The Sweetheart Bargain (A Sweetheart Sisters Novel) Read Online Free Page B

villa to the main building.
    “Esther has been questioning my choice of morning beverage,” Greta said. “Again.”
    Pauline leaned over and gave the Maker’s Mark a sniff. “Nothing wrong with a little bourbon. Especially on your birthday.”
    Esther’s lips knitted up tight.
    “Anyway, I’m glad you two are here,” Pauline said. She dug in her purse and pulled out a stack of envelopes. “Because I have an idea.”
    Greta groaned. “The last idea you had nearly got me killed.”
    Pauline waved that off, sending another Estée Lauder draft into the space. “You had fun on the kayak trip. And getting in the water is good for your skin. Besides, you’re the one who keeps complaining a quilting club is boring.”
    “It is. It’s what old women do.”
    Esther arched a darkly penciled brow. The woman of many facial expressions. And many floral dresses. Today’s was a bright pink peony pattern that hurt Greta’s eyes. “I happen to love quilting.”
    “I’d rather stick this needle in my eye.” Greta held up the silver object of her pain and brandished it near her eye.
    “Don’t go doing that.” Pauline dumped an envelope into each of their laps. “Guess who died?”
    “Harold Twohig. Please say Harold Twohig.”
    “Greta, you are a horrible person. That man is your neighbor.”
    “No. He’s the devil incarnate who happens to live next door.” Greta sent a scowl at the easterly wall, and hoped Harold felt it in his bones.
    Esther made the sign of the cross on her chest and whispered up a silent prayer. Probably asking God to smite Greta for her unneighborly thoughts. God didn’t do any smiting. Not so much as a rumble of thunder. The Man Upstairs knew Harold well.
    “Common Sense Carla,” Pauline said.
    “Who?”
    “The advice columnist for the Rescue Bay Daily . Remember that woman who told Mitchell Walker that cleaning in the buff was perfectly fine?”
    “Poor man ended up at the minute clinic for hours.” Esther shook her head. “Who knew rust remover could do so much damage?”
    “Clearly, she shouldn’t have named herself Common Sense anything,” Greta added.
    Pauline shuddered, then leaned forward. “Anyway, as soon as I heard about Carla’s demise, I . . . well, I took advantage of the opportunity.”
    “Took advantage?” Greta hadn’t known Pauline to take advantage of anything other than the front of the line on Thursday buffet nights. “How?”
    “I signed up as the new Carla.” Pauline beamed.
    “You?” Greta scoffed. “I’m sorry, Pauline, but you don’t give the best advice. And you aren’t exactly overflowing with common sense.”
    “I am too.” Pauline pouted.
    Esther leaned forward. “Has anyone seen the yellow thread? I need to tack my corners.”
    “Pauline, face it. Your advice is . . .” Greta searched for a polite word. Didn’t find one. “Terrible.”
    Pauline pouted until her lower lip looked like that of an overdone Hollywood actress. “It is not.”
    “You advised Jerry Beakins to work out his issues with his neighbor over a cup of coffee. You know the result of that? Second. Degree. Burns. ”
    “I never told him to throw the coffee,” Pauline said. “He was supposed to use his words. Not his coffee.”
    “Where is that yellow thread?” Esther patted the space in front of Greta, then bent down to search under the table. “Are you sitting on it, Greta?”
    “And you also told Betty Croucher that bee stings would help with her gout. Silly woman damned near had to buy an Epi-Pen factory.” Greta wagged a finger at Pauline. “That is why this is a bad idea. We need an advice columnist who can actually give advice. Not inspire lawsuits.” Though to be honest, the local paper had a circulation of, at most, a few thousand, so it wasn’t like Pauline could wreak worldwide destruction or anything.
    Pauline pouted. “I already told the paper I’d be the new Carla. My first column is due tomorrow.” She dropped a pile of papers onto the