crackers. “It’s just that . . . it’s kind of a shock somehow. All of this is a shock,” she said, dumping the
crackers into the chowder. “What if our kids all get
married at once?”
“That would save money,” Judith said dryly.
Renie brightened. “That’s a great idea. It would cut
down on arrangements, too. Anne’s already talking
about where she wants to have the reception.”
“Are you going to suggest a triple wedding?” Judith
asked.
Renie grimaced. “It sounds a little like the Reverend
Moon extravaganzas. I don’t know that the kids would
go for it.”
“It’s an idea,” Judith said as a familiar figure at the
bar caught her eye. “Hey—coz,” she said in a whisper,
“turn around as discreetly as you can to see who just
showed up for a drink.”
“Let’s try this,” Renie said, dumping her knife on
the floor. “I prefer using my hands when I eat anyway.”
She bent down to pick up the knife, then glanced up to
see Ben Carmody a mere ten feet away.
“Why isn’t he swilling down Bruno’s expensive
stash of alcohol at the B&B?” Judith murmured, noticing that some of the other customers were trying not to
stare at Ben. “Why is he here, alone?”
“Because,” Renie replied, loading a slice of rye with
lox, “he wants to be just that—alone. You know, like
Garbo.”
“I suppose.” Judith kept her eye on the actor. “He’s
ordering what looks like straight vodka. Two, in fact.
Uh-oh. Here comes Ellie Linn. Now what?”
“Maybe the second vodka is for her,” Renie suggested.
Between bites of salad and spoonfuls of chowder,
Judith watched the couple at the bar, who were now
being eyeballed by at least a dozen other customers.
Typical of a city known for its good manners, none of
the oglers approached the famous pair.
A glass of white wine was placed before Ellie; Ben
downed both shots of vodka.
“They’re having a very serious conversation,” Judith
said. “I’m trying to read their body language. Oddly
enough, Ellie seems to be in control. She’s all business.
That strikes me as peculiar. I figure her for no more
than twenty or twenty-two at most.”
Renie had lapped up her chowder and almost finished the lox plate. “The control factor is money,” she
said. “Her dad, Heathcliffe MacDermott, is the hot-dog
king, remember? I heard he put money into
“Why? To ensure that Ellie got a good part?”
