Calamity at the Continental Club

by Colleen J. Shogan

  To my utter amazement, Clarence gave Buffy a sheepish look, hopped off the sofa, and put his face between his paws in defeat.

  Buffy smacked her hands together. “Good boy. That’s settled. Now Kit, let’s go into the bedroom and find a suitable outfit for you.”

  Maybe Cesar Milan, popularly known as the Dog Whisperer, should hire Buffy as a guest host. Clarence regularly ignored Doug and me when we told him to behave. Although I couldn’t know for sure, he seemed to respect Buffy’s authority. Apparently her imposing personality transcended species.

  Doug was in his office, pounding away at the keyboard. “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Trying to squeeze in a few hours of writing.” He kept his eyes glued to the computer screen.

  Yeah, right. More like avoiding your mother.

  “Trevor and Meg are coming to dinner tonight. When they arrive, we should go over the plan.”

  Doug’s gaze did not waver. “Sure, sounds good.”

  Buffy called from our bedroom next door. “Kit, I’m waiting for you.”

  I tapped Doug on the arm and mouthed silently, “Help.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Good luck,” he whispered.

  I grabbed a pen on his desk and wrote in large block letters on a yellow legal pad, THANKS FOR NOTHING.

  He stifled a laugh while I stormed out of the office and into our bedroom. Buffy was standing next to our walk-in closet. At least she hadn’t already picked out an outfit for me.

  Foolish thinking. “Show me your suitable evening attire. Given the occasion, let’s focus on black or darker colors,” she said.

  My clothes were arranged according to function. Fun, casual attire resided in the left-hand side of the closet. Work attire and suits were on the right. I wasn’t sure how to classify this evening, so I gravitated toward the center where the two categories sometimes blended together. I chose a fitted black pantsuit, my classic LBD, and a flowing one-piece jumpsuit.

  I placed the outfits on the bed. Buffy looked at the clothes and then sized me up. She did this several times before I lost patience.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Trying to imagine which one of these looks best on you, dear.”

  “They all look fine.” Truth be told, I gained and lost the same ten pounds repeatedly. Right now, I was smack-dab in the middle. Nothing was loose, and nothing was tight. I’d vowed to reach the low end of my weight spectrum before walking down the aisle, but Buffy didn’t need to know that.

  “Of course. These are flattering cuts,” Buffy said, in a polite yet patronizing tone.

  I was tired of Buffy ordering me and my dog around. I snagged the jumpsuit off the bed. “I like this one. It’s comfortable and appropriate for the season. I can dress it up with the silver necklace Doug gave me for Christmas.”

  Buffy looked surprised by my initiative. She started to speak, then stopped. Finally she smiled and said, “That will be lovely, Kit. With some bold makeup to complement your long brown hair, it will be enchanting.” She touched me lightly on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you to get ready.”

  Thank goodness. There were two ways to handle Buffy. One approach was doing exactly what she said, as Clarence had done. Of course, he was a dog, and I couldn’t blame him. The other option was taking the bull by the horns. Even an alpha male (or female) respected a worthy challenger every once in a while. Hanging my pantsuit on the door handle, I congratulated myself on a small victory.

  I glanced at my watch. With plenty of time before guests started arriving at seven, I decided to take a relaxing shower. As I was drying my hair, an appetizing aroma drifted inside the bathroom. Breakfast had been ages ago, and I hadn’t ordered a taco with Meg. The blend of smells made it hard to discern what was on the menu. Dressed in my plush terry cloth bathrobe, I ambled down the hallway toward the kitchen. No surprise, Buffy had taken over and was supervising the arrangement of this evening’s meal inside our dining room. A young man with a Liberty Tavern hat was trying his best to make her happy. Positioned at the edge of the dining room, Clarence waited patiently. The enticing aromas had undoubtedly drawn him to the food source, but Buffy’s presence intimidated him. He licked his lips as drool oozed out of the corner of his muzzle. Clarence loved food and me, in that order.

