Chapter 4
Chester sprang from his chair as soon as Morgan stepped into Easton Estate’s kitchen the following day. He circled twice and pawed at her pant leg, his signal he wanted to be picked up.
She promptly complied, cuddling her squirming pup. “There’s my buddy. You must’ve missed me last night.”
“Missed you? Chester has been sitting by the door since first thing this morning.” Mrs. Arnsby bustled across the kitchen and eased a plate of sandwich buns onto the counter. “My guess is he thought you were away on another business trip.”
“Not for a while.” Morgan playfully fluffed his ear and set him back down. “I hope he behaved himself.”
“He was as good as gold. In fact, I let him spend the night with me after I got home from the party. I’ll have you know he’s a bed hog.”
“I thought I was the only one he did that to. When he’s feeling generous, he’ll let me have a small sliver of the bed.” Morgan dusted her hands, eyeing a set of matching bowls lined up on the counter. “What are you making?”
“Guédille.” Mrs. Arnsby reached for a spoon. “Elizabeth and Gerard are taking advantage of a little downtime, cozily ensconced in the library and requested a light lunch. I thought I would surprise them and whip up a French-Canadian dish.”
“Guédille,” Morgan repeated. “I think I slaughtered the pronunciation.”
“It’s pronounced gay dee yuh,” the cook said. “At least that’s how I was taught to say it. I’m actually serving Guédille au poulet.”
“Which is…”
“Basically grilled buns filled with chicken salad.” Mrs. Arnsby tossed several ingredients into a mixing bowl and gave it a good stir. She taste-tested it twice, adding generous shakes of both salt and pepper. “I believe I’m ready to fill the bread.”
“Let me help.” Morgan dashed over to the sink and washed her hands. Working together, she and the cook filled several buns with the creamy chicken filling. “Is there a history lesson to go along with the Guédille au poulet?”
“Not this time. It’s a simple meal originating from Quebec.”
Morgan licked her lips. “It looks delicious.”
“I made extra. Let me take these into the library, and you and I can sample some leftovers.” Mrs. Arnsby added a bowl of made-from-scratch coleslaw to the tray and placed that, along with the stuffed sandwiches and glasses of lemonade, on the serving cart before wheeling it out of the room.
By the time she returned, Morgan had assembled two more sandwiches and poured drinks.
“Thank you, dear. I do love a good stuffed sandwich.”
Morgan admired the crispy bread before taking a big bite. “I couldn’t figure out how to cut ours into those fancy little triangles you’re so good at.”
“No worries. It all tastes the same.” Mrs. Arnsby picked up her sandwich and nibbled the edge. “I hate to nitpick, but I believe the filling could use a pinch more salt.”
“I think it’s delish.” Morgan closed her eyes, savoring the flavors that tingled her tastebuds.
The cook plucked a chunk of chicken from her sandwich and popped it into her mouth. “The party at Locke Pointe was so much fun. Did you happen to catch the look on Elizabeth’s face when she saw everyone hiding in the living room?”
“She was surprised.”
“More like shocked, but in a good way. It was nice to celebrate without all the chaos and busyness the wedding will bring. I believe the final guest count is a little over two hundred.”
Morgan whistled loudly. “We’re going to need a vacation after it’s all said and done.”
“Somewhere on a sunny beach in Florida sounds good to me.”
“Priscilla Finkpin is planning to attend. I ran into her at the harbor yesterday.” Morgan told her what had happened and how she’d given the injured woman a ride home.
Mrs. Arnsby patted Morgan’s hand. “If anyone can bring old Prissy around, it will be you.”
“She seemed so sad and lonely.”
“Because she’s spent her life alienating those around her. I hope she has had a change of heart.”
“Wouldn’t that be something, after all these years?” Morgan polished off the rest of her sandwich and stuck her empty plate in the dishwasher. “Thank you for the tasty treat.”
“You’re welcome.” Mrs. Arnsby followed suit and trailed Morgan to the door. “I miss having Quinn pop in. I suppose now that she’s living near the harbor, there’s no reason for her to drive all the way out here.”
“She’s still getting settled. I’m sure she’ll start coming around again soon.”
“I hope so. I chatted with her last night at the party. Maybe it’s because I haven’t seen her in a while, but she seems much too thin. Perhaps I should whip up a few of her favorite dishes. I don’t think she’s eating enough.” Mrs. Arnsby told Morgan she had an errand to run in town and thought she would drop off some food while she was there.
“I’m sure Quinn will be thrilled to have some of your delicious dishes.” Morgan gave her a goodbye hug and followed Chester out. On her way to her vehicle, she glimpsed Ben who was hard at work scrubbing Burnie, her grandmother’s 1985 Crown Victoria LTD, and changed direction. “Hey, Ben.”
