Mayhem at the Orient Express Read Online Free Page A

a good time.”
    I would have liked to point out that I could already be having a good time if she’d
     given me half a moment and I had the chance to snatch that bottle out of Chandra’s
     hand, toss it on the floor, and stomp on it.
    But I didn’t have a chance because another woman walked into the room. She was short
     and wiry, with a head of silvery hair that framed a face as wrinkled as an old blanket.
    “Hope I’m not late.” The woman was wearing tan Carhartt bib overalls and when she
     got nearer she brought with her the musty scent of the lake in spring. She glanced
     around the table, nodded to the other three women, and stuck out a hand to me. “Luella
     Zak.” Her grip was firm, her handshake rock-steady. “We haven’t met, but we have a
     connection. My daughter Meg is the one who’s going to be doing your baking for you
     over at Bea and Bees.”
    I’d sampled a half-dozen bakers’ wares since I’d been on the island, and Meg’s muffins
     and breads were by far the best, and I told her mother so.
    “Hiring bakers. Hiring cleaners. Renovating the house.” Chandra had gone around to
     the other side of the table and—thank goodness—she tucked that bottle of lavender
     water back where it came from. “There’s been plenty of talk on the island since you
     bought that place, Bea. People are wondering how you can afford to do everything you’re
     doing.”
    In a polite world, I would have given her an answer. Then again, in a polite world,
     she wouldn’t have brought up the subject in the first place.
    I was well within my rights to ignore her.
    “So . . .” Maybe she was immune to the bad mojo in the room, or maybe Luella really
     didn’t give a damn. She dropped into the chair next to mine. “I hear there’s a book
     discussion group starting.”
    “And you want to join?” Like anyone could blame me for sounding so cynical?
    Apparently, Luella didn’t. Her blue eyes gleamed. “Boy, there’s nothing I love more
     than reading,” she said and added for my benefit, “I run Zak’s Charter Fishing. Used
     to be my business and Joe’s, my husband, but he’s been dead nearly ten years. So now
     I’m the one who takes tourists out on the lake for perch and walleye. They fish, I
     read. I’ve always got a book with me.” As if to prove it, she pulled a tattered copy
     of a historical romance out of the pocket of her overalls. “Just finished this one
     today while I was waiting for the guys over at the marina to do some work on my boat.
     I’m all set for a new book.” She looked toward Marianne. “How is this going to work?
     And what are we reading?”
    “Well . . .” Marianne glanced around the table. “I suppose it’s up to all of us. This
     is a democracy, after all.”
    “Not exactly,” Kate grumbled. “Or we wouldn’t be here in the first place.”
    Rather than deal, Marianne got up and walked over to the bookshelf along the back
     wall of the room. “I suppose the first thing we’ll need to do is choose a book to
     read. And we’ll need something we have five copies of. So . . .” She riffled her fingers
     along the shelf at eye-level, plucked a book from the stack and spun around. “There’s
     this one.
Darkness on the Edge of Death
by FX O’Grady. Everybody loves FX O’Grady.”
    “No!” My objection came out a little too loud, and way too fast, and I didn’t even
     realize it until I saw that the other women were staring at me. I tried for a smile
     that even I knew didn’t look genuine. “I hear those books are scary. I don’t like
     to read scary books.”
    “That’s because you don’t have a clear concept of life after death,” Chandra pointed
     out right before she made a face. “Although, if I remember the movie right, it didn’t
     exactly portray those who have crossed over as a very friendly bunch. There were zombies,
     and shapeshifters, and some pretty nasty things happening in a cemetery.”
    “Scared the bejesus out of