tender. Turn the heat down to low and add the tomato paste, chile mix, mustard, salt, tomatoes, herb seasoning, and beans. Pour 2 tablespoons water and the wine into the chili bean can and scrape down the sides, then pour into the beef mixture. If the mixture is too thick, add the extra water. Heat over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally, until bubbly.
“Good show,” mumbled Eliot Hyde, as he chewed. Julian, Sukie, Michaela, and Arch, too, murmured compliments as we wolfed the food down. When we finished, Sukie insisted she was cleaning the kitchen.
I pulled Tom outside the kitchen door. “Boyd phoned last night,” I murmured. “The guy who stole our computers was shot to death. Boyd wants you to be careful. He doesn’t want you going out without a police escort. And you’re supposed to give him a ring today.” Tom nodded once, instantly somber, and said he was going upstairs to make calls.
“You’re coming with me, Arch?” Michaela asked when I reentered the kitchen. I nodded that it was fine. Michaela added that the police had not allowed her to start setting up early for the luncheon, after all. So we would have to attend to the space heaters and serving tables, in addition to everything else. I told her that was no problem. Tom wouldn’t have reached the upstairs phone yet, I knew, so I quickly called the sheriffs department from the kitchen, to check on the status of the crime scene by the chapel. A deputy informed me that the crime lab van had finished Tuesday, but they’d kept a guard these past three days and nights because investigators hadn’t quite finished. He put me on hold, then came back and assured me the guard and police ribbons would be gone by eight.
Last, I put in a quick call to Party Rental to make sure the long-promised dining tables were indeed being delivered that morning. I was told they’d arrive no earlier than eight, no later than eight-fifteen. Sweetly, I asked: If the tables weren’t there by eight-thirty, would they give me a refund, so I could call another company? The guy hung up on me.
It was going to be one of those days.
-22-
As Julian and I packed up our equipment, the president of Saint Luke’s Episcopal Church Women phoned. She said the church-owned plates, glasses, and silverware would be delivered to Hyde Chapel at nine-thirty, and would somebody besides the police be there to receive them? I assured her of our catering team’s presence.
I sighed. The tables, the dinnerware, our equipment, the set-up, the food, the cops. Maybe the first thing I should do at Hyde Chapel was pray. Dear God, my mind supplied, can You please get me through this lunch? Thanks.
Outside, the ground boasted five inches of new snow, which formed a thick, sugary crust on the rocks surrounding the moat. Chickadees fluttered up and down ladders of pine branches and spilled showers of flakes. Everything was silent; the glittering blanket of snow seemed to muffle all sound. Instead of enjoying the winter splendor, though, I worried what the new white stuff would do to our lunch attendance. Eliot, now dressed in Gatsby-esque tweeds, vest, and white satin scarf, insisted on driving ahead of us in his Jaguar. When we arrived ten minutes later in Hyde Chapel’s parking lot, two sheriff’s department cars were sending plumes of exhaust into the icy air. One of the deputies talked to Eliot for a few minutes, after which Eliot, his countenance subdued, trudged over and said he’d open up the chapel.
I’d been in Hyde Chapel for christenings and weddings. But I had not seen it since the money from Henry VIII’s letter had allowed for a complete refurbishment. The stone walls had been cleaned to a sparkling silver. The multicolored slate floor tiles set off the flat marble stones of the labyrinth’s winding path, which gave the floor an eerie, pure-white patterned centerpiece. Most spectacular were the stained-glass windows. When the just-risen sun shone through them, the effect was like being inside a lighted jewelry box. The ambience was serene, until honking erupted from the parking lot.
“Hey, boss?” asked Julian as he stuck his head outside the carved wooden doors. “The tables are here!” he called. “Where do you want ‘em?”
“I’ll show them, thanks.”
While Eliot and I directed Party Rental, Julian placed champagne bottles in tubs he filled with ice, then ferried in wrapped trays of hors d’oeuvres. Things were going well until he brought out the electrified hot platters: Their cords refused to stretch to the outlets in the stone wall. Looking on, Eliot had become agitated at the prospect of the table people scratching his precious slate floors. Promising to oversee the last table setup, he pointed toward the left side of the chapel and told me there were more extension cords in the storage area.
