said Holly when we walked into the club forty-five minutes later. “Abby went in to Swiffer the Camellia Room, and there it was.” She glanced down at Waffles, who wagged up at her and then gave a short woof when Joe appeared from outside. He looked slightly worse for wear: His hands were trembling, and he was clutching a frozen margarita and a cigarette. “Honey Bunny!” shrieked Sophie, forgetting they were in a fight. “You look awful! Are ya drunk?” “I’ve had a few,” Joe told her. “Honey Potts is having a reunion with her painting in the Camellia Room, and the Colketts and Gianni are fighting outside,” Holly continued. We all trooped into the small conference room, where Mrs. Potts was standing in front of the canvas, frowning. “Something’s not right,” said the heiress gruffly. “I’ve called George Fogle to look at Heifer. Meanwhile, I’m taking her home.” With that, she hoisted the hefty frame and canvas, refusing all offers of help, and left.
