Chapter 37 #2
“Yes, that was extremely unfortunate. Just awful. But I promise you, they’re a first-rate operation.
Truly. Granabelle’s friend Denny Cole does maintenance there, and he’s one of the best. The chairs…
” She shakes her head, hard, as if the collapsing chairs and someone getting hurt were a total fluke.
“It’s the most elegant place in the area for a wedding under three hundred.
If you ever want to talk—just hypothetically, in the spirit of mystery solving—I’d urge you to make an appointment.
People who wait until the last minute usually end up with… less than ideal options.”
“There is also the Glassworks Galleria,” I say, feeling Alexandru’s attention on me. “But they had that awful fire there where everybody got wet from the sprinklers. Do you remember that?”
Whitney stills, looking from Alexandru back to me, back to Alexandru.
Am I being too forward? Have I gone too far?
“A bit of advice,” Whitney says. “You can’t avoid every potential pitfall.
A wedding is a celebration, warts and all.
Though… here’s an idea!” She points at Alexandru.
“I could envision a casually elegant engagement party at Kingston Manor. It would be quite the ticket. Did you restore it to its original condition as you did with your London residence?”
“The third floor was restored to its original condition,” Alexandru says.
“Somebody has done her homework,” I joke, actually surprised that she knows about Alexandru’s large London residence.
“Prince Miramonte is the talk of the town. Everybody’s been googling you. I must say, it’s a beautiful story, the way your tragedy with your father brought you together with the prince.”
“Do you recommend the services of Kip the bartender?” Alexandru asks. “Do you find him to be a trustworthy person?”
“He is the default beverages person,” Whitney says.
“That doesn’t seem like an endorsement, exactly,” I say.
“Well, he is the homegrown choice, let’s just say.” The way she says homegrown is not exactly approving. “If you are envisioning a more jet-set or sophisticated crowd coming in from all corners of the globe, you might look to Cleveland for a slightly upscale beverage service.”
“Do you find him trustworthy in general?” I ask.
She narrows her eyes. “Why would you ask?”
Our waitperson comes and sets down our crab cakes.
“I should let you go so I can catch up with my friend,” Whitney says. “But if you want to call to make an appointment, I have a good deal of flexibility in the upcoming week.” With that, she takes off.
I sip my beer, conscious of all eyes on us. “Us out at a restaurant talking to a wedding planner. My god, the rumor mill. Can you feel it?”
Alexandru raises an eyebrow. “The intensity of the interest around us is quite striking.”
I take a crab cake, put it on my little plate, and lean in. “Take a crab cake and put it on your plate like you’re gonna eat it. Maybe cut it in half or something.”
“Will the villagers rise up with pitchforks if I don’t appear to be eating?” he asks.
“I don’t want to insult Josie’s mother,” I say. “She’ll feel bad if it looks like you don’t like the food.”
Alexandru places a crab cake on his plate with a look of great put-upon-ness. “Our friend Whitney most definitely feels guilt about the Schmidt Mansion accidents. Extreme guilt. So much deception. Fear.”
“Really?”
“I’m no psychic, as you like to remind me, but I feel confident she sabotaged those chairs.”
“But the way she fell all over herself to recommend the Schmidt Mansion, it almost felt like she was trying to make it up to them or something. Is that the behavior of a serial murderer?”
“Some killers feel guilty after they kill. Some find only pleasure in it. Others do it because they’re compelled for whatever reason, and it bedevils them afterwards.”
“Huh. And what did she think about the curtain fire incident? Did she have any feelings about that?”
“Frustration, mostly,” he says. “However, her frustration might be toward you for mentioning all of those accidents. She thinks you are too timid.”
“I think you’re letting your opinions color your reading of her.”
“No, in truth,” he says. “I believe it’s what she thought.”
“Did she also think I take forever to get my ducks in a row?”
This earns a rare smile from Alexandru. “I am telling you what I felt from her.”
I take a bite of my crab cake. Alexandru cuts his apart some more.
“Sadly, we still don’t know if she was actually there for the curtain fire wedding. I really wanted to find a way to ask her without being too obvious.”
Alexandru fixes me with a hard look. “Whitney is almost certainly the one who sabotaged the chairs. The guilt and nervousness rolling off of her was extreme. As you said, once we catch the culprit behind the small accidents, we shall know the culprit behind the larger accidents.”
I cringe inwardly. “I did say that, didn’t I? But we need confirmation, and it still could be Kip. We have four days left.”
Alexandru gives me a warning look.
“What? I want to feel a hundred percent. We should at least get a look at the photo she wants hidden so badly. In fact…” I grab my phone and text Sloane. “I really hope Sloane’s not gonna be playing games and dragging her feet in getting it to us.”
When I next look up, Alexandru seems stormy and distracted.
“Is it the hunger? Are you going to last?”
“Of course I am.”
“What happens between now and the point where you lose all restraint?”
“All restraint might be a little extreme,” he says, switching our beers. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay,” I say, but I am worried about it. Is he fighting to keep his restraint even now?
I decide to distract him with updates on his billion-dollar holdings. I’m just describing how I’ve located the best possible property manager for his downtown Athens holdings when I hear a familiar voice.
Josie’s mother, Rita, is working her way across the patio, greeting diners and making sure everybody’s happy and content.
“Quick!” I whisper. “Switch plates with me.”
We do a quick switcheroo so that he gets my mostly empty plate of crab cake debris and I get his cut-up crab cake. I plop on some sauce and take a swig of his beer.
“I’m eating and drinking for two now,” I joke.
A woman at the next table gives me a dirty look and eyes my beer.
“Joke,” I say.
Rita walks up, beaming. “I hope you two are enjoying yourselves.”
“We are!” I say.
“Very much,” Alexandru says.
It’s clear she thinks we’re a couple, which she’s quite thrilled about. I’m sure she thinks it’s an amazing boon to become arm candy to a charming, three-piece-suit-wearing prince.
Sadly, this kind of prince eats his arm candy.