warning you now.” His blue eyes blazed in his handsome face. “Viv and I are coming to the fencing banquet. Whether you like it or not. Got it? So don’t give me any of this restraining-order crap. It’s for Arch, and you should recognize he wants me there.”
“Cocky when the cops aren’t around, eh?” I shot back. “Hey, Viv! You don’t know what you’re in for!”
Viv shook her pale hair, which stuck out at every possible angle. “I love what I’m in for!” she proclaimed, as she sashayed closer to the Jerk. Standing behind him, she opened her black leather jacket - Is size carrying, I wondered? How do you slide a gun into pants that tight? She cocked one elbow and used the other hand to pat John Richard’s behind. Her clear voice crooned, “We’re not going to cause any trouble, are we, honey? If my guy here gets out of line, I’ll use force.”
When John Richard blushed, I burst out laughing. “Promise?” I asked.
“Promise,” she replied in a deep, throaty voice that sent shivers down my spine. Well, she was John Richard’s choice. Or vice versa, if she was just using him as a rich-old-fart conquest. Wouldn’t I love to see that? Maybe not, if this blond bombshell ended up taking money designated for Arch. Viv snaked an arm around John Richard’s waist and tilted her head to murmur in his ear. Ever done it in a chapel? Or something like that, because John Richard let out a surprised grunt. I longed to ask my ex-husband if Viv was the type of gal recommended in your average male-menopause support group, but for once I kept mum. I had work to do.
“If there’s nothing further - ” I began.
“So do we understand each other?” the Jerk said to me. I think he wanted to shake his finger in my face again, but Viv had him entwined. Instead, I walked quietly toward him and pointed a finger less than an inch from his aristocratic nose.
“Split. Now. You understand? I heard you. Remember General Farquhar, who could kill people without making any noise? I make a ton of noise. Now, buzz off before the nice neighbors have to hear it.”
“Now, now, Goldy,” Viv said, her voice conciliatory. “Let’s not make threats we can’t back up.” She gave me a knowing look. “I make a ton of noise, too, don’t I, baby? Let’s go.”
John Richard pressed his lips together and swallowed. Come to think of it, he did look kind of tired, especially in his noir outfit. Buddy and Eliot stood aghast: Were we actually hooked up with this woman? How’d we survive? Charde seized the opportunity of this dramatic tableau to stride toward me: Lemon in Motion.
“We’re coming to the fencing banquet, too,” she declared, her pert nose in the air. I prayed that the yellow beret would plop to the floor, but it didn’t slip. “We eat no undercooked meat, no raw eggs, and no sugar in any form. And by the way, our son Howie is lactose-intolerant. You probably don’t remember any of this from when you catered for us. You were too busy being nosy, isn’t that right?”
“I - “
“Howie likes lime sorbet. No dairy. Got it?” Charde said.
“Okay!” Julian bellowed, extending his arms. “That’s it! Everybody out! Out! You, you, you, and you!” he snarled, pointing to the Jerk, Viv, Buddy, and Charde. “We cannot work for our clients with you here. Leave.”
“We are your clients,” chimed in Buddy Lauderdale, with that nasal arrogance I knew only too well.
“Then please come back at lunchtime,” Julian said firmly. No question, the kid had it all ver yours truly in the assertiveness department.
Eliot made soft cooing noises that were meant to reassure his good chums, the Lauderdales. The Jerk and Viv banged out through the chapel door. When Eliot and the Lauderdales also departed, I slumped down in one of the wooden chairs. Julian made sure the doors were firmly shut and locked. He called to us that there was also an inside bolt, and he was throwing it until lunchtime.
“I’m not sure I can make it through this day,” I moaned when he returned.
“Sure you can. There’ll be new deep-pocket folks here who’ll love your food. They will line up to book you for their next catered event.”
He made me laugh. I was about to tell him how proud I was of him when thunderous pounding interrupted us yet again. This time, I unbolted the door and opened it myself. It was the baker’s assistant, come to set up the labyrinth cake. It looked scrumptious, a huge fudge-frosted round cake with white-iced loops reflecting the intricate pattern on the chapel floor.
