“Vodka,” Maggie said airily, ticking the ingredients off on her fingers. “Coconut rum. Blue curaçao. Tequila. Pineapple juice. A splash of regular rum. Do you like it?” “It’s great,” I said. It smelled like an open bottle of nail polish remover. “Gussy?” she asked. “Wonderful,” he answered. “Better than last year, isn’t it?” Pete said, abandoning her post at the grill to join us. “At least more likely to strip the paint from a car if spilled,” Gus said.
