I Murdered the PTA by Wendy Dager

Author:Wendy Dager
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery/Women Sleuths, Humorour
Publisher: Zumaya Publications LLC
Published: 2011-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

11

The show was over by about one a.m. No recordproducers came up to us with promises of cash and condos and hookers, but the Bobs were still pumped. Hell, I was pumped, too. It was a great night, we rocked the house, and all was well, except for the fact there were angry protesters outside the club and an undercover reporter inside. And, oh, yeah, all those dead Cupcakes.

I kept forgetting about the dead Cupcakes. I don’t know if it was amnesia or denial.

God, Daphne, you suck as a human being.

We were standing backstage, accepting the admiration of a few club kids, when the Bobs decided to go to Logan’s basement to celebrate our first gig in a real venue. They were taking some newfound friends with them and asked if I wanted to come over. I took one look at the gaggle of nineteen- and twenty-year-olds with their ripped Care Bear T-shirts and knitting needle-sized facial implements and decided I was very, very old.

I politely declined and started to head out for the Nova. I wanted to go home.

But Antoine, who I thought had left after the performance, appeared out of nowhere and insisted on taking me to an all-night coffee shop for some food. Doug, who hung annoyingly at my side when I got off stage, quickly said he’d tag along. Apparently, he was still looking out for my best interests.

The two guys continued sizing each other up, which made it all very awkward as we climbed into Antoine’s Land Rover—nice car—him driving, me in the front passenger seat, and Doug in the back. As we drove by the entrance of the Whisky, I saw that the protesters and reporters were gone. All that was left were a half-dozen stragglers trying to find a party, and a pair of streetwalkers looking for a date.

I was on an adrenaline high as we drove a few blocks, trying to find suitable sustenance. We finally came across a diner tucked into a corner strip mall. The bell on the glass door announced our entrance, and we sat in a sticky red-vinyl booth, patched at the sides with duct tape. Antoine was fast—he managed to slide in next to me. Doug looked irked as he sat across from us.

The waitress didn’t say anything, just brought coffee and menus all around. I quickly decided what I was going to eat and looked at my two guys as they studied the greasy menus. Antoine wore a black windbreaker with a white T-shirt underneath. He had on jeans. They weren’t tight enough.

Doug had on a green Lands End polo shirt and a pair of khaki Dockers.

Super Prep, Defender of Private Golf Courses, Hero of the Hamptons, Fighter for Truth, Justice and Keeping the Riffraff Out of Brentwood!

I giggled a little, and they both looked up at me. I couldn’t tell them what I was thinking, so I focused on my current nemesis, the Evil Newspaper Reporter.

“I have no idea why Valerie would come to the Whisky,” I said, sipping from the chipped gray cup.

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