Revenge of the Wrought-Iron Flamingos by Donna Andrews

everything."
    "Should we do something?" Michael said, appearing at my side.
    "No," I said. "Not yet anyway."
    "I suppose this would be a bad time to bring up the fact that if anyone rifled the booth it was me, looking for another pad of receipts when I was filling in for Faulk."
    "A very bad time, I should think. Later, when Tad has calmed down. I wish Tad would stop going on about how he's got the evidence put away in such an incredibly safe place."
    "Why?" Michael asked. "Don't you think he has evidence?"
    "I bet he has," I said. "But I'm not all that sure my purse is such a safe hiding place. I have this sneaking feeling the evidence is on a CD-ROM Tad handed me earlier."
    "Good grief," Michael muttered.
    The shouting match reached a crescendo, and Tad stormed off. He hit a stray lawn-bowling ball on his way and for a few seconds, he pedaled and flailed his arms furiously like someone trying not to fall off a unicycle. Then he recovered his balance, if not his dignity, and strode out into the darkness beyond the glow of the lanterns.
    When Tad disappeared, I glanced back to see what Benson was doing. And saw, though I couldn't hear, that Faulk, too, had a few things to say to the software pirate. He stopped talking as I watched, and they stared at each other for a few minutes. It was scarier than watching Tad square off with Benson, partly because of what had happened earlier. I think everyone at the party was watching, fearing – or hoping for – a rematch. And partly because Tad and Benson were about the same size, while Faulk towered over either one of them. And maybe partly because, despite the sturm und drang, I'd never heard of Tad hitting anyone, but I'd seen Faulk lose his temper and finish an argument with his fists, especially in college, when I first knew him. He'd worked a lot on controlling his temper over the last fifteen years, but I still kept my fingers crossed every time I saw him get angry. And, apparently, accidentally bloodying Benson's nose hadn't done a thing to improve his temper.
    I breathed a sigh of relief when he turned and stalked out of the party. Following Tad, I suspected, since he headed in the same general direction. I wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
    So did Michael, apparently.
    "Should someone go after him? Them?" he asked.
    "I don't think so," I said. "Tad seems to be pretty good at calming Faulk down," I said.
    "And pretty good at involving Faulk in his problems," Michael said. "Would Faulk need calming down if it wasn't for Tad?"
    I shrugged.
    "I just wish Rob would at least try to keep Benson out of trouble," I said. "Where is he, anyway?"
    "Rob? I haven't seen him all afternoon."
    "If he's in my booth playing with the flamingos again – " I muttered.
    Michael chuckled.
    "Yes, he does love the flamingos," Michael said. "You should make him a brace."
    "Never," I said. "Those are the only flamingos I will ever make and I'm beginning to wonder if it might not be easier to scrap the damned things and give Mrs. Fenniman her money back."
    "You mean you wouldn't even make me a flock?"
    "Not unless you were planning on putting them somewhere I'd never ever have to look at them."
    "What a pity. I was thinking they'd make such a nice present for Mom. We could install them in a couple of weeks, when she goes down to Florida to visit her sister. It's still warm enough to pour concrete, right? She'd be so surprised."
    "Okay," I said, smiling in spite of myself. "I might make an exception for your mother, since I know how overwhelmed she'd be."
    Michael and I burst out laughing. I glanced around to see where Mrs. Waterston was before making another joke and saw her, rather nearby. She heard our laughter, turned, saw me, and frowned.
    I sighed, wondering what I'd done now. I could never get over the feeling that she saw me as a highly unsatisfactory incumbent in the position of Michael's girlfriend, and as a completely unsuitable candidate for the vital position of