“Ibrought you something,” Julian said, when I had firmly locked up behind the baker’s assistant. He was holding an upscale shopping bag. “Chocolate Emergency cookies, remember? I figure we’re in one now.” He drew out a wrapped packet and a small hot-drink container. “I even brought you an espresso.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Julian.” I bit into the cookie. Dark fudgy flavor exploded in my mouth and a burst of chocolate euphoria sparked up my spine. The cookies were chewy without being too sweet, with the smooth, buttery vanilla icing a perfect complement to the rich chocolate. A heartswig of the espresso sent all worries about the Lauderdales, the Jerk, and Viv down Cottonwood Creek.
For the nonce, anyway.
Two hours later I was letting the mood fit the food by being upbeat while serving trays of mail-order English cheese puffs, onion toasts, and caviar with toast points. The big donors, a handful of vestry members, and a few Episcopal Church Women, along with our parish priest, were all chugging champagne while gushing that Eliot had been so generous to donate the chapel to Saint Luke’s. The Lauderdales had snubbed me, of course, and recommended that others do so as well, Marla reported. Meanwhile, Marla announced that she didn’t understand why she’d given so much money to the labyrinth, when walking it was going to be so confusing after all this champagne.
While Julian served the soup, I hustled up to the castle and put in the Shakespeare’s Steak Pies. The Lauderdales were bad-mouthing me? Those creeps! “Anger’s my meat,” I whispered, congratulating myself on remembering something from Coriolanus. What was the rest of it? Oh, yes. Anger?s my meat: I sup upon myself / And so shall starve with feeding. So there! One more word from the Lauderdales and they’d be supping on raw hamburger with manchet bread. New play from the Bard: MacDEATH.
After we set out the pies, salad, and bread, the guests happily moved through the buffet line. Julian bustled about, teased by his Aunt Marla and admired by the women. As far from the buffet tables as possible, the Lauderdales had seated themselves with Sukie, Eliot, and another couple from the church. Buddy and Charde were working hard to appear deep in intellectual conversation. I, of course, was not fooled.
At length, Eliot dimmed the chandeliers and began his talk. He clicked on a slide of the Chartres labyrinth, and offered the same historical and architectural background I’d heard on the audiotape. While he was showing Before and After slides of the chapel restoration, Marla sneaked up to my side.
“No more on the Jerk’s real estate deal, sorry to report,” she whispered, with one eye on the cake table.
“The lunch was scrumptious. The only historic food I have is in my refrigerator!”
“Thanks. And thanks for checking on the town-house deal. I still think John Richard’s up to something.”
“He’s always up to something.” Then she hustled off toward the untouched cake that the guests were going to have after the slide show.
“Please, sir,” Marla whispered to Julian, “may I have some more? Or just a nibble, anyway?” Before I could protest, Julian had carved an enormous piece of cake, heaped it on a plate, and handed it to her.
“Call it reverse nepotism, Goldy,” she stage-whispered, fingering up a dollop of icing. Heads turned and I sighed.
Eliot had moved on to Before and After shots of the renovation of his castle. He ended with effusive thanks to the donors, and an invitation to have cake and to book their conferences into the castle next year. Then he invited them to quiet their souls and walk the labyrinth to arrive at their spiritual truth.
If the clapping from twenty-six people wasn’t thunderous, it was at least enthusiastic. Julian and I served cake and coffee, which I hoped would tame any aftereffects of champagne. When they finished their dessert, the guests began to process single-file through the labyrinth.
An eerie silence fell over the chapel as the silent parade went back and forth over the stones, all the way to the end. The few people who spoke as they were leaving did so in hushed tones. By two o’clock, the crowd had dispersed. Wow, I thought. Next time I felt uptight, I would give the labyrinth a try.
The churchwomen gathered up their plates, silver, and glasses, to trek them back to the Saint Luke’s kitchen for washing. Eliot and Julian broke down the Hydes’ serving tables and chairs, and hauled them back to the storage area. Then Julian and I folded up the rented dining tables and left them in the gravel parking lot under a tarpaulin. Party Rental would return before four to pick them up. Sukie and Eliot conveyed their video equipment back to the
