Read Sour Grapes (A Savannah Reid Mystery #6) for Free Online Page B

proud of me, or what?! I've got another twenty pounds or so to lose, but I'm getting there."
    "Twenty pounds?" Savannah glanced across the table at Tammy, who appeared to be as shocked as she was. And if superthin, ultra-health-conscious Tammy was concerned . . .
    "You don't need to lose anything, Atlanta," Tammy said. "You're very slender as you are. What sort of diet have you been on?"
    Atlanta's defense shields rose as she took a long
    drink of the tea and avoided looking at either of them. "I've just been watching what I eat," she finally said. "Cutting out the junk food, you know, all that garbage you eat, Savannah. Which, by the way, I can see you've picked up a couple of pounds since I saw you last. Especially in your hips. But that's always been your problem area, hasn't it? I guess I take after Mom's side of the family, because I've never had a problem with my hips and . .
     
    Wandering over to the stove, Savannah looked at her eggs, which now looked like yellow-and-white rubber
     
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    W.S.V.A. Mae 4.146.
    with dried, brown ruffles around the edges. Her grits had congealed into a pasty glob. The distinct, bitter ;men of burned biscuits was wafting from the oven.
    And she couldn't even run over to the local IHOP
    For strawberry cheese blintzes; she had given the cabby her last dollar.
    Suddenly, she felt older and more tired than dirt.
    Picking up her coffee cup, she fortified it with a gen..rous splash of Baileys Irish Cream, then said, "You two, rat ... or don't eat, whatever you can find. Just make yourself at home, 'Lanta. I'm going back to bed for an hour or two. I had a rough night."
     
    As she shuffled through the living room, she heard her sister's voice reaching out to her . . . , "Savannah, :ould you take up some of those bags? You know, since you're going up anyway."
    Marion Lippincott had organized 289 beauty pageants
    her career, and she was darned good at it. Ac:ustomed to the chaotic flutter of belles and gowns, iantic stage mothers and frenzied coaches, florists and leamstresses, beauticians and musicians, nothing fazed The Lip". . . as she was not-so-fondly called. . . but never
    her face.
    Over the rims of those tortoiseshell glasses that per3etually
    perched on the end of her nose she had seen it
    And, about a hundred years ago, she had done it all. ['hough her once-auburn locks were now a short, silver )ob, and her crowns and banners were packed away in I trunk at the foot of her bed, she knew the pageant world inside and out.
    And although many of the people scurrying about
    he gallery of the Villa Rosa Winery considered this one
     
    of the most important events of their lives, to Lippincott it was just number 289. She figured she'd retire at 300. Enough was enough.
    "Whose bright idea was it to have this at a winery?" sounded a whiny voice in her left ear. Marion glanced up from her notebook for a half second, long enough to recognize the speaker as a professional pageant mom
    and not someone who required diplomatic handling, like a sponsor.
     
    "It was my idea," she replied curtly, "a damned bright one. I'm glad you agree. Has your Desiree registered yet?"
    The mom sputtered, stammered, then shook her head.
    "I suggest she do so, right away. M through Z is set up in the tasting room." She flipped open her notebook to the accommodations chart. "She'll be rooming with Eileen Freeport in 2F . up the stairs, on the right."
    "With Eileen!? No, they hate each other. Remember, I wrote you three months ago and asked that she be
    with--"
    "Room 2F. Registration, Mrs. Porter, registration." She snapped her fingers and the discontented Mrs. Porter disappeared.
     
    Marion strode across the gallery, the hub of Villa Rosa's busy visitors' center. Situated on the Ventura Highway, north of Los Angeles, but south of Hearst Castle, Villa Rosa was a popular spot along the Southern California tourist trail. The gallery--which was round, its walls paneled with oak taken from ancient barrels--itself looked like