I skirted the labyrinth and hustled to an unmarked door, which opened into an enormous storeroom that smelled of Sukie’s favorite antiseptic cleaner. Flipping on the light revealed yet more evidence of la Suisse at work: Paint, glass cleaner, wood polish, tools, brushes, a ladder, and every other imaginable odd and end was laid out on shelves - alphabetically. The fancy folding wooden chairs Eliot had bought were stacked along one wall. I found Extension Cords after Choir Cushions and before Fans, then zipped back to the newly opened tables.
After seeing Party Rental off, Eliot had set up the space heaters and serving tables. Now he was busy with his slide machine and screen. He helped me unwind the cords to the outlets, at which point Julian and I plugged everything in. Mercifully, no fuses blew. We then taped down all the cords, a trick to keep even the most inebriated guest from tripping and doing a face-plant on the floor. We were so busy we didn’t hear two women banging on the wooden doors to be let in. They were emissaries from the Episcopal Church Women, there to set the tables. When they finished and I let them out, I was the one .Who reclosed the door. I was sure of this, just as I was sure Eliot had told me we had the only key to the chapel, retrieved from the lockbox outside. So… when Buddy and Charde Lauderdale slithered unannounced and unadmitted into the chapel at ten after nine, I was more than a bit surprised.
“What are you two doing here?” I demanded.
Startled, Charde dropped her lemon-colored Chanel purse, which matched a lemon-colored wool pantsuit and lemon beret set at a jaunty slant on her dark hair. When life hands you a lemon… you get Charde. Buddy, ever the casual type, had his hands thrust into wool khaki pants beneath a black turtleneck shirt, an outfit meant to make him look attractive and powerful, and which succeeded in neither. “How did you get in?” I snapped.
“Eliot?” Charde called sweetly, ignoring me.
Buddy, meanwhile, glanced nervously around the chapel, obviously ill at ease. I knew he and Charde had donated five thou to the labyrinth, but that he only came to church at Christmas. He was breathing deeply, and his face was pinched with the guilty expression of a holiday-only churchman. If he hyperventilated, I wondered, would I feel compelled to ca11 911?
“Charde, darling!” crowed Eliot, striding forward. “Come to check that we’re using your beautiful cushions on our chairs? Of course we are!”
They smooched like old pals and began to murmur. With an air of concentration, Buddy made a shuffling circuit of the chapel. If I stay near the edge, I’m not really here. Meanwhile, I arranged the cups and helped Julian bring the first stack of wooden chairs out of the storage room. We were about to go back for more when the door to the chapel opened again. In walked John Richard Korman, with Viv Martini in tow.
What was this - Open House? I cursed myself for being so surprised by the Lauderdales that I’d neglected to check the chapel doors.
John Richard and Viv, dressed head to toe in black, looked like a couple of undertakers. Then again, maybe they were aiming for that chic eighties rock-star look. Eliot, who was still engaged in intimate conversation with Charde, glanced up abruptly. His face registered shock, then a deep blush. Now that?s a new look for the king, I mused, intrigued.
“Well, Eliot,” said Viv in a mock-accusing tone. “Imagine seeing you here. And with a cute decorator, no less.”
“It is, uh, my family’s chapel,” Eliot began, but Viv only tilted up her pointed little chin and blew him a kiss. His face went from a patchy scarlet to an even crimson. I actually felt sorry for him.
“And Buddy,” Viv went on, still the charmer. “Hey, Viv,” Buddy replied, his voice low and sexy.
Had Viv slept with every rich older guy in the county? Would John Richard mind being classified as a rich older guy? Ha.
Before I could ask my ex-husband if he remembered the restraining order, he strode across the space between us and wagged a finger in my face.
“I don’t want to hear any crap from you, understand? Arch said you were going to be against it, so I’m
