Lethal Luncheon (Puzzle Lady Mystery, a short story) by Parnell Hall Page B

starving. Please dig in. And perhaps someone can explain to me what this luncheon is all about.”
    A woman with a face flat as a pancake said, “It’s for charity.”
    According to her name tag, the woman was Charity, but she didn’t seem to notice the coincidence. Cora was tempted to point it out to her.
    “You mean you came here without knowing what it’s all about?” a henna-haired woman said. Her name was Phyllis, and she clocked in at a good two hundred and fifty pounds. “I think that’s admirable.”
    “I think it’s stupid,” Wendy said. Wendy had a haughty look, and undoubtedly thought many things stupid. “Why would you want to come to something if you don’t know what it is?”
    “It’s for charity,” Charity insisted.
    “Well, at least we can eat the salads now,” whined a mousy little type with the name tag Monica Nuthatch. Monica wore glasses that would have been thought geeky in the fifties. What they were thought now, Cora couldn’t even imagine. Monica snuffled her nose as she dug into her salad, and managed to look less like a mouse, and more like a rabbit.
    “Now, now, now,” said the last woman at the table, the woman seated to Cora’s right. She was middle-aged, but looked younger. Her blonde hair hung to her shoulders. Her ribbed, double-knit, turtleneck sweater looked comfortably warm. She had an easy-going air about her, of a woman who is happy with herself, and completely in control. “We’re delighted to have you here. If the truth be known, the women couldn’t care less about their salads. They just want to eat them so they can go through the buffet line. They can’t wait to see what people brought this year. We all can’t. But that has nothing to do with you, because no one goes through the line until Betty gives the order.” She smiled knowingly. “Betty likes giving orders.
    “Oh, but here I am babbling on. And I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Felicity Grant. I’m the co-chairman. I helped put together this little lunch.”
    “Oh, for goodness sakes, stop with the false modesty,” Marcy groused. “You’re proud of it, and you know it. Felicity got this project off the ground in spite of Betty. You would not believe the back-biting that goes on in those meetings. It’s horrible. I swear, if it weren’t for this woman nothing would get done.”
    “Marcy, really,” Felicity said.
    “Again with the false modesty. We had a dinner meeting. Well, we almost had a dinner meeting. Turned out we had a speaker and no hall, and whose fault was that, I ask you? Had to send the checks back, and what a job that was. Who was the speaker that time?”
    “Marcy.”
    “What, I’m talking too much? We’re all family here. It’s not like she’s a reporter or anything. I mean, you think she’s gonna stick this in her next crossword puzzle?”
    “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Cora assured her.
    “Of course you wouldn’t. So why make a fuss? But Betty goes ballistic if she breaks a fingernail.” Marcy, while talking, had managed to wolf down her salad. “Okay, I’m done. Can we eat for chrissakes? I’m starving.”
    “You’re the one who wanted to wait.”
    “And aren’t you glad we did? How would it be if our guests showed up and our table was empty? Come on, come on. People are beating us on line.”
    That was certainly true. Betty had apparently given the order, because at least half the women in the room were scraping back their chairs.
    “Please don’t wait on my account,” Cora said. “Go, I’ll be right behind you.”
    That was all the invitation the women needed. As if Cora had fired a starter’s gun, Marcy was up and practically bowling people over to get a place in line. Charity, mousey Monica Nuthatch, and the mountainous Phyllis were right on her heels.
    “Disgraceful,” Wendy said. She said it while tagging along behind.
    “I wouldn’t want people to think I’m not happy to be here,” Cora said, “but would it be impolite not to