Murder with Macaroni and Cheese Read Online Free Page B

in high school. I wonder if she still is.
    I welcome her, and she extends her hand in a fashion that makes it seem as though I’m supposed to kiss it rather than shake it. Confused, I decide not to do either and just say, “Hello, Raynell. It’s good to see you again.”
    â€œYou too, Halia.” She turns her head from left to right, looking around Sweet Tea. “Such a cozy little . . . little lunch counter you run here,” she says of my restaurant, which seats nearly two hundred customers and regularly makes local top restaurant lists. She then looks me up and down. “And who can blame you for putting on a few pounds . . . who wouldn’t, working in a restaurant.”
    Yep, still sort of a bitch .

CHAPTER 4
    â€œA lvetta,” Raynell says as we approach the table. “How are you?”
    â€œI’m just fine. You?”
    â€œTrying to survive this heat. You know how I hate summer.” Raynell reaches into her designer bag, pulls out a handkerchief, and dabs at her forehead. The brief walk from her car to the restaurant was enough to make her faintly perspire in the August warmth.
    â€œPlease have a seat,” I say to Raynell and her companion. “Raynell, this is my cousin, Wavonne, one of the servers here at Sweet Tea.”
    Wavonne stands to greet her. “I’ll be helping with the reunion planning.”
    â€œYou will?” I ask. This is news to me.
    â€œOf course. You know how I like to help out as much as I can around here.”
    I let out a quick laugh before I can stop myself. “Of course.” I figure this is a better response than “Since when?”
    Raynell gives Wavonne (and her poufy wig, heavy makeup, and tight clothing) a once-over and apparently decides she is not worth a handshake or a hello. She just offers Wavonne a quick smile as she sets her purse down, slides into a chair next to Alvetta, and plops a gaudy gold and sparkly-stone Michael Kors keychain on the table. “You sit over there,” she says to the young lady with her, who I assume is the assistant who called me to set up the lunch date, but I can’t be sure as Raynell hasn’t introduced her to any of us.
    â€œHalia Watkins.” I extend my hand toward the young lady. “And this is Wavonne.”
    She gives my hand a shake and nods politely in Wavonne’s direction. “Hi. I’m Christy. Raynell’s assistant.” She’s a pretty girl with a tiny frame, light brown skin, and short black hair. I’d be surprised if she were over twenty-five.
    â€œShe can take notes or make calls . . . or whatever needs to be done while we talk,” Raynell says.
    â€œGreat. That will be a big help.”
    â€œAlvetta, sweetie. Are you using that eye cream I gave you? The bags under your eyes don’t look much better than the last time I saw you,” Raynell says as I sit down next to Christy. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I didn’t spend much time with them, but I observed the girls enough to recall that Raynell worked overtime at destroying Alvetta’s self esteem in high school. Why should things be any different now? Alvetta doesn’t have so much as a hint of any bags under her eyes, but the ends of her hair were not split or frayed either back in high school when Raynell convinced her she needed to cut her hair.
    It was always clear that Raynell was jealous of Alvetta’s good looks and seemed to go to great lengths to convince Alvetta she was an ugly duckling when the exact opposite was true. I can’t be sure of her motives, but Raynell was queen bee of the Whitleys, and my guess is she wanted the status of having the prettiest girl in school as her best friend, but, at the same time, was afraid Alvetta would challenge her authority if she was actually aware of what a knockout she was.
    I don’t recall the complete details, but from what I remember, Alvetta came from very modest roots. She was