Have Your Cake and Kill Him Too by Nancy Martin

tomato-basil cream cheese, my stomach executed a quick barrel roll. Taking care not to draw attention to myself, I took up a position by the refrigerator—just a quick dash to the downstairs powder room if nausea struck. Emma noted my strategy with a smirk.
    Fortunately, Libby didn’t notice. She rooted around in a drawer to find a serrated knife and began to carefully slice a bagel. “Emma told me what happened last night, Nora. How exciting! She said you’d tell me everything else.”
    â€œWhat happened to Zell wasn’t exactly exciting.”
    â€œI don’t mean about Zell! I mean about Cupcakes! Was it very fun?”
    â€œIt was mostly gross, Libby. It’s somebody cashing in by coercing young girls to act very foolishly because they don’t know any better.”
    â€œI’ve seen their television commercials. I love the little dances they do.” Libby gave a cowgirl shimmy. “And the pictures of cupcakes? With the single jelly bean on each one? So cute!”
    â€œTwo months ago you thought selling vibrators was cute,” I said. “Then the police arrested you.”
    Libby stopped dancing and frowned. “If I had the money, I’d hire a lawyer to get my inventory back. I kept a few items for my personal collection—which is perfectly legal, by the way—but I wish I could get my hands on the Magic Wand again.”
    â€œLibby!”
    â€œWhat? I know I’m not allowed to sell them in public places. Although I don’t understand why, except that most lawmakers are prudes.”
    â€œNot all, I hope.” I sent Emma a meaningful glance.
    â€œWhat does that mean?” Libby asked, on alert.
    Despite the glare Emma sent me to keep my mouth shut, I said, “Boy Fitch made eyes at Em yesterday.”
    â€œHe did?”
    â€œHe did not!”
    Libby stopped slathering cream cheese on the bagel. “I used to babysit him! Oh, he was such an adorable child!”
    Emma slugged coffee. “You didn’t touch him, did you, Lib? Because that’s definitely illegal.”
    â€œOf course I didn’t touch him. He’s at least five years younger than me. He was darling, though. Not very bright, but darling.”
    â€œI wonder about that dim-bulb routine myself,” I murmured.
    â€œHe could be good for you, Emma. And it’s time you had a normal relationship.”
    â€œThere isn’t going to be a relationship,” Emma said. “The guy is dumb as dirt.”
    â€œMaybe he has hidden depths,” Libby said. “All you have to do is give him a little sign, Em. Not your usual sign, of course. Don’t grab his butt and drag him to the nearest Motel Six.”
    â€œI have no intention of pursuing Boykin Fitch. He’s not my type.”
    Libby aimed the tip of her knife at Emma. “All men are your type. Especially those Dungeon ones, the submissive fellows who want to be ordered around.” She looked thoughtful. “Except they never like being ordered to fix the leaky toilet, do they? The woman who figures out how to make chores sexy is going to outearn Bill Gates.”
    â€œEven Bill Gates has more sex appeal than Boy Fitch. Jeez, going to bed with him would be like hitting the sheets with—”
    â€œIt’s not always about hitting the sheets!” I cried suddenly. “Is sex all anybody thinks about anymore? Whatever happened to having someone to challenge your mind? To understand you? To listen and make you feel loved and needed and appreciated? To do crossword puzzles with! Intimacy is what matters! Emotional and intellectual intimacy! Who cares about sex? It’s meaningless!”
    Emma and Libby blinked at me.
    â€œSermon over?” Emma asked.
    â€œIs she talking about Richard?” Libby asked. “Are you saying he likes crossword puzzles more than sex? Because that’s just not normal.”
    â€œHis conversation is always that egghead