Fudging the Books Read Online Free Page A

the previous owner hiding out in New Orleans. As Rhett had asserted all along, the woman had absconded with a horde of priceless art. Not only was she sent to jail, but she had to relinquish the hefty insurance settlement. Mystery solved. Hooray!
    Bailey said, “Rhett constructed a rock climbing wall.”
    “Why?”
    “He’s gung ho about this pirate thing, too.”
    Katie grinned. “Keller’s already climbed the wall five times. It seems pirates were adept at climbing up things.”
    “Like enemy ships,” I quipped.
    Bailey aimed a finger. “We should do it.”
    “We?” I said. “As in the three of us?”
    Katie grinned. “I wish I could. Too much to do this week.”
    “I’ll have to put on tennis shoes,” I said. I preferred flip-flops to just about any other kind of shoe. Not stylish, I know, but comfy. “I’m pretty good at rock climbing.”
    “You are?” Katie looked astounded.
    “Don’t you remember how I used to go backpacking with my brother?” On a trip to Yosemite, he taught me how to rappel off the top of a mountain. I remember how cautious I was at first. Tiptoeing down the rock wall backward. Worrying that my brother was secretly trying to do me in. Was the belay device threaded right? Would the rope hold my weight? However, within minutes, I was pushing off and whooping with glee. It was a great bonding moment for the two of us.
    “Hey, Jenna. Hey, Bailey.” Coco Chastain poked her head into the kitchen. “We’re here. Can I come in?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She hustled in and struck a pose. The magenta dress she wore looked painted on. Forties-style curls framed her face.
Va-va-voom
, as a couple of non-PC male coworkers at Taylor & Squibb Advertising, where I used to work, would have said. “I want you to come out to the dining room and meet the others before the book club members arrive.”
    “Don’t you mean
other
, singular?” Bailey asked.
    “Didn’t I tell you?” Coco moved closer, her stylish, ankle-laced heels clacking the floor. “In addition to Alison, the copyeditor, Ingrid—she’s a newbie—wanted to come along for the experience, to see what it’s like for an author to schmooze, and the photographer, Dash—he’s such a talent.” Coco laid a hand above her voluptuous chest. “He loves everything pirate, so he begged to tag along, too.” She lowered hervoice. “Wait until you see all his tattoos.
Arrr
, matey
.
” She gripped Bailey’s elbow. “C’mon. Katie, you, too.”
    Katie wagged her head. “Aye, there’s the rub,” she said. “I’ve got work to do.”
    “Please?” Coco said in a girlish way. “Tito is already out there taking photographs. I want you in them.”
    “Uh-uh,” Katie said. “Way too many pots on the stove. You all go ahead. We”—she indicated the sous-chefs and waitresses—“need to keep this under control.”
    Two tables, set for sixteen diners each, stood by the windows with the ocean view. Alison Foodie, a largish woman with a strong jaw and thick black hair, sat at the head of one table. She paused what she was doing—tapping in a message on her cell phone—and glowered at the screen. She took a sip from a glass of water and started in again. Tap, tap, tap.
    “Alison, look over here,” Tito Martinez ordered. When I first met Tito, he reminded me of an insecure boxer, the four-legged kind: broad face, broad shoulders, short legs, and eager for a confrontation. Now, he was smoother, almost suave. “Look this way.” Bailey had asked him to do a front-page spread about Alison and Coco’s united rise to fame. The story had local roots. Tito was totally on board. “No more business, Alison. C’mon. Smile.”
    Alison dropped her cell phone into her purse and offered a big, toothy grin. Wearing a swatch of a red-patterned tartan—what many in America call a plaid—slung over the shoulders of her sweater, she reminded me of a Scottish warrior.
    Spying Bailey, Alison set her glass aside and scrambled to