Chapter Fifteen
That afternoon was hectic. Myrtle sent a follow-up reminder to everyone she wanted to attend and skipped the ones that she hoped had forgotten her informal invitation. She pulled out more chairs and borrowed card tables and tablecloths from various friends to have enough table space. Then she set up a modest bar in one corner with her sherry glasses, which were tiny. With any luck, everyone would have just one very small drink.
Myrtle then studied the recipes. She figured she could make some of the dishes in advance instead of trying to tackle them all at once and under pressure. Pasha, swishing her tail, watched from a window sill as Myrtle chopped potatoes and rinsed green beans.
The doorbell rang at five o’clock and she opened it to see Puddin there.
“Good,” said
