Chapter 1
When Eden Marsh came through the heavy main doors of the Guild Society, just a few blocks from the Department of Labor in Washington, DC, she was greeted by a hollow silence and a reminder of why she was there. A solemn acknowledgment of the recent passing of a man who’d had a profound effect on nearly everyone who’d known him, including her. She advanced to the center of the large lobby, with its Italianate marble floor, feeling herself beginning to give way to the emotional significance of the day. Eden took a breath to clear her head, determined that her personal sense of loss would not take away from the purpose of the day. To celebrate Everett Nichols.
Alone in the austere hallway, she felt drawn into the grand first floor salon, off to the right, by evidence that the room had been set up for some sort of event. Eden frowned as she glanced into the room. The dark and formal setting had been laid out with all the trappings for a reception. Or a meeting, or some sort of celebration. A table at the end of the room displayed a variety of glasses for an open bar. Two tables on the longer sides of the room were set up for buffet service, awaiting the delivery of food. It was everything she’d ordered for Everett’s affair. But this was not the room she’d booked.
It was a distinctly masculine room, meant to be used by society members, once solely men, to welcome guests, business associates, family visiting for a few hours for an event, or just a place for members to gather to reflect on their good fortune, having achieved Masters of the Universe status.
Everett would hate it, Eden thought.
“Hello, are you Eden Marsh?”
Eden turned to the voice and the short, slender man approaching her. “Yes. Mr. Madison?” She shook his hand.
“Nice to put a pretty face to the voice on the phone,” Mr. Madison said in an effort to be friendly. “As you can see”—he waved into the salon—“everything is ready. I’ll have the catering staff bring in the refreshments shortly.”
“But not here,” Eden said clearly.
Surprised, the manager frowned. “Excuse me?”
“This is not the room I was originally shown. This is not the room I wanted. I chose the renovated reading room on the second floor. The room that the club commissioned Mr. Nichols to redesign and renovate several years ago.”
The manager’s expression turned to one of guilt, but he quickly recovered. “I’m so sorry. But that room is being used for another function. I believe our director’s secretary,” he said with emphasis, “asked to use it for her daughter’s bridal shower. In any case the grand salon is our most popular rental space. It’s so historic.”
Eden shook her head, her gaze expressing a sort of “gee, that’s too bad” gesture, as she opened her satchel and pulled out folded papers. “I’m sure it is, but it’s not what I agreed to. I have a signed contract, Mr. Madison. It clearly says that the reading room will be set up for a memorial service lasting two hours for seventy-five guests.” Eden held out the document to the flustered Mr. Madison. “Would you like to see it again?”
“No, I remember the contract, but…”
“Good. You just need to transfer the refreshment setup to the second floor. That shouldn’t take too long.” Eden looked at her watch. “The guests will be arriving in under an hour.” She smiled sweetly at the manager to soften the blow of her digging in her heels. “I’m sure you can explain to the bridal shower party about my agreement. They can use the salon. It’s big and cozy…and historic. Thank you for doing this,” Eden said with self-deprecating politeness, not allowing the club manager to attempt more excuses.
“Of course,” Mr. Madison conceded, giving in to the utter charm with which Eden made her case. He turned away to do her bidding.
Eden was alone again, with the silence of the building and the odd stillness that hung in the air. She immediately forgot Mr. Madison, confident that he wouldn’t dare ignore the signed contract…and risk the consequences.
She continued to the wide staircase and climbed to the second level. The landing opened right in front of a bright room with high ceilings, its late-twentieth-century furnishings more in line with the earlier styles of the salon. No chrome and glass here. But it was modern and comfortable, one wall entirely devoted to an enormous built-in filled with monographs, atlases, and attractively bound series and sets. It wasn’t a library, but definitely a reading space for club members that was bright, relaxed, and uncluttered.
Everett didn’t like clutter, either. Keep it simple had always been one of his mottos.
