Luck of the Draw (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 1)(6)

By this, Kate assumed she meant there weren’t too many pesky locals hanging about. “Yes, well, we’re actually going to Whisper Lake. In Sugar Falls.” Just as soon as she made arrangements.

“Sugar Falls? New Hampshire? I can’t say I’ve heard of—”

“It’s on the western border. Near Vermont. My grandmother grew up there.”

Betsy’s head tilted, her elegant, spa-shaped brows gently knitted. “Oh. Well. I’m sure it will be lovely there, too.”

“Lovely,” Celery Mom nodded in agreement.

Kate wasn’t sure how lovely it would be once she was arrested on attempted-murder charges for poisoning these toxic women with lethal doses of Red Dye No. 3, but she figured she’d find out soon enough. She grabbed the lemonade pitcher’s handle with a death grip, and refilled each of their paper cups with neon-pink liquid.

The pink dot that happened to jump onto Celery Mom’s white shirt was just a bonus.




AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER, KATE waved goodbye to the next to last guest with no small amount of relief. She put the slice of cake she’d wrapped up for Mrs. Pemborly in a plastic bag and handed it over. “Remember,” she said, “you’re not supposed to have too many sweets. So, this is for tomorrow.”

Mrs. Pemborly pulled the bag’s handles over her wrist, her pale blue eyes conveying what she thought of the admonition. “I’m ninety-three years old, Kate. There isn’t much point in waiting to indulge in anything.” She heaved a beleaguered sigh. “But I will. You can sleep with a clear conscience tonight.

“Liam!” the older woman barked, “Happy birthday, young man! Enjoy your loot!” Liam grinned and waved as Mrs. P. peered out the front window. “Oh, June, you’re right. It’s starting to rain again.”

“I’ll get my coat and walk you home,” Kate offered.

Mrs. Pemborly rolled her eyes and opened the door. “I’m ninety-three years old. I think I know how to walk. Besides, you look spent.” Great, thought Kate, another unflattering adjective to add to the list. Mrs. P. turned to Nana. “Just open my umbrella, would you, June? I have such a time with it. It’s a little rusty, but at ninety-three, there doesn’t seem much point in buying a new one.”

Before the woman could announce she’d turned ninety-four, Kate tied Mrs. P.’s little plastic hood under her chin, Nana popped the umbrella and they both helped her down the front steps. Nana closed the door with a satisfied thump. “Well! That takes care of that!”

Yes. That it did. Kate blew out a breath and tried to ignore her frayed nerves as she surveyed the mess. Toys and wrapping paper lay in mounds on the loveseat under the window. Popcorn and chip crumbs littered the carpet like pale confetti. Half-eaten plates of cake sat on the mantel, the snack table, the floor. And, a single cup of pink lemonade balanced precariously on a window sill. Kate wanted to go curl up in bed with a cup of hot tea, but this mess wasn’t going away by itself. “You’ve been on your feet all day, Nana. Why don’t you go rest for a bit? I’ll clean up.”

“Nonsense. I’ll help. Mrs. P.’s right. You look exhausted!”

“Thanks for noticing.” Kate picked up a trash bin and began loading it with half-eaten cake slices and the larger chip crumbs, her eyes welling with tears. She poured the lemonade into a potted plant and threw the cup in the trash. Nana didn’t mean to be unkind, but the truth was, she was tired. And haggard. And out of a job! Kate swallowed. She wouldn’t lose it now, not after holding it together all afternoon.

The doorbell rang and her eyes flew to Nana.

“I’ll get it. Probably somebody left their jacket or something.” Nana swung the door wide, and Kate’s stomach rolled.

“Katherine. Mother! Thank God. I’m so worried about Sandy…” Kate’s mother stood on the other side of the screen door, a giant golf umbrella sheltering the small pink animal crate in her hand. “She’s been acting lethargic all day,” her mother whispered.

Kate opened the screen door and took the dog crate as her mother shook the umbrella and set it next to the door. “My God! What happened here?”

“Liam’s birthday party.” Kate set the crate next to the umbrella.

“Oh, right. I couldn’t make it. Sandy has been suffering so. I needed to be with her. You understand.” Her mother frowned. “Honey, don’t put her by the door. She’ll catch a draft.”

Kate dutifully picked up the crate again and carried it to the dining room.

“I hate to ask,” her mother continued, “but I have an event this evening and Rosaria has gone home, and I don’t like to leave Sandy alone when she’s under the weather…”

“I’ll watch her.” Kate said, returning to the living room.

“Thank you. You know how she looks up to you.”

Kate fought the urge to roll her eyes and accepted the designer pink backpack that included Sandy’s leash, favorite toys, treats, organic food, stainless measuring scoop, pop-up dishes, biodegradable poo baggies, tick remover, hair brush, and personal pillow with lambswool covering. Kate knew this because her mother itemized its contents as she passed it over. “And only one scoop of food. Don’t let her beg for more. I know you’ll want to give in to that sweet little face, but we can’t have our little pooch getting poochy, can we?”