Diana Anderson - Entering Southern Country 01 - Famous in a Small Town Read Online Free Page A

took another gulp and knew if he didn’t calm down he was apt to have a stroke, but he didn’t know how to calm down at that point. Nobody had ever double-crossed him. Sure, he’d had some trouble in the past, but nothing a few dollars couldn’t cure. How he’d gotten screwed this time was an unusual mistake on his part. He blamed himself for being swayed by that Mexican beauty. Tiny thing but she was hot. His loins tightened at the thought. He’d forgive her treachery if he could get his hands on her and get what she’d stolen from him, and then he’d put a bullet between her eyes.
    Bitch!
    He caught sight of his reflection in the window and wondered how he’d let himself get so out of shape. His paunch of a belly hung over the waistband of his dress slacks. What used to be thick, dark brown hair had turned to salt and pepper and at the hairline had thinned at the speed of light.
    He caught movement on the other side of the window. His brown eyes darkened even more as he watched a crow land on a branch of a large white oak outside his window. It cawed as if to warn him of some impending doom.
    “You’re a little late for that,” he said and then took another sip of his drink.
    The door opened behind him. “Angus?”
    The crow took flight. He turned toward the door. Suzanne stood at the doorway with a pleasant smile on her face.
    No brains but always that stupid smile.
    Unlike Angus, Suzanne had kept her figure. She was a petite woman and carried herself well.
    She stepped inside. “Lunch is ready, dear.”
    He downed the last of his drink, walked over to the mini bar, and set down his glass.
    “You seem troubled,” she said. “Mavis prepared your favorites. I thought it’s so pleasant outside that we could have lunch on the lanai.”
    Lanai? It’s a freakin’ patio .
    But who was he to argue? He’d married into old money but tried to be patient with the frail, ignorant excuse for a woman for fear he’d lose it all. He ran a hand over his thick waist and adjusted his shirt into the waistband of his dress slacks. He tromped past her, out of the study, and down the hallway toward the French doors to the lanai. He went outside and sat down at the table. His wife sat down across from him, took her cloth napkin, shook it out, and then spread it across her lap. She looked at him and her permanent smile widened.
    “It’s so good to have lunch with you today. I’m glad you weren’t too busy to join me,” she said.
    He glanced at her vacant amber eyes. He swore she wasn’t home and hadn’t been in over twenty-five, maybe thirty years, since they’d lost the baby to crib death. She kept her long black hair dyed in its original color to cover the gray, and she wore it in a French twist. The only time she’d ever let her hair down was before she crawled into bed. He hadn’t bothered to run his hand up one of her floor length nightgowns the past several years. As far as she knew, he was impotent. He could have told her that his dick had fallen off, and she would have responded, “Oh dear, that’s terribly dreadful.” She’d never seemed to be bothered by lack of sex. She spent all of her energy on fundraisers for various organizations pertaining to children. The rest of the time she tended to the confounded flower beds and rose gardens on their property and at the park in Cypress. She wouldn’t let the gardener tend to hers like most women of her status.
    He picked up his napkin and wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. Pleasant outside, my ass! It’s hotter than blazes out here.
    He eyed the plate that was on the table in front of him. Salad again. Just where on this plate are my favorites?
    He was sick of salad. Sick of the diet his doctor had put him on. Watch your cholesterol, watch your fat, watch your sugar, eat more fiber, and exercise every day, and limit your alcohol, and give up cigars. All the while the doctor had dished out unwanted advice, he himself, looked fifty pounds