  “The chopped salad and the antipasti must go at this end. Guests will want to sample them first before the main dishes,” Buffy declared. She pointed to the corner of our dining room table.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “No, the cheese plate shouldn’t be next to the appetizers. We’ll put that over on the credenza inside the living room so guests can enjoy it while they have drinks. Are these labeled properly?” Buffy grabbed the assortment of cheeses from the delivery guy.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Put the gnocchi and the carbonara next to the salad. The shortribs and trout can go last.”

  No wonder I couldn’t figure out what smelled so delectable. It was a veritable smorgasbord of victuals.

  “You and Doug did a good job of picking all the favorites,” I said.

  Buffy looked surprised. She had been so consumed with her command and control performance, she hadn’t realized I was even there. “Thank you, Kit. As I said before, we’ll have to make do with pub food on such short notice.”

  The Liberty Tavern employee bristled but remained silent. Wise choice.

  “Are you setting up a bar?” I tried to direct my question to our helper, but no dice.

  “Absolutely,” Buffy responded. “We’ll use the granite countertop inside the kitchen for the wine selection.” She frowned. “I do hope the wine order is correct.” She put her hands on her hips again.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Boy, this guy had nerves of steel—a bona fide professional. He arranged bottles of Meritage, Pinot Noir, and Sauvignon Blanc on the counter and placed several others inside the fridge.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “La Grande Dame champagne,” Buffy answered. “We’ll toast Grayson tonight; he would expect nothing less.”

  I gulped. Hopefully Buffy and Winston had picked up the tab. One more box remained. Our trusty assistant removed two wrapped pans. The aluminum foil did not prevent the honeyed smell of dessert from filling the kitchen.

  “Delicious,” I muttered.

  “Sweet corn panna cotta and toasted angel food cake,” pronounced Buffy.

  My stomach rumbled. If my future mother-in-law wasn’t hovering like a hawk, I would have opened the corner of one of the pans and served myself a small piece. An appetizer of Italian dessert would hit the spot. But that was never going to happen.

  I turned toward our helper. “Thank you very much for your work this evening,” I said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  A man of few words was an exceedingly rare asset in Washington D.C. My fellow chiefs of staff on Capitol Hill could learn a thing or two from him. I flashed him a warm smile and retreated back into the bedroom.

  As I was applying my makeup, Doug appeared at the doorway. He scanned the room before entering.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, “the coast is clear.”

  Relief washed over him. “Thank goodness.” He flopped down on the bed.

  “Tough day?” I asked.

  “Within the scope of world crises, the Arab-Israeli conflict is more problematic. But not by much,” he added wryly.

  “Buffy gave the folks at Liberty Tavern a run for their money, I gather.” I finished applying eyeliner. Mascara was next.

  “Let’s put it this way. I know you love their Vermont wood-fired pizza. But you might not want to show your face there with me anytime in the near future.”

  “No soup for you,” I said.

  “Very funny. That means no pizza for you.”

  “That’s not amusing at all, Doug.” I took my pizza consumption seriously. I hoped he was exaggerating about being blacklisted at Liberty Tavern.

  Clarence ambled into the bedroom.
Joining Doug on the bed, he immediately rolled over onto his back to expose his pink tummy. Clarence loved a good belly rub. Although I couldn’t be sure, I was willing to bet a month’s Metro allowance that Meg hadn’t indulged him with a satisfying doggie massage while we were gone. As Doug petted him, Clarence uttered a growl of appreciation.

  I scanned my row of lipsticks and selected a deep reddish brown. “Weren’t you going to chase down a lead before the catering appointment with your mother? Any luck?”

  “I was just going to tell you about it. I hope tonight’s dinner doesn’t last too long. We’ve got to be at the Natural History Museum tomorrow at eleven.”

  Blotting my lips, I asked, “The Smithsonian?”

  “The one and only.”

  “I know you love museums, but do you really think we have time for a visit, given everything else that’s going on?”

  “We’re going to the Smithsonian for research purposes.”

  “Squeezing in some legwork for your next book?”

  “Wrong again. We’re going to learn about poisons.”

