Murder at the PTA Read Online Free Page B

Add that to the minutes.” He held out his hands and made a typing motion. “Won’t take but a minute.” He tilted his head. “A minute? Get it?”
    “Good one,” I said. “Why do we need to meet on Monday?”
    Randy’s bushy eyebrows went high, putting deep wrinkles into his forehead. “The addition.” Duh, his expression said.
    It was hard to believe I’d first heard about the addition less than twenty-four hours ago. I’d liked life better back then. “Can’t it wait?” I heard the whine in my voice and summoned my inner Debra. “We don’t want to rush into this. Big projects take time to plan properly.”
    “Agnes wants to start construction in November.”
    “ This November?” My jaw dropped and stayed open long enough that my tongue started drying out. “The less-than-thirty-days-from-now November?”
    “No time like the present. And no rest for the weary.” He grabbed the chair arms and pulled himself up. “See you Monday night.” He headed out with the lumbering gait of a bear fattened for winter.
    I slumped against the counter. Another meeting. More rancor, more insults and accusations, more anger. “Thanks a lot, Marina,” I muttered.
    “Beth?” Lois stood in front of me, arms full of picture books. “Are you all right?”
    Not hardly. “Fine, thanks. But I could use another cup of that tea.”
     
    Friday night there was a double knock on the kitchen door, and Marina stuck her head inside. “Can I come in?”
    “No.”
    She laughed, sending forth a bubbling stream of cheer, and came inside with the smell of outside air clinging to her clothes. “Would it help if I promised never to talk you into doing anything ever again?”
    “Wouldn’t be worth the breath it would take to say it. You’d break a promise like that inside of two weeks.” I went back to slicing up carrots. The firm noise of knife hitting cutting board echoed around the room.
    “It’s not like I knew Agnes was going to pull a stunt like that.”
    “My brain believes you, but the rest of me isn’t so sure.” I started in on the broccoli.
    “Is this my punishment?” She waved a hand at the vegetables. “Rabbit food for dinner? And then I’ll be forced to watch Bambi. ” With her fingers spread wide, she fake-choked herself.
    Marina was a big believer in meat, potatoes, and action movies. Part of my mission in life was to get her to appreciate vegetables and epic historical sagas. So far her reaction had been the same as Jenna’s and Oliver’s—lots of face scrunching accompanied by a considerable amount of whining. “No better than you deserve,” I said.
    “Do you realize what that could do to my digestive system? And I have it on good authority that watching Bambi after the age of forty turns your hair white.”
    “Do you realize how many Tarver parents came through the store in the last two days?”
    She dropped to her knees, hands clasped and raised high. “Please, forgive me. You’re my best friend, and I would never ever wish an Agnes project on you.”
    “Get up, you goofball.”
    “Not until you say I’m forgiven. I will stay on this floor until the crows pick me clean. I will stay until my bones are bleached. I will—”
    “Okay, okay. Forgiveness is bestowed.”
    She pushed herself to her feet. “Good. My knees were killing me. What are we eating, anyway?”
    “Vegetarian stew.” Her eyes stretched open enough for white to be seen all around the hazel irises. I laughed. “Gotcha. We’re having chicken stir-fry, and I rented Rear Window .”
    “Weenie.” She socked me on the arm. “Maybe we should call Agnes and invite her over.”
    “Maybe you should keep your ideas to yourself.”
    “Oh, I don’t know. Poooor Agnes.” Marina hitched herself onto a stool at the butcher block-topped kitchen island.“She looked all alone tonight. No cars in the driveway, no lights on except in the kitchen. She’s probably going to eat a frozen dinner and watch bad television.”
    Agnes