“You better watch what you say,” growled Julian, suddenly aware, as was I, that the rest of the guests had appeared on the other deck, their faces filled with curiosity about the disappearance of their fellow guest, their servers, and the resulting commotion.
Reggie held up his hands. “No competition from me, guy. I didn’t want to sleep with her, I just wanted to hire her. That woman could sell cosmetics just by standing still. How was she in bed?”
That did it. Julian lunged forward. Reggie began to whack indiscriminately. I tried to step between them and caught the brunt of Julian’s forceful, angry body on one side and Reggie’s chest on the other.
From the middle of the male sandwich, I choked out, “Go inside, Julian! Please!”
He obeyed by whirling around and striding angrily back into the kitchen. Reggie Hotchkiss fell against the deck rail. Absent male support, I tottered on the deck planks. I caught my balance just a moment before my trajectory would have landed me on the grill. The pain from Julian’s body crashing into mine was concentrated in my head. I rubbed my temples and tried to clear my brain.
When I looked up at Reggie Hotchkiss, he had recovered. Standing stock-still, he hissed, “I have been mistreated and misjudged, and I am not going to forget it.”
“Fine.”
He brushed imaginary dust off the American-flag shirt and made his final pronouncement in my direction. “In the classless society,” he said as he headed for the deck stairs, “there will be no need for servants.
Everyone was staring. I asked lightly, “In the classless society, who does the cooking?”
Sensing that the excitement was over, the guests on the deck turned their attention back to Babs. Her perfectly made-up face was trembling with anger, but she managed to announce breathlessly that, goodness, time was marching on! Each guest was to carry a sparkler and a glass of sparkling wine down to the lower garden. Lawn chairs were set up there, she trilled on. Even as she spoke, the maid was moving across the yard lighting upright torches. The dark-haired woman Reggie Hotchkiss had come with volunteered to light the sparklers and pour the wine. Her high, laughing voice seemed to indicate that she minded not in the least that Reggie had deserted her.
But there was more abandonment going on. In the fading light, Charles Braithwaite skulked away from his guests, walking swiftly down the path toward his greenhouse. From the furtive, quick nature of his stride, it didn’t look as if his purpose was to set up chairs, join in festivities, or have sparkling anything.
I took a deep breath of evening air and tried to remember what I still had to do. Babs was paying her maid to stay late and clean up, so all Julian and I faced was packing the pans and containers we had brought and schlepping them back down the deck stairs to the van. But cigarette smoke drifting upward from underneath the deck made me doubt Julian’s commitment to the packing task.
“If a caterer is smoking next to the house,” I announced downward into the deepening darkness, “that could get him into distinct trouble with the hostess, to the extent that a certain caterer and her capable assistant wouldn’t get paid. We might not get paid anyway, after having a little squabble with a guest.” I didn’t tell him I needed help. If Julian wanted to unwind from his encounter with Reggie Hotchkiss, then that was fine by me, as long as he didn’t get into any more arguments. Arch was in Keystone; Tom was working late; I had nothing to look forward to except an empty house and a rousing argument with Tom over switching my food. The later I got to it, the better.
The glowing butt of Julian’s cigarette moved past one of the torches. I watched him turn not toward the garden, but in the direction of the greenhouse. After I’d brought our platters in from outside and come back out to check that the grill was off and the deck clear, I couldn’t see him anymore, as the guests holding their champagne and their twinkling sparklers moved in a slow, loud knot down to the chairs.
The maid bustled about helping me clean pans. I checked my watch when all the catering supplies were in boxes: Nine forty-five. Julian had not returned. The fireworks would be starting soon. There was no sign of Charles Braithwaite either, but that didn’t surprise me. I decided to wait ten more minutes out on the deck. It was not like Julian to be inconsiderate. On the other hand, he’d been so upset that he probably lost track of time.
There was a flash of light followed by a loud
There was another boom and flash, and this time the shower of overhead glitter was emerald. In the few seconds of light, my eyes scanned the garden and the greenhouse. Julian’s silhouette was briefly visible, along with the smoke from a cigarette. He was standing beside the rose-laden fence.
For heaven’s sake, I wondered, what was he doing? An explosion-generated scream accompanied the next luminous fall of bits of light, and I felt a wave of unease. Impulsively, I headed toward the torchlit path. Maybe Julian was watching the fireworks and had forgotten about me completely. Maybe he was in one of his grieving- and-smoking spells and needed me to snap him out of it.
I made my way down the paved walk and learned to fix the path ahead by stopping at the torches, then waiting for the intermittent sprays of colored lights overhead. I knew I was getting close when the heady smell of roses and the laughter of Babs and her guests announced my proximity to the split-rail fence. I maneuvered around the fence and soon found myself at the edge of the greenhouse.
“Julian!” I whispered. “Where are you?”
“Over here!” came his called response after a moment. “Come on around to the front!”
I followed his voice and tried to figure out where the front was. In a flash of pink and blue sparkles that reflected in the near side of the greenhouse panes, I saw that I was on the shorter wall. The door was probably somewhere along the longer one. When I came around to the length side of the greenhouse rectangle, I could make Julian out. He was standing beside a slightly open door.
“Julian! For heaven’s sake! What are you doing?”
“Sorry if you’ve been waiting for me,” he said when I was by his side. “I was thinking about that awful Hotchkiss guy … and smoking where Babs couldn’t see me … and then I … well, I just got here. The door is open, and that worries me.”
“You stayed down here in the dark, and left me to wonder what in the world had befallen you, and now you’re worried about a door? So
Julian’s earnest, boyish face and blunt-cut blond hair was suddenly revealed by a glistening shower of red, white, and blue. “Don’t be upset,” he pleaded. “It’s just that Dr. Braithwaite … you don’t understand, he would never leave this place open! Especially if he was going to be having guests who were strangers. The guy’s a security nut about his experiments. I don’t know where he is, but I think I should stay here and guard the place until he gets back. He’s got a lot of stuff in there that’s pretty dangerous.”
I took a deep breath and tried to think. Really, Julian’s loyalty to Charles Braithwaite was admirable. Misguided, but admirable.
“Okay look,” I told him, “we can’t stay here and wait for the host to show. Just close and lock the door. Please.”
“No,” said Julian stubbornly. “I owe it to Dr. Braithwaite at least to check if there’s been any damage. Then we can call the police or something.”
“Okay then,” I said as amiably as possible. “Let’s go inside and turn on the light, if there is one, and see if there’s been any vandalism or whatever. Maybe there’s a phone to call the main house or the police. Otherwise, we really need to go back up to the house.”
“Okay, okay.” Together, we moved up the concrete steps to the open door. “Actually,” he added meekly, “I was kind of afraid to go in there alone.”
Well, that was just peachy, I thought rather indignantly, as my hand felt along the inside of the Plexiglas. Did a lot of stuff that’s pretty dangerous include woman-eating plants? I groped along the slick surface. My fingers brushed something cold and I instinctively recoiled. Then I realized it was a conduit leading to a light switch. Triumphantly, my fingers found the switch. I flipped on an overhead fluorescent fixture.
After the near darkness it took a moment to adjust to the light. Julian stepped forward and peered around the greenhouse, which really looked more like a lab than a place to raise flowers. Row upon row of tables was neatly piled with equipment that meant nothing to me. There were plants arranged on shelves too, a cornucopia of
