Monet Talks Read Online Free Page A

piping hot sweetbread soufflé.”
    â€œHe means thymus glands,” Rob growled. “From calves. We had them last night.”
    â€œFrom calves? Aren’t you afraid of getting mad cow disease?”
    â€œMoo-ve over,” Rob said, and poked his partner good-naturedly. “You’re taking up too much table space.”
    â€œI don’t get my sweetbreads just anywhere,” Bob said. “I special order them from a ranch in Argentina, where mad cow disease has never been found.”
    â€œHe also orders rhea meat from that ranch.”
    â€œWhat kind of meat?”
    â€œRhea,” Bob said. “It’s a large, flightless bird, kind of like an emu or an ostrich. In fact, it’s the largest bird in the Americas. Gets up to five feet tall. I’ve been ordering just the steaks so far, but I’m thinking of ordering a whole one for Thanksgiving. Yes, I know, the air freight will be a killer, and I’ll have to hunt around for anoven to fit it—maybe a bakery, or someplace like that—but just think, I’ll be able to invite everyone I know over to dinner.”
    â€œFor their last meal,” Rob quipped. “Remember what happened when you made the eel flambé?”
    â€œThat was a fluke.”
    â€œNo, that’s when you served whale. Maybe you should order a live rhea, and Abby can ride it to dinner.”
    â€œGuys, I appreciate your attempts to distract me, but I can’t stop thinking about the break-in. It gives me the heebie-jeebies when I think of how I might have been in the storeroom at the time. And that horrible stuffed starling. This is a sick person.”
    â€œOr a student from the College of Charleston.”
    â€œYou’re kidding—aren’t you?”
    Rob shook his head. “It could have been an initiation prank. School’s just starting. This city is flooded with kids. And then there are the Citadel cadets. If I was thirty years younger—”
    â€œWhich you’re not,” Bob said.
    â€œBut it couldn’t be kids,” I protested. “How would they know my alarm code?”
    â€œAre you positive you set it?”
    â€œOf course I am. You know that I make a ritual out of it every night, unless, of course, it’s C.J.’s turn to close. And last night was mine—oh my gosh!”
    â€œAbby, you’re pale as a sheet. What is it?”
    â€œMama came in right before closing. We got to talking in the storeroom, and I remember thinking about closing—intending to close—but then I walked Mama out to her car, and then I got in mine, because I was so distracted by the thought of crashing—uh, never mind. I guess maybe I didn’t. Set the alarm, I mean.”
    â€œWhoa,” Rob said, and waved the waiter away. “Back up a bit there, girl. What were you so distracted about?”
    â€œDo you have to know?”
    â€œAbsolutely,” they said in unison.
    â€œMama wants us to crash the St. Ophelia Ball.”
    Rob whistled in admiration. “She’s something else, that Mozella.”
    â€œWe have a friend who crashed the St. Ophelia Ball,” Bob brayed. The man has a bass voice that is the envy of bullfrogs everywhere. “He said it’s a cinch if you smell like mothballs and don’t move too fast.”
    â€œDid he crash it by himself?” I asked. “I thought only couples were allowed.”
    â€œMaynard’s a ventriloquist. He took a mannequin. He had it—he calls it Sheila—strapped to his shoes.”
    â€œVery funny.”
    â€œBob’s not joking, Abby. They won a trophy for best-looking couple. They would have wonanother one for best dancing, but one of Sheila’s feet came loose and dragged around the dance floor. At a very slow pace, of course.”
    â€œI don’t believe you guys, but thanks for trying to cheer me up.”
    â€œThat’s what friends are for, Abby. And quit worrying