“Yes, that would tend to distract a person,” Carolyn said.
Sam grinned and waved as he went back out the door with his cell phone held to his ear.
“I’m glad Sam and Roy have become friends,” Phyllis said. “I’m sure it’s been tough on him, being in a strange town where he doesn’t have any friends or family.”
“He didn’t put a single person on the guest list for the shower or the wedding,” Carolyn said.
“I know. But he seems to be all right with it. As long as he’s got Eve, I think he’s happy.”
“He should be. She’s a fine woman. He’s lucky to have her.”
Phyllis smiled. Carolyn and Eve had squabbled quite a bit over the years, but Phyllis knew that they really cared for each other. Carolyn could be a little on the prickly side sometimes. It had taken her more than a year to get used to the idea of Sam living in the house.
“What still needs to be done?” Phyllis asked, putting her mind back on the matters at hand.
“The chocolate chocolate chip cupcakes are already on the table along with some cookies and the vegetable and fruit tray, and the punch is in the punch bowl. Eve suggested that we spike it, but I vetoed that. The last thing we want in the living room is a bunch of tipsy teachers.”
Phyllis laughed. She had to agree with that sentiment.
“Everything seems to be under control,” she said. “We’ll wait a while before we bring the rest of the food out. Eve wanted to play some games first and then open presents, so it’ll be a while before anyone’s ready to eat.”
Carolyn’s eyes narrowed. “I swear, if anyone brought any of those perverted gag gifts—”
“I’m sure everyone will be the soul of decorum,” Phyllis said.
Actually, she wasn’t sure of that. The retired teachers, the ones from the generation she and Carolyn and Eve belonged to, were all ladies, raised to observe the proprieties. But some of the younger ones, the ones who were still teaching . . . well, you couldn’t ever be a hundred percent sure of what they might do.
But even so, the last thing she would have expected to hear as she and Carolyn started along the hall toward the living room was voices raised in anger.
The Fatal Funnel Cake Page 24
