Chapter 9
She couldn’t believe she was walking up the stairs to the Noble-Hardee Mansion. The Loeffler mansion. Couldn’t believe she was walking through the open doors and into the huge entryway. Couldn’t believe she, Ingrid White, was at the engagement party for Sailor Loeffler. At Sailor’s special request.
Inside, she took in the space with awe. The house was massive.
The ceilings soared; the hall stretched for days.
An enormous crystal chandelier glittered above her head.
The walls of the foyer were painted in some kind of shimmery, pale green, fairy-tale forest mural with iridescent flowering vines, peacocks, and hummingbirds.
The staircase, its ornate banister rising from a heavily carved newel post, was carpeted in a thick Persian runner.
She couldn’t see any of the rooms of the next floor, but she heard them.
There were people all over this vast, ornate house.
“Ingrid.”
Sailor, wearing a long, low-cut, plum-colored, silk jumpsuit and dangling diamond earrings, stood to her right. She was holding a pink crystal glass full of some mysterious drink.
“You made it.” She rushed forward, grabbed Ingrid’s arm with her free hand, and kissed her cheek. A real kiss, not an air one.
A svelte woman in all-black with a sleek bun materialized on her other side. “Good evening, miss. Your drink for the evening?”
“She’ll have one of these.” Sailor held up her glass.
The server nodded and vanished, and Sailor turned to Ingrid with an intimate whisper.
“I’m so glad you were able to make it. I was worried for a minute you might think it was some kind of …
” She trailed off. “I don’t know. I’m just really glad you’re here.
I confronted Finley right after we left your place.
She admitted all of it—the sexting—that witch.
” She caught herself. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. ”
“It’s okay.” Ingrid was dying to know who Finley had been sending those pictures to, but she didn’t dare ask. It wasn’t her business. Maybe when Sailor trusted her more.
“This is a really nice party,” Ingrid said. “So many people.”
“Yeah.” Sailor’s smile looked grim. “My parents have a lot of friends.” The server was at Sailor’s elbow again, smoothly transferring a pink glass into Ingrid’s hand.
Sailor clinked her glass with Ingrid’s. “They created a specialty cocktail just for the event. It’s called a We Sail at Sunset. Watch out. There’s more tequila in it than you’d expect.”
Ingrid nodded and sipped along with Sailor.
She realized she was staring at a handsome, older man who had materialized at Sailor’s side.
He dropped a kiss on the top of Sailor’s head.
Her father, Ingrid thought. But no, that couldn’t be her father.
Sailor was grinning at him like a thirteen-year-old girl staring into the face of a beloved, pop-star crush.
“Ingrid, this is Jude Etris, my fiancé.”
Jude Etris looked like a young, hip, bald Abraham Lincoln. He had a craggy face with the sharpest set of cheekbones Ingrid had ever seen on a human, and he wore a silky black shirt and cream linen pants and a thin gold link chain around his neck.
“Ingrid’s the psychic I told you about,” Sailor said to Jude.
“Pleasure.” Jude spoke with an English accent, and he pursed his lips as he swept Ingrid with a glance. “I can’t imagine the sheer psychic bombardment you must be getting at this very moment. House like this. People like this.” He smiled wryly and Ingrid liked him at once.
“Jude and I met when he agreed to use and sell Savannah Sauce in his hotels,” Sailor said.
Jude gave her a loving look. “When I tasted the white vinegar barbecue, I knew I had to meet the great-granddaughter of the man who invented it.”
Sailor rolled her eyes and addressed Ingrid. “Ridiculous.”
Jude laughed and kissed her. “Darling, I know you want to play with your friends, but we’ve got work to do.”
Sailor flipped her hair, addressing Ingrid. “Jude’s opening a hotel in town. I keep telling him this is a party, not a sales meeting—”
“Darling, every party is a sales meeting.” Jude kissed her again, on top of the head, and surrendered himself to the vortex of guests. Sailor hesitated only a second, watching him go with a tender expression. Then she turned and took Ingrid’s hand.
“He’ll be fine. Come on. I’ll show you around.”
The house may have blazed with light on the outside, but inside was dimly lit, as shadowy as a romantic restaurant.
Each room was lavishly decorated with antiques and crammed with people.
Also laden with food. Each room had a theme: low country boil in one sitting room.
Tex-Mex in the next. Brunch in the dining room, and pastas and antipasti in the library.
A cello played somewhere—the music room, she discovered eventually—and with it, the voices created a raucous symphony.
Following Sailor, Ingrid passed guests, mostly older than her.
The men wore suits or blazers, were red-faced and laughed boisterously.
Snippets of conversation jumped out at her.
Somebody named Stephen had gotten “the box in Vegas for the game.” Another said Joe had timed his sprinklers to turn on right when the nightly ghost tours arrived at his house.
A man spoke loudly about how the folks new to town might accept that they were a part of what the town had become—the Disneyfication of Savannah, he called it—but by God, the old-timers hadn’t signed up for any of this nonsense.
