Percy ruffles his feathers. “Rescue mission or interference? It’s hard to tell with these women.”
I happen to agree.
“Your mother is delightful,” I’m quick to tell Ronnie. “And it’s great to see you here, too.”
She laughs. “Well, I’ll admit, I’m a reluctant participant in this vintage circus. My mother talked me into it.”
“I guess we have that in common,” I confess with a laugh of my own. “I don’t mind. Plus, this is where all the good gossip is this afternoon.”
“Don’t I know it. These biddies have more secrets than a Cold War spy ring.”
“Oh?” I lean in slightly. “Sounds like you might know a few.”
Percy perks up as well, and his feathers dazzle as tiny stars burst from each one.
“I know where all the bodies are buried.” Ronnie examines me for a moment, her green eyes calculating, then reaches into her clutch and pulls out a sleek black card. “Seven o’clock tonight in Leeds. I’m meeting up with a few friends at a place called The Velvet Lounge. Why don’t you come by with those rumored two husbands of yours?” She gives a little wink. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know about anyone in this room.”
I blink. “Really?”
“That is, after you play a little game with myfriends and me.” She tucks the card into my hand. The cardstock feels heavy and expensive. “I promise, it’s nothing too scandalous. Just a little fun to keep things interesting.”
She walks away, her heels clicking against the parquet floor, leaving me standing there holding what feels like an invitation to either a breakthrough or a disaster.
“I’ll be there with bells on!” I call after her.
Percy hops over to the punch bowl, eyeing me with skepticism. “A game, Lottie Lemon? With strangers? In Leeds? This hasterrible ideawritten all over it.”
“Everything I do has that written all over it,” I mutter. “At least I’m consistent.”
“That’s one way to look at it.”
Before I can respond, there’s a commotion near the soda fountain.
And I look over to see Carlotta in the nexus of it. Of course, it’s Carlotta.
She’s holding a mini hose in her hand, and she’s somehow managed to activate the soda fountain’s spray mechanism. And either inadvertently—or very much on purpose—she’s sending a jet of root beer into the air like a carbonated geyser, arcing it across the room before landing directly on Francine Dundee’s giant bun.
Francine shrieks as if she’s just been stabbed. And the rest of the room erupts in screams, laughter, and all-around chaos.
Root beer rains down on at least a dozen other women who were unfortunate enough to be in the splash zone.
“Shut it off!” Naomi screams as about six different women struggle with some mechanism at the soda fountain, but by the looks of that brown waterfall, they’re not having much luck with it.
Carlotta raises her hands. “It was an accident! The machine just went rogue!”
“CARLOTTA SAWYER!” Naomi’s voice could crack glass.
Naomi stomps toward the carnage and makes a sharp gesture to two men in security uniforms who just materialized as if they’ve been waiting in the wings for this exact moment.
“You.” Naomi points at Carlotta. “Out. Now.”
“It was the fountain’s fault!” Carlotta protests even though she’s grinning like a loon.
“OUT.” Naomi turns to me. “You, too, Lottie Lemon. Both of you. I don’t care if you brought cookies, champagne, or cold, hard cash for everyone. You’re done, too.”
“But I didn’t?—”
“Your mother soaked half my guests in root beer. You’re guilty by association. OUT.”
