Fool's Puzzle by Earlene Fowler (reading eggs books .TXT) 📕

intended, hoping full stomachs would help open people’s wallets a little wider.

Ten minutes later, Constance Sinclair exploded into the room wearing a black crepe de Chine dress and a kamikaze expression. At four feet ten with stiff white hair and the mannerisms of an overbred greyhound, she yapped orders at the fish-mouthed catering staff—move that table there, stack those glasses that way, what’s this Folger’s doing here, we paid good money for gourmet.

Her early arrival and autocratic manner didn’t surprise me. Most of her friends would be here tonight. Nothing less than perfection would bring a smile to her pinched, persimmon lips.

“Everything seems in order,” she finally decreed.

In the next forty-five minutes, most of the invited guests had arrived and were mingling with the artists. The champagne was flowing more quickly than I’d anticipated, so I considered starting the auction early before everyone was too tipsy to write a check. On the other hand, their slight inebriety could work in the co-op’s favor.

“Where’s the rest of the champagne?” Constance’s silvery eyelids disappeared as she, with wide, slightly bulging eyes, considered our stock critically.

“In the studios,” I said. “I’ll have the caterers bring it out when we need it.”

“Connie!” J.D.’s voice bellowed over the heads of a large, chattering group of people just arriving. “What a shindig. Can I make a campaign speech?”

If anyone could make the stiff-backed Constance Sinclair come anywhere near simpering, it was J.D. Freedman.

“Oh, J.D.,” she said. Her tight pink face spread into what looked like a grimace of pain but I think was suppose to be a flirtatious smile.

He winked at me and took her elbow. I smiled at them and couldn’t help but wonder. J.D. had been a widower for ten years and Constance had never married. There must be some reason why he called her Connie.

I felt a hand slip around my waist. I turned to face the lopsided grin of Carl. He drained the glass he held in his other hand.

“Quite the little soiree you have here. Never thought you had it in you, you old cowpuncher. You look incredible, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I hope we get a lot of donations tonight. That is the whole point to this.”

“Surely you’ll be able to wring a few bucks out of San Celina’s richest and finest. We do love the arts here on the Central Coast.”

“Who’s watching the paper?” J.D. asked, looking annoyed.

“Julio knows what to do,” Carl said lightly. “Trade ya.” He exchanged his empty glass for my full one before I could protest.

“It’s your job while your brother’s gone to supervise the evening shift,” J.D. said. “And I haven’t seen you for two days. Where have you been?”

“I’ve made the supervisory decision to let Julio handle it for a few hours.” He pulled at the sleeves of his tailored leather jacket and ignored the rest of his father’s question.

J.D.’s face turned a dull red. “Cathy called me today.”

Carl shrugged and sipped his drink. “So?”

“So she says you’re three months behind in your child support. I’m paying you a good salary, son. Why don’t you spend a little less time having a good time and make sure your kids have some food on the table?”

Carl’s head stiffened. A blank expression fell over his face.

Constance tugged at J.D.’s thick arm. “There are some people I invited specifically to meet you.” She flashed me a frown and flicked her eyes toward Carl, her message clear as distilled water. I wanted to tell her that no one could change Carl and J.D. I’d watched this ballet more times than I could count in the last twenty years and the two lead dancers had their steps down cold.

“Just a minute, Connie.” J.D. pointed a finger at Carl, inches from his pink button-down-collar shirt. “I sent her the money, but I’m deducting it from your next paycheck and nothing better go wrong tonight or else.”

Two spots of rosy color stained Carl’s cheeks as he watched his dad lumber across the room greeting people in his oversized voice.

“Come on, Carl,” I said, pulling at his sleeve. “Take a look at the food I ordered. They carved a quilt pattern on top of the cheese wheel.”

“What a crock of bullshit,” Carl said. He followed me to the hors d‘oeuvre table and picked up another glass of champagne. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything stronger hidden away somewhere, would you? This tastes like cat piss.”

“Carl, you shouldn’t let him get to you.”

“You don’t have to live with him. He doesn’t tell you what to do with your life every single, solitary minute.”

“Neither do you.”

“With those support payments I’m having to make? I can’t afford to eat at Taco Bell, much less get my own place. Now she says the kids need gymnastic lessons. I told her to buy a swing set at Sears and let them fall off that. And she’s taking opera lessons. That’s where my hard earned money is going, down her stringy throat.”

“Eat something.” I held out a plate of rumaki and shrimp puffs, trying to avoid any more discussion about his ex-wife. I’d known her in college. A tall, gorgeous redhead, she was well known even then for being a person easily impressed by money and prestige. Everyone thought she only married Carl for his money. And time seemed to prove that true. But Carl had really loved her and I knew their breakup had been hard on him.

“I’m not hungry,” he said, pulling a small flask out of his jacket and taking a swig. “But I do have a question for you. I heard through the grapevine that your cousin was a witness to the Chenier murder.” He picked up a glass of champagne, gave it a disgusted look, then drained it. “I can’t believe you’d hold out on me like that. J.D. got all over my ass for not getting all the facts.”

“She wasn’t a witness,” I said hastily. “She was just with Marla before it happened. She didn’t see anything.”

“You’ve talked