Lie Still Read Online Free Page B

and yellow tropical bow tie stood, bored and hot. No one else had even ventured out here.
    “White wine is great,” I said. “On the rocks. Makes it last longer. My New York doctor’s a woman who recommends one glass of that and a warm bubble bath every night.”
    “A Texan already. Ice in everything. If you need a rec for an OBGYN here, we all use Gretchen Liesel. She also cleans up our mistakes.” Jenny winked. “Anyway, she’s here somewhere unless she got an emergency call.”
    Jenny leaned in toward the bartender, showing that her small perfect breasts didn’t need a bra to prop them up. He didn’t care. I caught a glimpse of a Steinbeck novel propped up on the Jack Daniel’s. I was busily reworking my preconceived views of Texas. Abortions. Wink. Classic literature, but of course.
    “José, one white and two reds, please,” Jenny commanded. I cringed at the Hispanic dig, until I saw that his name tag actually read “José.”
Relax
.
    “Let’s sit over here and get acquainted.” She handed me my glass of wine and pulled us deeper into the mosquito jungle, toward a concrete bench set beside a koi pond. I breathed as shallowly as possible.
    “First, we have a little bet going,” Mary Ann said. “A pair of Mephistos ride on this. How long did it take for Letty to tell you she is descended from the Robert E. Lees? In seconds, not minutes, because we know she couldn’t hold out that long.”
    “I’d say thirty.” I swallowed a deep sip and wondered if a second glass of this elixir would hurt. I’d need it to get through the next two hours.
    “Shit,” Jenny said. “I guessed ten. Mary Ann said twenty-five.”
    “It was right after she mentioned that her husband was ‘the fourth,’ ” I added rashly, sucked in.
    “Ah, yes. Dirty Harry.” Jenny grinned.
    She dumped the remains of her glass into a spiky plant that drank it like a greedy alcoholic.
    “Lookie over there. It’s little Misty Rich. The other new girl.” Jenny lowered her voice. “In a white dress and red fuck-me shoes.” But by the time I turned my head, Misty Rich—whoever she was—had slipped out of sight.
    “Misty’s a freakin’ weird one,” Mary Ann informed me. “Pure trash. You can’t dress it up. She’s been here three months. Long enough for Caroline to become quite taken with her. Word is, she’s already invited Misty in.” She leaned closer. “We think Misty is into recreational drugs. We saw some scars. Caroline does love to find things to fix.”
    “Mary Ann, you’re cut off,” Jenny decreed.
    A low-pitched chime made all three of us turn back toward the house. Jenny pulled her friend up, gripping her arm a little harder than seemed necessary.
    “Summoned by the royal gong,” Mary Ann said sarcastically. At the same moment, an elegant woman with coiffed silver-blond hair appeared at the opening of the atrium. It was impossible to tell if she had overheard anything. My two companions faded behind me like sullen little girls.
    “So this is where you’ve been hiding my guest of honor.”
    Caroline Warwick shaped thin lips into a smile, gliding toward me in ice-blue linen. I imagined the air chilling as she moved through it. Her grip was firm and dry on my hand, her voice Southern, but a violin, not a banjo. More Deep South.
    I couldn’t determine her age. Fifties? Sixty? Caroline had an ageless sex appeal that reminded me of Lauren Bacall, appearing both youthful and old, her skin near-flawless, her movements controlled, graceful, almost sensual.
    “I hope this invitation wasn’t an imposition, Emily. I’m sure you’re not quite settled yet.”
Ema-lae
. My name falling from hertongue was like a caress. So why was I certain my hostess didn’t give a flip if this was an imposition?
    I smiled. “Not at all.” I caught the flash of something white out of the corner of my eye. The newcomer stood several feet behind and to the left of Caroline, a nymph in a frothy shift and fire-engine-red stiletto