Dead at Breakfast Read Online Free Page B

through the rest to find one that was unblemished.
    After the apple-tasting the farmer demonstrated the use of the cider press. Then the farmer’s husband gave them all samples of an organic apple sweetener he was trying to market as apple molasses, and ten of them were given paper sacks of apples in all the varieties they had tasted. Hope and Maggie offered to share a bag, and everyone was appreciative except Glory’s sister, who declined her bag, saying apples really weren’t her favorites.
    Teddy caught up with Maggie and Hope. “Can I ride back with you? I’ve got to tell you what I learned in town.”
    â€œAbsolutely,” said Hope.
    â€œStill no service,” Teddy said. “I found some amazing video . . . oh well.” He put the cell phone away again. “I knew they were ringing some bell in my reptile brain.”
    â€œWhat is her name? Glory?” Hope asked.
    Teddy didn’t seem to notice Hope’s driving, so intent was he on bringing the wonders of the Internet to them. He was in the backseat where there were no air bags, and didn’t even have his seat belt on.
    â€œHer real name is Gloria. The other one is Melisande, known as Lisa.”
    â€œGoodness, aren’t we literary.”
    â€œThey’re twins, but not identical. From Ontario. They were ‘it’ girls in Toronto for a while, and then Glory went to Hollywood. She had some parts in B movies and had a talk show on cable TV.”
    â€œWhat about Lisa?”
    â€œShe went west too. They cut quite a swath. Some gossip column said they moved through the L.A. party scene like lionesses looking for zebra. All tanned, with big blond manes and matching boob jobs. Designers lent them clothes. David Yurman gave them jewelry. Their father is Victor Poole, do you know who he is?”
    â€œI never heard of him,” said Hope. An elderly golden retriever choosing that moment to stroll down to the road from his front yard escaped with his life, but not by much.
    â€œHe made a fortune with duty-free shops in airports,” Teddy said. “But you know the pop singer Artemis?”
    Everyone in the world had at least heard of the singer called Artemis. “My daughter, Lauren, just worshipped her when she was on that Disney show,” said Hope.
    Maggie said, “There was one year when every single girl in my fourth grade went as Artemis on Halloween. They must have been freezing with their little bare midriffs.”
    â€œLauren had Artemis dolls,” said Hope “and she and her friends would dance around in the bedroom with their T-shirts rolled up to their armpits singing Artemis songs, with bananas for microphones.”
    â€œI worship Artemis,” Teddy declared. “She’s an icon. The husband is Artemis’s father.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNo!”
    â€œWait, which husband?”
    â€œLisa’s husband, the great fat thing who kept sending his dinner back last night. He’s Artemis’s father. Albie Clark knows him from Southampton too.”
    After a moment, Maggie said, “Well, that poor child.”
    Teddy said, “You won’t believe how gorgeous he was when he was young.” He tried again to see if he had cell phone service.
    Hope said, “Did you know that after all that fuss over the trout last night, he demanded that the chef come out so he could congratulate her?”
    â€œYou’re kidding.”
    â€œNo. But Sarah was so mad she wouldn’t go. She sent Oliver out to say she’d gone to bed.”
    Clarence was a bloodhound. It wasn’t a popular breed, nor a very beautiful one. The bloodhound has a wrinkled face as if his skull was once about twice as big as it is now, and no one thought to have the skin resized when the skull shrank. He has droopy eyes and jowls that don’t quite seal even when his mouth is closed, so drool is more or less a constant. Back in the day when hunting large game on