by Emma Belmont
Blonde, blue-eyed, and more than a touch on the nerdy side with her round, black glasses, Maris had already noted that she and Felix were pals. He waited for her to spear the appetizer and then they tasted it together. Her eyes widened as she made an appreciative sound, and nodded.
Her neighbor’s dark eyes lit up as he enjoyed the canapé as well. Like Pammy, Felix was in his early thirties. But unlike her or the rest of the group, he was easily the least nerdy, with his artsy goatee.
“I like this,” he said, bringing a napkin to his mouth. “A lot.” He reached for his glass of white wine.
Reggie had used his big fingers and simply popped the cucumber and salmon in his mouth. He nodded, still chewing. “Very nice,” he said around the food. “What do you think, BJ?”
The final member of the group had used a knife to cut his in half and had finished the first section. He’d just been about to eat the second piece, but paused. “I’m savoring it,” he said with an enormous smile. “I’d eat this all evening if I could.”
BJ sat on Reggie’s left hand, and was even more nerdy than Pammy. Probably in his mid-forties, his dark hair had gone prematurely gray and he wore it very short. But it was his enormous fluorescent green glasses that marked him as the nerdiest. Or perhaps it was avant garde. Maris couldn’t decide.
What she did know, however, was that the canapé was divine. The brined salmon melted in her mouth, and the cucumber had a fresh and crisp texture to compliment it. The lemon truffle mayo left a nice lingering aftertaste that did indeed leave her wanting more.
Cookie nodded. “Perfect,” was all she said.
The French chef inclined his head toward her, his mustache lifting at the sides, but said he nothing. He glanced around the table, and began to remove the plates.
Maris turned to Reggie, who was finishing a sip of wine. “Are you planning on seeing some of Pixie Point Bay’s local sites while you’re here?”
“Oh, absolutely,” the big man said, his equally big voice rumbling. “It’s finally a chance for us all to unwind a bit.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing the redwoods for the first time,” BJ said, his smile lifting his bright green glasses.
“I’m going to do something out on the bay,” Pammy said, watching the chef set down a bowl in front of her. “Oh, this looks wonderful.”
“French onion soup,” he said. “Sweet onions in vegetable stock and white wine, seasoned with garlic, thyme, and pepper.” He set the next bowl down in front of Felix. “Topped with Gruyere and Swiss cheese, of course.” He went back to the tray on the sideboard.
“Felix,” Maris said to him, “are you planning to get out?”
He laughed a little as he picked up his spoon. “I don’t remember what that’s like.”
“Oh my god, is that the sun?” Pammy joked as she pretended to squint.
“Look, the sky,” BJ chimed in. “It’s still blue.”
As Maris was served her soup, she smiled up at the chef, before he proceeded to Cookie. She looked around the table. “I take it you all work long hours?”
There was laughter again, just as the last soup was served to Reggie, who said, “That smells amazing.” Without a moment of hesitation, he dug in.
Maris tasted a bit of the broth, and her appreciative “Mmm” joined the others. For a few minutes, there was only the sound of happy diners. A seemingly simple dish, the soup struck just the right balance of the savory onion with the salty and creamy cheese.
“I’ve changed my mind,” BJ announced. “Now I want this for the rest of the evening.”
Everyone chuckled a little, too busy eating to make more jokes.
But eventually Reggie answered Maris’s question. “We put in some crazy long hours,” he said, “and this is a well-deserved getaway.”
“Thank you, again, Reggie,” Pammy said.
Next to her, Felix nodded. “Yes, thank you.” Pammy elbowed him and indicated his goatee. He took his napkin from his lap and quickly wiped it. She nodded.
Conversation turned to the lighthouse, and Maris filled them in on its Victorian heritage, the conical white tower being built first, in 1885. Then the lightkeeper’s house, today’s B&B, following a few years after that. But as Etienne cleared away the soup bowls, Maris was curious about what the group did.
“I take it that Whiz Kid Games makes games?” she said.
“So to speak,” Reggie said. “Actually, we’re a publisher.”
She cocked her head at him, but before she could ask him what a game publisher did, Etienne reappeared with the main course: crab legs, enormous ones. Appreciative murmurs and a low whistle went up from around the table.
“Fresh caught Dungeness crab,” he said, putting the first of the three plates he carried in front of Reggie, “with cheesy potato pancakes and steamed carrots.” He set the next in front of BJ. “With local organic greens topped with an aged balsamic vinaigrette.” He set the third plate in front of Pammy and headed back to the kitchen.
Cookie had been taking a sip of water, but when she set it down, she turned to Reggie. “So you publish games, not create them.”
Reggie had been staring at his plate, but looked up at her with a broad smile. “We do a bit of both.” He glanced at the sideboard, to a small stack of pamphlets that Maris hadn’t noticed. “In fact,” he said, as he got up and brought them back to the table, “it’s easier to demonstrate than explain.”
Maris noted that the other diners had gone still, and were glaring at the pamphlets. The French chef returned with the four remaining plates and served them, in total silence. Although everyone had their dinner, no one moved to eat.
“You have got to be kidding,” BJ said, glaring at Reggie as his hand clenched the stem of his wine glass.
Reggie ignored him and focused on Cookie. “You’ll be fascinated to know that our upcoming publication is a murder mystery dinner.” He handed two pamphlets to Cookie, and she passed one to Maris. He arched his eyebrows at Maris. “And it just happens to take place at a Victorian B&B.”
“No,” Pammy muttered and sat back, while Felix moaned and put his head in his hands, as he said, “I should have known.”
Maris exchanged an alarmed looked with Cookie. The convivial five course meal had just devolved into something else.
Reggie opened his pamphlet. “Shall we?”
• • • • •
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Dedication
For Mr. Bee’s Knees
Copyright
Copyright © 2020 Emma Belmont
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written consent of the copyright owner.
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