Chapter Four. The Body in The Pet Food Emporium
CHAPTER FOUR
THE BODY IN THE PET FOOD EMPORIUM
“What now?” Mrs. A asks after the freaky harp vibrations fade into a tense silence.
Grandma Lainey draws herself up to her full height, beaming her confidence around the room like a lighthouse. “Now we open our letters from Claude.”
Mine starts like this:
WHO KILLED EUSTACE?
A mystery, by Claude!
The scene: Pet food magnate Eustace Whipplesmith has summoned his family and business associates to a glittering soiree at his palatial home. It’s a delicate time for Eustace’s Canned Consommés, with rivals competing for the top slot in the gourmet cat food industry.
Eustace’s sister Persephone has hired celebrated chef Gideon Banks to formulate a new line of feline entrées, and longtime marketing director Flavia McFadden has been ordered to restore the company to its former glory—or lose her job.
Meanwhile, Eustace’s son Jarvis is distracted from his duties by the arrival of a young journalist named Holly Harris, who has been invited to do a puff piece on the family business.
The party is in full swing, but there’s no sign of Eustace, apart from the extremely flattering portrait on the wall. Unfortunately for our debonair pet food peddler, he’s too dead to raise a toast to his own legacy.
Who killed Eustace? And how?
Your role: “Holly Harris,” allegedly a cub reporter but really the daughter of rival cat food impresario Ulysses Tempranillo.
Notable props: Chic raincoat; cocktail ring with secret compartment!
Objective:…
I stop reading when I feel someone breathing over my shoulder, and quickly press the paper to my stomach to hide my secret agenda.
“Seriously?” I say to Felix, because who else would try to cheat their way to victory?
“I was just coming over to ask who you are.”
As if. I think of everything Grandma Lainey has taught me about getting into character.
First you choose a focal object to serve as a reference point, which in this case is obvious; I’ll wear my ring, as Claude clearly intended.
I slip it on, tucking the box into a pocket of my new coat, along with the letter.
My hair is okay, but I smooth it over my ears to catch any wonky strays.
“So yeah,” Felix tries again. “I don’t know if you heard but I was asking—”
I hold up a finger for silence. When I’ve shrugged on the coat and tied the belt, I thrust my shoulders back before turning to face him, arm outstretched.
“Holly Harris,” I say briskly, squeezing his knuckles. “You must be one of the waiters.”
“I—no.” He rallies quickly. “I’m Jarvis.”
“Jarvis.” I draw it out, furrowing my brow like I can’t quite place the name. “Jarvis who?”
Credit where it’s due, Felix doesn’t flinch. “Jarvis Whipplesmith.” He even manages to sound like he’s proud of his last name.
“How nice for you.” I’m choosing words at random, stalling for time. It’s clear from what I read of the script that I’m supposed to cozy up to Felix—I mean Jarvis—using my feminine wiles. Good thing I totally know how to do that.
“Can I interest you in a drink, Holly?” His voice has deepened, in what I can only assume to be Felix’s idea of masculine wiles. Maybe Jarvis is a cat food Casanova, smoldering a path through high society.
“I don’t know if I should.” I’m going for bashful and sweet, but instead of being charmed by my innocence, Felix looks like he wants to laugh.
“Something in your eye?”
The eyes in question narrow, because I was trying to flutter my lashes, and I don’t love being told I suck at coquettishness. “Just taking it all in,” I reply, with more edge than the part demands. “Since I’m here to work.”
“You know what they say about all work and no play.” His cheesy wink is almost certainly borrowed from Bradley’s book.
“I don’t, actually. I’m just a simple girl.” This time I resist the urge to blink too much.
“From a farm?”
“Not that simple.” I take a cleansing breath before continuing, less aggressively. “What about you?”
“To the manor born,” he says through a fake yawn. “Trust funder. Spoiled rotten. I had a life-size toy train I could ride around the house.”
“Really.” I wait for him to walk it back, but he only leans closer. He must have popped a mint at some point because no one’s breath is that fresh straight off the plane.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Life-size. As in, an actual train. In your house. Choo choo.”
His cheeks flush, and I don’t think it’s from wearing velvet in Florida. “We’re extremely wealthy. Revoltingly loaded.”
I smile, because he sounds defensive—which means I got under his skin. “I’m aware. Seeing as how I’ve been working on a story about your family.”
“But it’s probably hard for you to appreciate the scale of our obscene wealth. Being from the wrong side of the tracks.”
“I never said that. My family is totally average.” Even in character, it feels like a lie. “What are you doing?”
Felix has linked his arm through mine and is tugging me toward the door. “The party is this way.”
Now that he’s mentioned it, I notice the faint tinkling of glassware and low hum of voices coming from the lobby. I crane my neck to see what everyone is doing, but the room has emptied around us. Suspicious. A band starts up, playing something jazzy.
“Do you dance?” Felix asks.
To bluff or not to bluff? “I have a few moves.”
“The Robot?” he guesses.
“Funny.” My smile is a razor, thin and sharp. It’s possible we’re blurring the lines between “Holly” and “Jarvis” and Virginia and Felix.
“Am I beguiling you yet?” He bumps me lightly with his elbow.
“I’ll let you know when it happens. Or should I say ‘if’?”
“Maybe we should take a moonlit stroll instead? If dancing isn’t your thing. The night-blooming jasmine has an intoxicating scent.”
Alarm tightens the line of my spine. What if he’s supposed to murder me? I can’t let Felix take me to a second location. “Didn’t you promise me a drink?”
“Of course. Where are my manners?” He pats my hand, like he’s indulging my girlish whims. “What’s your poison?”
I choke on a nervous laugh. Surely he hasn’t seen through my plan? Just in case, I widen my eyes like someone who doesn’t know right from left.
“I’m not much of a drinker,” I confess. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
“Champagne it is!”
My grin is at least half genuine this time. Felix is about to serve me the perfect opportunity. When he returns from the sideboard with two glasses of sparkling amber liquid that smell strongly of apple cider, I accept one with a smile. Felix lifts his glass as if he’s about to make a toast.
“Actually,” I interrupt, with a little nose wrinkle I’m hoping reads as cute rather than grossed out, “could I possibly get a few canapés too?”
“Those canapés? Over there? Where I just was?” He points over his shoulder.
I nod, eyes wide and innocent. But not too wide or too innocent.
“Of course,” he says, remembering he’s supposed to be suave. “Your wish is my command.”
“I’ll hold your glass,” I volunteer. “Since you’ll need both hands.”
“Thanks.” He takes a couple of steps before stopping to look back at me. I flash him another sugary smile, heart rabbiting in my chest. “Are you sure you don’t want anything else while I’m over there? Napkin? Toothpick? Floral arrangement?”
“Just a little nibble.”
He nods. As soon as his back is turned, I shift the stem of the second glass to my left hand, freeing up the right to unlatch the secret compartment on my ring. It takes mere seconds to shake the ring above his glass before snapping it closed again and transferring that flute back to my right hand.
When he returns with my cheese and crackers, I hand him his sparkling cider, accepting the plate in return.
“Cheers,” I say, raising my glass.
What I really mean is Game on, Felix.