The women were beautiful and brittle. They wore severely stylish dresses accented with bold jewelry, hair and makeup impeccably understated.
Ingrid had the feeling Sailor had carefully chosen who to introduce her to.
Devlin is on the board of SCAD, she restored over one hundred and forty-six historic preservation projects in town; Patty Jo’s husband is a judge; Clemmie and Lulu, sisters, know all the artists in town.
“Ingrid runs her grandmother’s business,” Sailor told them all. “Miss Edie’s over on East Taylor. She’s absolutely the most gifted psychic-witch in town. I can attest to it.”
Recognition lit up most every eye, outright glee in a few.
One woman clutched Ingrid’s shoulder. “I adored Miss Edie. I used to see her every week, back in the nineties. She singlehandedly got me through my divorce.”
“Oh, Ingrid’s just as good,” Sailor said. “She’s booked so far out, I couldn’t believe my wedding party even got in.”
The woman’s expression turned to one of panic. “My God. I must have my girl call first thing in the morning. I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed that sort of guidance in my life. A little more feminine and intuitive than Reverend Fowry.”
The other women tittered. Sailor sent Ingrid a sly wink. The first woman peered into Ingrid’s eyes, reached out to finger a tendril of her hair. “You’re so pretty, dear.”
Sailor steered Ingrid away from the ladies and toward the kitchen.
When Sailor pushed open the swinging door, Ingrid was greeted with a sight that resembled the inside of an ant hill.
The catering team, all in black and white, scurried about the room, stirring pots, chopping vegetables, depositing empty trays, and collecting filled ones.
Ingrid thought she recognized one of the team, a redheaded girl, Sasha.
A friend of Miles and Boney’s. Recognizing her, the girl seemed startled but quickly moved on.
Sailor had pulled a woman from the throng. She was short, plump, with a dark bob and wore round tortoiseshell glasses on a chunky Lucite chain. Dressed in a plain gray suit with sharp lapels, she stared at Ingrid, a grim set to her thin lips.
“This is our house manager, Mrs. Leimberger.” Sailor beamed at the scary woman. “Mrs. Leimberger, I’d like you to meet Ingrid White.”
Ingrid opened her mouth to speak but Mrs. Leimberger cut her off. “I have your business address and phone. Is there a personal cell I can have on file for Miss Loeffler?”
“She means me,” Sailor said apologetically.
Mrs. Leimberger handed Ingrid her phone. “Input there, if you please.” Ingrid typed in her number, then the woman reached around to tap at the screen. “Excellent. And here’s the number of Adrian, the family’s driver. He’ll be the one collecting you for appointments.”
Ingrid glanced over at Sailor. “Collecting me?”
Sailor looked at Mrs. Leimberger. “I’ll be walking to any appointments I have with Ingrid.”
“Whatever you prefer, Miss Loeffler, but we’ve already had several guests requesting Miss White’s number,” said Mrs. Leimberger. “Guests who prefer in-home services.”
Sailor lifted a tentative brow at Ingrid. “Is that okay?”
“Oh,” Ingrid said, startled. “That’s fine. I’m happy to provide … in-home services. Readings. For anyone.” Not that she had ever done such a thing. Not that she even knew the possibility existed. Edie had never gone to clients’ houses for readings, she didn’t think.
“Excellent.” Mrs. Leimberger clicked off her phone. “I also need your bank information—”
“Mrs. Leimberger,” Sailor interrupted. “We can discuss this later. After the party.”
“Certainly.” The woman nodded once, curtly, and smiled.
“On top of everything, as always,” Sailor said.
“Have a wonderful evening,” Mrs. Leimberger said. “Congratulations on your engagement.” To Ingrid, “Miss White. A pleasure.”
Before Ingrid could reply, the woman was gone. Sailor looked slightly embarrassed. “I happened to mention to her earlier that we’d had a wonderful reading, and I wanted to schedule standing appointments.”
Ingrid’s heart leapt violently. Standing appointments meant regular money.
“She’s an absolute maniac, but she runs this place … this family … like a five-star general. Which is sort of a necessity, as you’ll see when you meet my mother.”
Ingrid nodded, taking it all in.
“It’s no big deal, I promise. I do this with my massage therapist, my stylist, colorist, aesthetician, et cetera—basically, put them on retainer. It just makes it so much easier if we can deposit payments directly into your account, and you’re always available if I need a last-minute appointment.”
Ingrid felt slightly dizzy.
“But if that’s too invasive, just say the word.”
“No, not at all. That works.” Ingrid’s body felt warm, but maybe that was from the drink in the pink glass. It was empty now, she noticed, and just as she did, a server appeared, deftly replacing the empty glass with a full one. “Thank you.” The server nodded and was gone.
Sailor took her hand. “Come on, let’s go upstairs.
” She pulled Ingrid back toward the cavernous hallway, which Ingrid now saw held its own buffet tables of tiny, jewel-like chocolates in every shape and size.
The hall was full of guests now, exponentially louder than before, and before they reached the staircase, a male voice boomed from the crowd.
“Sails, my love! Introduce me to your friend!”