Read The Readaholics and the Gothic Gala for Free Online Page B

story,” Thea said softly. Getting braver, she said more loudly, “That’s not my story.”
    Uh-oh.
    â€œSo sorry—there must be some mistake. . . .” Gemma fluttered, looking to me for help.
    The crowd began to murmur and shift restlessly in their chairs. I climbed the four stairs to the stage and pulled Shannon away from the microphone. “The last story should be by Thea Jensen,” I said, checking my list, “and it should be called ‘A Night in Amarantha.’”
    â€œWell, this is the one I got last night, and it’s by someone called Eloise Hufnagle,” Shannon whispered.
    Not good. That was the woman Mary Stewart had mentioned at Book Bliss, the one who was suing her. How had Shannon gotten—? That could wait. Right now, we needed to get the show back on the road. “Do you have Thea’s story?”
    â€œSure. It’s the last one.”
    â€œThere were only supposed to be three. We’ll straighten this out after. Just read Thea’s story and let’s get through this.”
    With a smile, I stepped to the mic and said, “I apologize for the delay. Just a mix-up, folks. Shannon will now read Thea’s story, ‘A Night in Amarantha.’”
    Mary and Thea subsided into their seats, Shannon read beautifully, and the three authors came onstage to proclaim the boy’s story the winner. He bounded up the stairs to accept his prize, doing the Rocky thing again to the crowd’s amusement. Gemma closed by thanking the judges and reminding folks about the costume ball, and the audience began to drift out. I wished I could leave, too, but with Mary Stewart and her brother bearing down on me, along with Shannon and Gemma, I wasn’t going to be able to escape.
    They all talked at once. “My sister’s book—” “—e-mail last night—” “—don’t understand why—”
    I held up a hand, trying to convey a calm I wasn’t really feeling. “Shannon, you said you got the story last night. How was that?”
    Pushing her reading glasses atop her head, she said, “I got an e-mail, like with the others, saying it was a late finalist. I didn’t think anything of it.”
    â€œWas the mail from my mom, like the others?” I knew my mom, as one of the judges, had been in charge of forwarding the finalists’ stories to Shannon; I’d given her the e-mail address myself.
    â€œNow that you mention it,” Shannon said, brows drawing together, “I think it was from the kid, that Eloise.”
    â€œShe’s not a kid,” Lucas said. He ran a hand through his thick black hair and it fell back perfectly into place.
    â€œThis is all about embarrassing me,” Mary put in, tears making her eyes glitter. “That woman—” She stopped and her eyes widened. “She’s here, isn’t she? She’s here to cause trouble.” She looked over her shoulder as if expecting to see Eloise Hufnagle creeping up on her.
    Lucas slung an arm around her shoulders. “I told you we should have gotten a restraining order after what happened in Birmingham.”
    â€œWhat happened in Birmingham?”
    Lucas gave me a brooding look. “That woman accosted Mary in the street and flung a jar of blood on her.”
    Gemma gasped and put a hand to her mouth.
    â€œIt turned out it wasn’t real blood,” Mary said. “It was an ooky stage blood, but it still ruined my dress.”
    â€œAnd it’s a gross thing to do,” I added.
    â€œWe should call the police,” Gemma said, more decisively than usual.
    â€œAnd tell them what?” Lucas rounded on her. “That someone mailed a story to Shannon here and lied about it being a contest finalist? Ooh, scary. They’re not going to give a damn about that.”
    Taken aback by his scathing tone, Gemma looked like she might cry. Lucas seemed much less attractive all