Killer Punch (18 page)

As Randy left, Eula arrived, her face in complete shock.

“Remember how I told you someone dropped off ten Powerball tickets in my mailbox last week?” she asked Bootsie.

“Of course I remember,” said Bootsie. “Not that I'd know anything about who bought them for you,” she amended.

“Well—­I won!” screamed Eula, jumping up and down in front of the bar. “I won Powerball!”

The bar erupted into applause, except for Holly and Joe, who were frozen in their seats, their faces in complete shock.

“The Lotto Commission already announced that only five winning tickets were sold,” Eula sang out. “I'm gonna get, like, $50 million! I can finally take that round-­the-­world cruise!”

T
HIRTY MINUTES LATER,
Eula left to start researching her cruise, and Holly and Joe were able to move their lips again.

“I thought that's what you wanted,” Sophie said to Joe. “To send that girl on vacation.”

“I did,” said Joe. “I just didn't think through the fact that I'll be arranging dishtowels for Adelia Earle next week while Eula's doing a back flip into the Mediterranean.”

“Cheer up, Honey Bunny!” Sophie told him. “I got some Powerball tickets, too! They're right here in my purse.” She pulled out some slips of paper and examined them, looking bewildered. “These are something else—­but I pointed at Powerball. At least, I think I did. The guy at the deli told me to pick five numbers and I paid him twenty dollars.”

“You bought the Pick 5,” Bootsie told her, inspecting the tickets Sophie had produced. “That's different. I'll check the winning numbers for you.”

While Bootsie did some quick research on her phone, Sophie told us that there'd been a huge breakthrough on her divorce deal. It seemed that Freddie and Lobster Phil had sat down with Barclay over drinks in Atlantic City, and suggested that for both his and Sophie's sake, they thought he should fork over half his worldly goods and move on.

“Phil and Freddie told Barclay that he should look for a new wife now—­before he starts gaining weight again!” Sophie told us. “It's only a matter of time. And they said that Joe and I make a great ­couple!”

“They did?” said Joe, surprised. “Those two goombahs—­I mean, those guys—­are in favor of you and me as a ­couple?”

“Sophie,” said Bootsie, looking up from her phone, “this is unbelievable. You got the Pick 5! You won two hundred and fifty thousand dollars—­tax free!”

T
RUE TO HER
word, Sophie made Gianni an offer for his goat farm the next morning, which he took, even though he complained about the fifteen thousand dollars he'd already spent on the cheese kitchen.

“I can tell Gianni's really glad he's back in L.A.,” Sophie said when we met for lunch at the country club the next day. Things were back to normal here, and a blissful summer breeze floated over the wide porch. At neighboring tables, Binghams were sipping white zinfandel, Mrs. Potts was eating fried oysters with Mike Woodford, and Abby was cheerfully bringing out drinks to a group of elderly golfers

“I don't know anything about goats, but I'm gonna have those nice Amish guys run the place, and my Honey Bunny and I can go out there on weekends and, like, have special time alone in nature!” Sophie said, giving Joe a loving pat on the arm.

“That is, as soon as I get a satellite disk, wi-­fi, and one of those really cool new Williams-­Sonoma cappuccino machines installed,” she added. “And a pool. I mean, it's a little rustic out there right now.”

“I think you're going to be really good at goat farming, Sophie,” said John, who was sitting next to me, holding my hand. He gave my fingers a little squeeze. “The Stoltzfuses will do a great job running the place for you. I was out there yesterday, and the goats are thriving.”

“It's real handy that Kristin's dating a vet!” Sophie told him gratefully. “Especially one as handsome as you.”

Joe looked nervous about the goat farm idea, and flagged down Abby for another drink.

“And Gerda's got the name for her Pilates studio,” Sophie told us. “Tell them, Gerda.”

“I'm gonna call it Gerda's Bust Your Ass Gym,” announced the eponymous owner.

“That says it all,” agreed Bootsie, who'd arrived just behind them.

“Everyone in town is going to be there!” Holly promised. “Especially when they hear that I'm going to pay for Ursula to give free aromatherapy neck massages after every class for the first two months.”

“Thank you,” said Gerda, looking pleased.

“It's the least I can do when you singlehandedly took down Gianni, thanks to your new leopard pumps,” Holly told her sweetly.

“Also,” Holly told me, “I can't face peach punch ever again. I got you a margarita machine for your store, and Howard and I are sponsoring Tequila Tuesdays at The Striped Awning for the rest of the summer.”

This sounded amazing! Just then, John excused himself and got up from our table. “I'm meeting Mrs. Potts and Mike Woodford to talk over some new breeding trends for their cows,” he told me. “Would you like to join us?”

“No, thanks,” I said hastily.

“I'll call you later,” he said. “We can barbecue tonight.”

Perfect! I thought. A breezy summer night with my boyfriend, whose ex-­wife was back where she belonged in Connecticut. Things were totally going my way! I would soon be five thousand dollars richer, since Eula could now definitely afford to cut me my ten percent of her painting sale. Plus Joe had helped me with a great new look at The Striped Awning, and the town was seemingly free of mafia types as well as Gianni.

I stole a furtive look at Mike Woodford's tanned arms as he gave John a handshake and they all sat down together. Gosh, Mike looked good, I thought . . . and this town is really small . . . I need to get Mike one hundred percent out of my system. I should really meditate every morning until I've completely forgotten about Mike Woodford . . .

“Don't you have something to give to Sophie?” Holly prompted Joe, interrupting my thoughts.

Joe nervously pulled a small white box from his pocket, and Sophie's eyes widened in shock as he popped open the lid.

“Sophie,” he said. “I'd love to marry you one day, but in the meantime, would you like to be preengaged, as signified by this amethyst once worn by Lady Gaga on the Cheek-­to-­Cheek Tour with Tony Bennett?” He wiped his brow nervously.

“Abso-­freakin'-­lutely!” shrieked Sophie, jumping into his arms.

 

About the Author

AMY KORMAN is the author of
Killer WASPs
,
Killer Getaway
, and
Frommer's Philadelphia and the Amish Country
, and is a former senior editor and staff writer for
Philadelphia Magazine
. She has written for
Town & Country
,
House Beautiful
,
Men's Health
, and
Cosmopolitan
. She lives in Pennsylvania with her family and their basset hound, Murphy.

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By Amy Korman

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Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

KILLER PUNCH.
Copyright © 2016 by Amy Korman. All rights reserved under International and Pan-­American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-­book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-­engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of Harper­Collins e-­books. For information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.

EPub Edition AUGUST 2016 ISBN: 9780062431134

Print Edition ISBN: 9780062431318

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