs. Neither woman seemed to be speaking to Mr. Rexroth. He busied himself with producing a wheelchair from the trunk of the car and setting it up for Lisa at the top of the porch stairs.
    Mr. Gurrell hurried out from behind the reception desk to see if he could help.
    â€œJust send a bucket of ice up to our room,” said Glory shortly. “And tell Mr. Antippas his wife is back.”
    Ten minutes later, Glory reappeared.
    â€œDid you find Mr. Antippas?” she demanded.
    â€œWe’re looking for him.”
    â€œHow hard could it be? He isn’t small.”
    â€œWe think he may have gone for a walk,” said Mr. Gurrell.
    â€œThat would be a first,” said Glory acidly.
    â€œI’m a little short-staffed at the moment but someone has gone to look.”
    â€œAnd has the rental car arrived?”
    â€œYes, Miss Poole. It’s in the parking lot. Would you like the