  Doug had my full attention. “How are we going to do that?”

  “The Power of Poison exhibit.” He grabbed our iPad and showed me the screen. “It’s wrapping up at the Smithsonian next week.”

  I took the device from him and scanned several pages. The exhibit focused on poisons in nature, legend, and crime. “Do you really think it could help us solve Grayson’s murder?”

  “I arranged for the exhibit’s curator to meet with us. Maybe she can shed some light.”

  I checked my makeup and hair in the mirror one last time. “Can’t hurt. I’m not sure Trevor and I made much progress today. Professor Mansfield denied having an affair with Kiki Bancroft. Instead, he implied Drake might have done it.”

  Doug frowned. “Drake? Why would he want to kill Grayson? He hardly knew him.”

  “Mansfield hinted that Grayson was still in love with Cecilia. If she ever decided to rekindle their romance, Drake would have been out the door with nothing but the clothes on his back.”

  “I suppose that’s a plausible motive.”

  “It’s as good as anything else I’ve heard. Also, Kiki Bancroft showed up today and announced she’s going to honor her husband’s commitment of a sizable donation to build a new gallery at the Archives. Frederick Valdez didn’t seem pleased. With Grayson out of the picture, he probably intended to make a play for it.”

  “Are we going to discuss our sleuthing assignments for this evening? There’s a lot of ground to cover.”

  “As soon as Trevor and Meg arrive.”

  As if on cue, my phone buzzed. After glancing at the text message, I said, “Meg will be here in ten minutes.” I glanced at the time. “Trevor should arrive shortly, as well.”

  Doug nodded. “I suppose I should face the music and see if Mother needs any last minute help.”

  After Doug left, Clarence looked at me expectantly. “Don’t worry, buddy. I’ll save you a shortrib.”

  His eyes sparkled in reply.

  The doorbell rang twice. Showtime.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I didn’t need to ask Doug who had arrived. The bickering voices of Trevor and Meg traveled from the entrance of our condo down the hallway to our bedroom. I couldn’t find my fancy silver hoop earrings, but if I delayed much longer, we’d risk the launch of World War III. I grabbed another pair sitting on my nightstand and hustled to our living room.

  “You are way over the line, Trevor.” Meg struck a defiant pose, hands on hips.

  “And you, Megan, suffer from delusions of grandeur.” Trevor adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses. Uh-oh. Meg absolutely hated it when Trevor used her full name. Gadfly that he was, Trevor only did it to annoy her.

  Where was Doug? I glanced around the corner, where he was hurriedly uncorking a bottle of wine. Smart move. Both of our early guests needed to take it down a notch.

  “Hello, everyone. Thank you for coming to dinner this evening.” I flashed a toothy smile in an attempt to diffuse the situation.

  Trevor produced a bouquet of freshly cut flowers from behind his back. “For the host,” he said.

  “How beautiful, Trevor. I’ll put these in water. Sit down.” I pointed to the couch. “Doug is working on the drinks.”

  I joined Doug in the kitchen and asked him a low voice, “Why were they fighting?”

  He shrugged. “Not sure. It had something to do with who was your true Dr. Watson.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “You know, who helped you more with solving the other murders,” said Doug.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, shaking my head.

  Standing in the corner, Buffy had already poured herself a glass of red wine. “Lovely way to start the dinner party,” she said sarcastically.

  “Don’t worry. They’ll be fine once everyone arrives. They always fight like cats and dogs, but it works out in the end.” I grabbed the two full glasses of wine from Doug. “This will help.”

  Doug followed me into the living room. At least Meg and Trevor were sitting peaceably on the couch next to each other. “Here you go.”

  After I handed off the glasses, Doug provided me with one. “Let’s toast,” he suggested.

  The four of us raised our glasses. “What should we toast to?” asked Meg.

  That was easy. “Solving Grayson Bancroft’s murder.”

  Buffy snuck up behind us. “I can drink to that,” she said.

  “Let’s discuss the strategy for tonight,” said Doug.

