Jasper assumed a painted expression. “That will not be necessary,” he said. “Now, since it is impossible…”
“Nothing’s impossible,” declared Bar, eyes blazing, “since you’ve gone to the trouble of importing all these Ukrainians—temporary workers, I presume, who will be returning to their native villages at the end of the summer?”
“Absolutely,” said Jasper, with a nod. “They all have temporary work visas.”
“You’d better see they do. The country’s already got twelve million illegal aliens, you know, and we don’t need any more. Especially since most of them don’t even bother to learn English.”
“We screen our temporary workers very carefully and I can assure you they all speak English.”
“Well, that’s something. Now why don’t you put them to work and have them reseat those people,” she pointed at the Nowaks, “so we can have our table.”
Jasper’s professional veneer of patience was wearing thin. “We cannot disturb the other diners,” he said. “I’ll be happy to seat you at another table.”
“Come along, Bar,” said Bart, taking his wife by the elbow. “How about that table over there? It’s by a window, too.”
“But it’s not the corner,” replied Bar. “It’s not our table.”
Bart was firm. “It’s a window, and I’m hungry.”
“Oh, all right,” she said with a sigh, dramatically rolling her eyes. “I don’t want to make a fuss.”
“Right, Mom,” muttered Ashley, sarcastically, as the group was ushered past the desired corner table.
Tina waited until Bar was behind her chair and then she spoke to her husband. “Don’t you think it was rude of Bar to make such a fuss?” she asked, in a loud whisper. “Especially for someone who thinks she’s the next Emily Post.”
Bar pretended not to hear the comment but seemed to flinch slightly as she followed Japer to the small window table adjacent to the Stones’ large round one. Jasper made an elaborate show of pulling out chairs for Bar and Ashley and even placed napkins on their laps with a graceful flourish and snapped his fingers to attract the water boy’s attention. He was filling their glasses when Bar took her revenge.
“You know,” she began, placing her hand on her husband’s arm and leaning toward him, speaking in a low tone that nevertheless carried across the room, “sometimes when I’m target shooting I imagine Tina Nowak’s face on the target.” She giggled and smoothed her napkin. “It’s a surefure way to get a bull’s eye.”
LESLIE MEIER is the acclaimed author of fourteen Lucy Stone mysteries and has also written for Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. She lives in Cape Cod, where she is currently at work on the next Lucy Stone mystery.
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Copyright © 1999 by Leslie Meier
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ISBN: 978-0-7582-5279-1
Christmas Cookie Murder #6 Page 22