“Good morning, Morgan…or should I say, afternoon. That was a great surprise party last night.” Ben told her Gerard and Elizabeth talked about it all the way home. “You pulled off no small feat, keeping it a secret from them.”
“I’m glad it went off without a hitch.” Morgan motioned to her grandmother’s car. “Are you spiffing Burnie up for the big day?”
“I have all the vehicles spit-polished and ready to go, including the wedding car, the estate’s rare Porsche roadster.”
“Which is the ideal choice for a getaway car,” Morgan joked. “Maybe the weather will cooperate and it’ll be nice enough for them to put the top down as they drive off into the sunset.”
“Knowing your grandmother’s gift for making things happen, I wouldn’t be surprised if we have a picture-perfect day.”
Morgan jangled her keys. “I better get going. Mrs. Arnsby whipped up Guédille au poulet in case you’re hungry.”
“Gooda what?”
She laughed out loud. “Say that five times fast. Sandwiches filled with chicken salad. There are plenty of leftovers.”
“And I’m plenty hungry.”
Morgan said goodbye to the estate’s chauffeur, as she and Chester climbed into her SUV. During the drive to Easton Harbor, she mentally ticked off the list of things she needed to do before the big day.
The next couple of weeks would fly by. The wedding would be over in the blink of an eye and then…life as the Easton siblings knew it would realign and readjust. A new family member also meant changes for the estate’s staff.
There would be more “downtime” when the newlyweds were staying in Toronto at Gerard’s place. On the flip side, they would also have an extra resident to take care of when the couple flew in for some “island time.” Gerard didn’t strike Morgan as being “high maintenance,” although, to be honest, she didn’t know him all that well.
She eased into an empty parking spot and reached for the door handle when she heard her cell phone ring. She glanced at the screen and did a double take. It was Grady MacDonald, Wyatt’s best friend, who also happened to be an Easton Harbor police officer.
Her first thought was something had happened to Wyatt. She quickly dismissed it. Grady wouldn’t phone her if there was a crisis. He would be on her doorstep.
“Hey, Grady.”
“Hey, Morgan. Where are you?”
“In Easton Harbor. I’m parked in front of the gallery. What’s up?”
“I need to talk to you about something. Hang tight. I’ll meet you there in less than ten.”
“Sounds good.”
As soon as she opened the door, Chester clambered across her lap and leapt to the ground, making a beeline for the gallery’s front entrance.
Stepping inside, she caught Quinn’s eye and gave her a friendly wave. “Chester and I had an errand to run and thought we would stop by to say hi.”
“There’s my buddy.” Quinn scratched his chin. “Have you had any luck finding a wedding suit for him?”
“Yes. I found his formal attire. It wasn’t easy. You know how picky he can be. I hope he likes it.”
Quinn tipped her hand back and forth. “I give it a fifty-fifty chance.”
“Me too. If he leaves it on long enough for us to make it through the ceremony, I’ll call it a win.”
A couple who had been perusing the inventory approached the counter, asking Quinn for more information about a piece of artwork on display.
Morgan quietly stood off to the side, watching as her friend filled them in on the history and background of the piece. They showed an interest in a second work of art. Once again, Quinn told them about it.
Finally deciding to purchase the original piece, Quinn made quick work of completing the transaction. They exited the store, leaving Morgan and Quinn alone.
“I wish I had half the brain and memory you have,” Morgan marveled. “I bet I could pick out any piece of art in here and you could tell me all about it. Meanwhile, I can’t remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday.”
“I love art. Every piece tells a story.”
“I suppose that’s true.” Morgan shifted her feet. “Has there been any word from Mr. Ryze, the man who was in here yesterday claiming the artwork he bought was fake?”
“No, but no news isn’t necessarily good news.” Quinn confided she’d gotten a bad vibe from him the moment he stepped foot inside the gallery. “He was asking a lot of questions. Looking back, it was all sort of odd.”
“Odd?”
“His line of questioning. How we acquired our pieces, what the process was…stuff like that.”
“Hmm. Do you think he was on a fishing expedition?”
“It’s possible.” Quinn peered over Morgan’s shoulder. “Grady is here.”
“He called right before I walked in and said he needed to talk to me.” Morgan hurried across the room and caught up with him near the door.
“Hey, Morgan. Before I forget, thank you for inviting me to last night’s shindig. Grace and I had a great time.”
“I’m glad you could make it,” she said. “Your phone call sounded important. Is everything all right?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure. I was hoping Mrs. Easton would be here.”
Morgan sucked in a breath. “Why? What’s going on?”
“I got a call from the RCMP—the Royal Canadian Mounted Police department. They received a complaint about fake artwork allegedly sold by Easton Harbor Art Gallery. A pair of investigators are on their way here.”