Murder on the Backswing by ReGina Welling

Author:ReGina Welling
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Willow Hill Books
Published: 2019-11-10T20:09:28+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Working their way from the spa around to the tennis courts and back to the main office, the sisters could see that Rolling Hills took great care to make their members comfortable while keeping the staff-to-guest ratio at the perfect median level.

Had they required assistance, there were enough welcoming, khaki-shorted and white polo-clad employees on site to accommodate almost immediately, yet Mag and Clara weren’t inundated with greetings to a point of irritation—a delicate balance many businesses couldn’t seem to find.

Mag was just about to insist on returning to the bus when she heard the trill of the kind of laugh that comes when someone has just said something mean or scandalous. Turning, she spotted three of the youngest coven members lunching on a dining room-adjacent outside patio. Faces carefully turned and eyes that looked anywhere but at her meant she or Clara had been the butt of the joke.

“We really should say hello. Double Bubble just spotted us, and it will seem rude if we don’t.”

Clara’s mouth quirked into a disbelieving grin, “Who now?”

“Double Bubble. The one who’s always chewing away on a wad of gum.”

“She has a name.”

“What is it, then?”

“Wisteria? Mysteria? Oh hell, something like that.” Her bluff called, Clara’s face went slightly pink.

“Listeria?” Sounded familiar to Mag.

“Now you’ve resorted to rhymes. And Listeria’s a bacteria, not a name.”

The hastily whispered conversation continued while their steps took them closer to the patio.

“It’s a name for a bacteria, isn’t it? I guess Double Bubble is close enough and that one is Toil, and over there is Trouble. Look how they go. Toil is constantly picking at things. See how she straightens out the utensils? Trouble is the one with the sour look. Together they’re sublime if you think about it.”

“Toil is Winifred Owens, and the pretty one is Selena Sanderson. You’re going to have to take the time to learn more about the coven if you’re going to be an effective member.”

Mag bristled at the gentle scolding.

“When they do something worthy of my notice, I’ll remember their names.” That last Mag hissed just before she and Clara came within earshot of the cluster of younger women. “For now though, we have to be polite, don’t we?”

“If you want to use that excuse, be my guest, but I’d eat my own shoe if I thought you actually gave a damn about Miss Manners’s rules of social etiquette.”

“Can it, Clarie!” Mag looked down at her ensemble, knew it wouldn’t match up the crisp, pastel-trimmed tennis whites sported by the lunching ladies, and wondered if she cared what they thought.

“Good morning, ladies.” With apparent difficulty, Mag leaned on her cane to navigate the two short steps up onto the patio and deposited herself with a sigh onto one of the metal chairs at the next table from the young witches. Clara followed suit and flashed a sunny smile.

“Is it true the mailman died right over there?” Double Bubble nodded in the general direction of the scene of the crime and laid down her fork to listen eagerly for any hint of scandal.

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