Eden sighed and blinked, focusing. Here, there were three round tables set up for a luncheon. The tablecloths were pink, and there was a large, ornate bouquet in the center of each table. This layout was what the club manager had expected to function for the bridal shower.
Eden heard sounds beyond a partition at the end of the room, and two young men in black slacks and pristine white shirts, waitstaff, appeared with a rolling service cart.
“We’re here to move the flowers downstairs. We’ll be back for the tables in a sec,” one of the men said.
“Thank you. I know this is last minute, but could you hurry? My guests will be arriving soon.”
She watched as the two men quickly loaded the cart with whatever would fit and headed back to the discreetly placed service elevator. Eden returned her attention to the room, quickly assessing if there was a need to rearrange furniture. She was relieved that there wasn’t. Maybe just repositioning some of the chairs into small clusters and placing the small side tables conveniently for glasses and plates. She began to do some of the moving on her own.
The manager reappeared and rushed to assist Eden when he found her attempting to shift a club chair so it faced the center of the room.
“Ms. Marsh, please. You don’t have to do that. My team will take care of everything.”
“I don’t mind,” she responded agreeably. “I can move a chair.”
“Yes, yes,” the manager said with a nervous chuckle. “I can see you’re very capable, but I don’t want to add a line item on the contract that includes coverage for injuries.”
She stepped back and turned to look around again. Satisfied that it was all coming together, Eden headed for the staircase.
“Ah…is there something else?”
“I just want to check how things are going in the kitchen. I don’t want my food platters to end up as hors d’oeuvres at the shower.”
“But…”
Eden was already halfway down the stairs, carefully maneuvering in her two-inch pumps. She did a light and graceful jog down the hallway, past the entrance, in the direction of the catering department. She could hear the activity and the shouts and orders among the staff as they hurried to accommodate two events scheduled at the same time. She caught a glimpse of the folded tables for the buffet, a short stack of tablecloths, a box with other wares and supplies, and an easel, all stuffed into the little elevator. The two men Eden had already seen working on the second floor managed to squeeze in, the doors closed, and the elevator ascended.
She looked around and spotted several platters of food. “I’ll take this up,” she announced. And without waiting for a response, she lifted one of the plastic-wrapped trays and headed back to the staircase. Eden heard the main entrance door open behind her as she walked past. A cool wave of late-winter air wafted over her, but she didn’t look to see who’d come in.
She checked her watch and frowned. Thirty minutes and counting before guests arrived. Eden started up the stairs. She hesitated, deciding against holding the banister. But trying to hold the tray with one hand was not a good idea. Instead, Eden balanced the tray in both hands, off to one side. She started up again, looking down to watch the placement of her feet on the steps.
Beck Dennison pulled open the entrance door of the Guild Society and entered the lobby. He momentarily stopped in his tracks as a young woman hurriedly marched by with a large, cumbersome tray in her hands. She was focused on the obviously unwieldy tray and didn’t notice his presence at the door. He, on the other hand, was caught by her erect bearing and her slender figure confidently rushing to a destination. The lush dark curls of her natural hairdo, mostly at the top and back of her head, bounced gently with each step. He quickly noticed she was tastefully attired in slim black slacks, and a short bolero-length jacket in black-and-white tweed with a stand-up collar. It was sophisticated but simple attire, still feminine but unlike what many of the females in DC would choose to wear. Her silver hoop earrings reflected the hall lighting as she walked. Beck came out of his focused appreciation of the attractive, stylish picture she presented when he realized she was actually going to attempt to walk up a flight of stairs in heels, carrying a tray of food.
He rushed forward, taking the stairs two at a time until he reached her, almost halfway up. So as not to startle her, he reached out, placing his hand beneath the tray at the center. His left hand hovered at her back, but not touching her, in case she lost her balance.
“Let me take that,” he said with quiet authority. He lifted the tray away from her.
Surprised by the sudden action, Eden glanced over her shoulder at him. She blinked, gave him a slight smile, and turned to continue up the steps.
