Murder Melts in Your Mouth by Nancy Martin Page A

excitement. Every minute, they were either throwing a party or cooking up an idea for one. We played games of their own invention, painted pictures, produced pageants and plays, ate exotic meals delivered by caterers and drank watered-down wine on birthdays and special occasions. We missed more days of elementary school than we attended, and the truant officer had been a frequent guest at teatime. I played the cello at an early age and learned enough Chinese to make conversation with the woman who washed my mother’s delicate laundry. Libby taught herself to draw and paint with extraordinary talent. Emma had been a gifted horsewoman before she’d learned her multiplication tables.
    I never remember feeling unsafe or unloved as a child. Just happy.
    But as soon as puberty arrived, my sisters and I were quickly dispatched to boarding schools. My parents had been wonderful when we were children, but teenagers were beyond their ability to cope.
    As an adult, I found them irresponsible and infuriating.
    That night, they snatched a bottle of wine from the fridge and roared up the stairs with their bartending, spiritual-advising valet. The three of them disappeared into their bedroom. The sound of their laughter floated down the hall to my room, where I lay in bed with Lucy, grinding my teeth and wondering if it was too late to run away and join a circus. At least it would have only three rings.
    I slept badly.
    The next day dawned with Maximus howling for his breakfast like he was being starved by prison guards. While Lucy slept through his noise, I threw on my shorts and a T-shirt and carried the baby downstairs. The other bedroom doors remained firmly closed.
    While I warmed cereal for him, Maximus entertained himself with a banana, and we both enjoyed some fresh air from the open kitchen window. I turned on the television and braced myself to hear the news that Lexie might have been arrested.
    But the phone rang.
    â€œYou won’t believe the dream I had,” Libby’s voice said in my ear. “It was a nightmare, actually.”
    â€œLet me guess.” I turned off the television and handed Maximus his binky to keep him entertained while I spoke on the phone with his mother. “You dreamed Mama and Daddy got thrown out of the Ritz.”
    â€œNora! You’re psychic! I’ve always wondered if you harbored more inner gifts than you let on!”
    â€œThe only thing I’m harboring at the moment is a couple of fugitives. They arrived here last night.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about? Honestly, darling, sometimes I worry—”
    â€œThey’re back,” I said. “Mama and Daddy have returned. For some strange reason, the Ritz doesn’t trust their credit history, so they came here. Beautifully suntanned, I might add, and dragging a new spiritual adviser who’s a cross between General MacArthur and Don Ho.”
    â€œAre they trying to borrow money? Because I have five children to support.”
    At the moment, I was supporting her five children, but I decided not to quibble. “They haven’t asked yet, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”
    â€œThey will,” Libby predicted. “Be careful. They’re wily.”
    â€œThey want to have a party.”
    â€œOh, heavens. Are they going to hire that magician again? Mr. Spectaculation? Because let me tell you, he wasn’t the least bit spectacular with me.”
    â€œThey want to invite all their friends for dinner and dancing. They told me while I put fresh sheets on their bed last night.”
    â€œThey don’t have any friends left!”
    â€œThat little detail seems unimportant. You know how Mama gets when she’s party planning.”
    â€œDon’t worry,” Libby said. “There’s not a caterer in the whole state they haven’t stiffed already. Nobody will work for them.”
    â€œThat’s comforting. Except that probably means they’ll want me to