  I joined Trevor and Meg on the couch and Doug pulled chairs over for him and his mother.

  “This is exciting,” said Buffy. “What’s the plan?” My future mother-in-law sparkled. Maybe Buffy needed to experience a thrill every once in a while. The routine of high-society dinners probably grew tedious. Although I knew she was worried about the veil of suspicion that had descended upon Winston, she also seemed to be genuinely enjoying herself.

  “Meg, I think you should focus on Drake and Cecilia. See if you can figure out whether Cecilia still had feelings for Grayson and whether Drake has a brain in his head,” I said.

  “I can do that. Besides, I’ve read several novels in the Savannah’s Sultry Nights series.”

  “Why am I surprised? Your literary choices speak for themselves,” Trevor said mockingly.

  I gave Trevor a little punch on the shoulder. “Romance sells, Trevor. Especially erotic romance. Don’t knock it,” I said.

  Trevor sighed heavily. “No need to remind me. My editor wants me to write more about sex in my book.”

  The notion of nerdy Trevor writing about sex almost made me do a spit take. Instead, I forced myself to swallow my wine and maintain a poker face. “Trevor, can you chat with Kiki Bancroft and Professor Mansfield? Speaking of romance, see if you can detect whether Mansfield lied to us today about the supposed affair.”

  “I’ll also try to figure out why she was so eager to go forward with the Archives donation,” he said.

  “Good idea.” I turned to my future mother-in-law. “Buffy, you and Winston need to spend more time with Frederick and Lola. They both resented Grayson. Were they angry enough to kill him?”

  “We’ve known those two for a long time. We should be able to figure something out,” she answered.

  “As hosts, Doug and I will make the rounds. Let us know if you need us,” I said.

  Our accomplices nodded. Buffy jumped up. “Where are my manners? Please, everyone, help yourself to the appetizers.”

  Meg didn’t need to be asked twice. She made a beeline for the cheese tray and loaded up her plate. Clarence ran over to her and sat obediently at her feet. She patted him on the head and gave him a tiny piece of Vermont cheddar.

  “He’s your new pal,” I commented.

  “Once I agreed to share treats, we arrived at a truce,” she said.

  I was still laughing when Buffy interrupted our conversation. “It’s time for
Clarence to say goodnight,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “We cannot have a dog attend a dinner party,” Buffy pronounced.

  “Where is he going? You can’t just turn him out on the street for the night.” I tried to keep my voice even.

  Counting our guests off on his fingers, Doug said, “We have twelve people coming this evening. It might be a good idea to keep Clarence inside our bedroom.”

  I looked at my mutt’s face. He seemed to know we were deciding his fate. He cocked his head to the side and stared intently at me.

  “We’ve never confined him to one room. He’s not going to be happy about it,” I said.

  “Probably not, but maybe we can give him treats to sweeten the deal,” offered Doug.

  “That’ll last about two minutes,” I muttered.

  Doug went inside the kitchen. I could hear him cutting up food and filling up Clarence’s stainless steel bowl. I’d felt sympathy for Buffy after she’d implored me last night to solve Grayson’s murder and clear Winston’s name. But her dislike of Clarence—and perhaps all dogs—had gotten on my last nerve. I took a substantial sip of my wine in a feeble attempt to curb the anger rising within me.

  Meg must have noticed. She reached down and petted Clarence. “He’ll be fine, don’t worry. We can visit him in between courses. It will give us a chance to compare notes.”

  I gave her a quick hug. “What would life be like without you, Meg?”

  Without hesitation, she answered. “Booooring!”

  “You’re exactly right,” I said.

  Doug approached, a generous feast inside the doggie bowl. Clarence tilted his head upward and sniffed eagerly.

  “Hey, buddy, do you want dinner?”

  Clarence trotted down the hallway behind Doug.

  There was a knock at the door. I moved to answer it, but Buffy was closer and beat me to the punch. It’s not even her home, I thought.

  Meg glanced at me with raised eyebrows. She whispered, “Kit, just remember. Serenity now.”