Canapés for the Kitties by Marian Babson Page A

from someone who’s killed as many people as Lorinda Lucas has? It will make a great caption.”
    â€œPerhaps one of us should collapse at her feet,” the Sunday Special suggested acidly. “That would make a great picture, too.”
    â€œHey! Terrific!” Jack raised the camera, then lowered it again as no one moved. “Oh, that was a joke, huh? But it’s still a great idea. Why don’t we do it?”
    This time Lorinda moved, sliding quietly away from the group while Jack was still looking hopefully from face to face. Really, the man was impossible! What had Karla ever seen in him in the first place?
    And what was taking Elsie so long? She had to get rid of this tray before Jack came after her again. Lorinda veered over to a marble table that was so much a part of the wall that it seemed to be growing out of it and rested her tray on it, shoving aside two bowls of olives, an ashtray, a saucer of peanuts and a flower arrangement.
    â€œGood work!” She was not alone. Macho materialized at her side, eyes gleaming as he reached for a napkin and began loading it up with chicken kebabs.
    â€œClever you!” Gemma appeared on her other side and reached for the medallions of beef. “Just what we needed – a tray of our own.”
    â€œFor heaven’s sake!” They were shameless. Lorinda cast an anxious glance around to make sure they were unobserved – at least by their host. “Be careful!”
    â€œI don’t care who sees me,” Macho said defiantly, but he took an uneasy look over his shoulder.
    â€œWhat about who photographs you?” Lorinda pointed out, as a series of flashes went off in the distance. “Talk about grounds for blackmail!”
    â€œHe’d better not try it,” Macho growled. “Anyway, there’s nothing blackmailable about it. It’s not a criminal offense.”
    â€œQuite right.” Freddie appeared behind them. “It may be impolite, in bad taste and a trifle shoddy, but it’s not an indictable offense.”
    â€œIt’s always nice to know what your friends really think of you,” Macho said sourly.
    The others regarded Freddie unmoved. It was all right for her, she was petless at the moment. There would be no hopeful little eyes to greet her when she returned home.
    â€œSorry you disapprove,” Gemma said. “We can’t put any canapés back now though, it would look even worse – and so would they.”
    â€œNever mind.” Freddie shrugged and turned to Lorinda. “The great Plantagenet sent me over to fetch you. Your editor wants to talk to you.”
    â€œWhere is she?” Lorinda looked around. “I didn’t see her here.” A strange man was talking to Plantagenet Sutton, but the familiar face she expected to see was nowhere in sight.
    â€œIt’s a New York editor, I think,” Freddie said vaguely. “A new one.”
    â€œOh, not another new one!” She might have guessed; the permanent tan on the stranger’s face marked him out as transatlantic. “Every time I get a letter from New York, there’s a different signature. Can’t these people ever stay put?”
    â€œIt’s happening here, too, these days,” Freddie said. “Just remember the old adage: Be nice to the people you meet on the way up, you’ll meet them again on the way down – and they’ll be even more in need of kindness then.”
    Plantagenet Sutton and the new editor were both looking in her direction now. Lorinda waved to them and nodded to signal that the message had been received and would be acted upon as soon as possible. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Elsie approaching with a freshly laden tray and winced inwardly. She moved slightly to one side, so that Macho was shielding her, and hoped the transfer of booty could be made inconspicuously.
    â€œThere you are,” Elsie greeted her, and leaned closer to