...and sighs. She'd bet any amount of money Kande blamed the missed turn on whoever was riding shotgun. Probably Bubba. She'd sent Stan and Cody out to help Kande find their location, but they were probably goofing off in the backseat with Cal. Satisfied she'd solved that, she turned her attention back to the beach and put her binoculars to her eyes. She whipped them back down. Drat! The Mayor was missing. She must have left when KS was kindly informing Kande how to get here.
KS is dressed completely in black, with her face blacked out and a black hood over her shorn hair. Only her eyes glitter from the darkness. Oh well. She stands and surveys the perameter. She'll hear the Mayor long before she sees her.
About 100 feet to the left, the Mayor has found herself in a bed of nettles. Cursing, she picks them out of her leopardskin stilletos. Real leopards never seem to be plagued with these things. A rustling sound has her silently alert. Gathering the threads of her silk kimono to her chest, she hisses, "Who's there?"
Nothing. Now she's nervous. She should never have left the thongy lake-boys and their wives. Or the margaritas. Then she remembers: She still has a margarita in her right hand! Sipping a little more of the potent drink for courage, she lets loose of the kimono and puts her other hand on her hip. The kimono slides from her shoulders and reveals her in her sunburned glory in a teeny-weeny, yellow polka-dot bikini.
"Now, what do you have to say for yourself?" she demands.
Peering again through her binoculars, KS gasps. "Who told her that was the good fashion statement?"
