“How many animals had to die to clothe you in that
outfit?” Judith inquired as Renie slid into the driver’s seat.
“A lot of cows with really rotten dispositions,”
Renie replied, starting the car. “None of the children
were home. They must have gone a-wooing.”
“Very likely,” Judith agreed as they headed back up
the hill to the turnoff for Capri’s. “Really, I’m anxious
to meet the future in-laws.”
“So am I,” Renie said darkly, “even though I allegedly have already done so.”
“Say,” Judith said, “did you get a chance to look at
the material you got off the Internet about
and its origins?”
“Not yet,” Renie replied, slowing at a six-way stop
and peering into the fog to see if there were any vehicles coming from the other directions. “It looks as if it
came out to at least twenty pages. That includes artwork, of course.”
“Who puts those sites together?”
“This one may have been done by the studio,” Renie
said, curving around in front of the restaurant and
pulling into the driveway. “Some of the sites are created by fans.”
A blemish-free teenager with corn-tassel-colored
hair and a big smile greeted the cousins.
“Which private party will you be joining?” he asked
as Renie stepped out of the Camry. “That is,” he added
with an ingenuous expression, “on Sundays we’re not
open to regular customers.”
“How many parties are there?” Renie inquired as
Judith joined her under the porte cochere.
“Two,” the youth replied with a discreet wink. “The
Smith and the Jones parties.”
Renie darted a glance at Judith. “I’m Mrs. Jones,”
Renie said, winking back.
“Ah.” The young man made a flourish that was almost a bow. “This way, please. Derek will take care of
your car.” He nodded at a second fresh-faced adolescent who had been standing by the door.
“So which is which?” Judith murmured as they
passed across the flagstone flooring, where they were
met by a maitre d’ so handsome that he could have
given Dirk Farrar a run for his money.
“We’ve got a fifty-fifty chance of getting the right
party,” Renie said out of the side of her mouth. “Serena
Jones here,” she informed the maitre d’ in her normal
voice.
“I’m Charles,” the maitre d’ informed the cousins.
His smile seemed to assure them that he was their new
best friend. Charles led the way up a winding black
iron staircase, then turned right to face a paneled mahogany door. With a dazzling smile and a flourish that