Beck heard her murmur, “Thank you.” He followed her. When they both reached the landing, she went striding off into the bright room straight ahead, where several men were busy covering buffet tables, setting up for an open bar, and strategically placing small stacks of cocktails napkins on several tables. He maneuvered off his cross-body mailbag and left it on the floor against the baseboard near the entrance. Beck could see that this was a setup for an event and walked the tray over to one of the catering staff, a young Black woman with an attractively arranged pile up of long dreadlocks.
“I’ve got it. We’ll take care of the rest,” she said, taking the tray.
“Thanks.” Beck nodded, looking around for the young woman he’d helped. She was busy giving directions to other staff in a quiet but commanding voice and willingly lending a hand where needed. He went over to introduce himself. She turned and saw him but gave him no chance to speak.
“Oh, good,” she said, signaling him over. “I need your help. Could you please shift this love seat forward and on a slight angle? I think that will make the space cozier.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Beck responded agreeably and went to do her bidding. He hid his amusement and fleeting annoyance that she was, unknowingly, abusing his services. She was clearly an employee of the catering company hired to provide for the occasion, in charge of making things happen. He positioned himself behind the sofa and began to push it. Beck glanced at her again, not yet willing to admit he admired her presence. She wasn’t aloof and bullying, and her directives were more…thoughtful. Things were to be done her way, the right way. And thank you very much. He allowed himself a slight grin. It was hard to say no to someone so charming and pretty.
Beck followed her movements as she, in turn, watched what the staff was doing in the placement of the trays. One side of the room was finger food items. The opposite-side table was laid out with desserts.
She turned, giving her attention to the approach of a short middle-aged man in a business suit, speaking and gesturing in disapproval.
“Ms. Marsh, I have to insist…”
“I know, Mr. Madison. But we’re almost finished, and your staff has been amazing. I’ll make sure they’re compensated.”
Mr. Madison fell silent as she again adroitly avoided a face-off.
Beck finished repositioning the love seat while eavesdropping on the exchange. He had to grin. The woman probably didn’t work directly for the club, but she was certainly in charge at the moment.
He reached into his pocket and withdrew a business card from his wallet. He approached her, ready to introduce himself. But the young woman’s attention was again caught by something near the refreshment table. She walked away before he could speak, not realizing that he was behind her.
Beck waited patiently. She bent to pick up a folded easel from the floor, opened it, and placed it in a prominent spot facing toward the open room. When she bent again to lift a large, flat rectangular item wrapped in brown paper, he stepped forward.
“I’ve got it.” He passed his business card to her as he took the flat package out of her hands. She barely glanced at the card before slipping it into the pocket of her jacket. She stood watching as he removed the brown paper. The board underneath was a mounted black-and-white photograph of a seventy-something white male. His image took up nearly all of the frame of reference. In the background was an out-of-focus crowded bookshelf with models and oversize catalogs and manuals, evidence of a workplace setting. The man was leaning back in his chair, his brawny arms up with his hands locked behind his shaved head. His open-necked shirt had the sleeves haphazardly pulled up. He was staring right into the camera, and he wasn’t smiling.
Beck stared, caught off guard by the suddenness of seeing the larger-than-life face of Everett Nichols, whose memorial he’d been invited to attend. Beck was also caught off guard by the sadness that coursed quickly through him. For a moment he was transfixed, a rush of memories flashing in his head. So was the young woman next to him. Beck reached in front of her and placed the dramatic photo on the display easel. It was eye-catching and very revealing, but only to those who’d known Everett Nichols well. Beck suspected the number was relatively small. He heard a small, almost inaudible sound from the woman. He turned his head to look at her.
She was standing with her arms wrapped across her waist, hugging herself. Beck was trying to figure out what it meant, that she now seemed so self-protective. What was she feeling? And why? If this was a simple work engagement, where did her personal reaction come from? Abruptly, she turned and walked away. Beck watched her go, having no idea what to make of her reaction to the portrait of Everett Nichols.
What’s up with that?he wondered.