nicely as bedsheets for a queen-size. Leigh, on the other hand, was tiny with dark features and long black hair piled neatly into a bun. Both ladies adored Bruce and Noelle, and the four dined together often.
Myra gulped her brew and asked him, “Have you seen Mercer?”
“Yes, we had lunch today, along with Thomas, her bodyguard these days.”
“Is he cute?” Leigh asked.
“He’s a nice-looking guy, a few years younger. One of her students.”
“Go, girl,” Myra said. “Did you ever learn the real reason she left here so abruptly three years ago?”
“Not really. Some sort of family business.”
“Well, we’ll get to the bottom of it tonight, I can assure you of that.”
“Now Myra,” Leigh said softly. “We’ll not be prying.”
“Hell if we won’t. Prying is what I do best. I want the gossip. Is Andy coming by?”
“Maybe.”
“I’d like to see him. He was so much more fun when he was in the sauce.”
“Now Myra. That’s a touchy subject.”
“If you ask me, there’s nothing more boring than a sober writer.”
“He needs sobriety, Myra,” Bruce said. “We’ve had this conversation.”
“And what about this Nelson Kerr fellow? I find him boring even when he’s not sober.”
“Now Myra.”
“Nelson will be here,” Bruce said. “I was thinking he might be a good match for Mercer, but she’s occupied at the moment.”
“Who made you a matchmaker?” Myra quipped as they noticed J. Andrew Cobb, or Bob Cobb as they called him, walking through the door. As usual, he was wearing pink shorts, sandals, and a gaudy floral print shirt. Without missing a beat Myra said, “Hello Bob. You shouldn’t have dressed up for the occasion.” She gave him a quick hug as Bruce stepped to the bar and mixed vodka and soda.
Cobb was an ex-con who’d served time in a federal pen for sins that were still vague. He wrote crime novels that sold well but had far too much prison violence, at least in Bruce’s opinion. He hugged Leigh, said, “Hello ladies. Always a pleasure.”
“A good day on the beach?” Myra asked, looking for trouble.
Cobb’s skin was a dark, leathery brown, a perpetual tan that he maintained with hours in the sun. His reputation was that of an aging beach bum who admired bikinis and was always on the prowl. He smiled at Myra and said, “Every day on the beach is a good one, my dear.”
“How old was she?” Myra asked.
“Now Myra,” Leigh cooed as Bruce handed him a drink.
“Old enough, barely,” Cobb said and laughed.
Amy Slater was the youngest of the group and was making more money than the others combined. She had struck gold with a series about young vampires, and there was even a movie in the works. She and her husband, Dan, arrived on the veranda along with Andy Adam. Jay Arklerood was right behind them and managed a rare smile as greetings were made. He was a brooding poet who often dodged the dinners. Myra, the Queen Bee, had no use for him. Bruce fetched drinks, an ice water for Andy, and listened to the banter. Amy went on about her movie, though there were problems with the script. Dan stood quietly by her side. He had retired from employment and took care of the kids so she could write full-time.
The party was buzzing when Mercer and Thomas made their entrance. She swapped hugs as she introduced her new fella. The gang was delighted to see her and gushed about her new book, which most had read. As they talked, Nelson Kerr eased onto the scene and fixed a drink at the bar. He joined the circle around Mercer, and Bruce made the introductions.
After a few minutes, the conversations spun off in different directions. Andy and Bruce discussed the storm. Myra cornered Thomas and began drilling into his past. Bob Cobb and