“Let’s get going so we’re not late,” I said. I reached for Doug’s hand and once again tugged it in the direction of the Prius.
Ten minutes later, we drove into the Continental Club parking area. Upon entering the bar, I cast my eyes about, searching for our friends. They were in a corner booth, sitting on opposite sides and glaring at each other with the vitriol usually reserved for health care reform debates in the House of Representatives.
I whispered to Doug, “Hurry up and get us some drinks. It looks like they’re already at each other’s throats.”
I hustled over to the table and willfully ignored their steely gazes. “Good evening. Thanks for joining us tonight,” I said a little too loudly.
Meg and Trevor didn’t speak for close to a minute. I gave up. “Okay, is someone going to tell me what’s wrong?”
“This one,” Meg pointed a manicured nail at Trevor for emphasis, “claims we’re wasting our lives working for Congress.”
I shook my finger. “Trevor, did you say that? It’s very insulting.”
Trevor addressed his response to me. “Your best pal has not changed since our days in the Senate. She hears one thing and concludes another. I said no such thing.”
Maybe Doug was right. How were we going to fool the killer when our crackerjack sleuthing team couldn’t speak a civil word to each other?
Doug appeared with our drinks. After everyone had a glass of wine, I excused myself and found my trusty bartender Charles. Before we began our meeting, I needed to check on an important detail.
I whispered a question in his ear. We scanned the bar, focusing on a particular location. Then he murmured an answer in a low voice. I asked another question and cupped my hand around my ear to make sure I heard his response correctly. I grinned and thanked Charles for his help.
“What was that all about?” asked Meg.
“Just needed to check a few facts before we hatch our scheme,” I said.
“What will this plan accomplish precisely?” asked Trevor.
I straightened up in my chair. “It’s going to set a trap to catch our killer.”
We exchanged thoughtful, silent stares. Finally, Meg said, “Well, that’s something we can agree on.”
Our gaze shifted to Trevor. He rubbed his chin. “Count me in.”
We raised our glasses in a toast. “To catching the notorious Continental Club culprit,” said Doug.
“Hear, hear,” chimed in Trevor.
After we pulled our chairs closer together, I explained my idea for trapping our killer.
“With a little luck, we should this solved by noon tomorrow,” I concluded.
“Perfect,” said Meg. “Plenty of time for us to hit the mall afterward.”
“You have a burning desire to go shopping?” I asked.
“Not really,” said Meg, “but you owe me a pair of sandals. Remember what Clarence did to mine?”
“I almost forgot. You got it, Meg. Murder and then the mall. It’s a deal,” I said, giggling.
“We’ll need a miracle to pull this off,” muttered Trevor.
“I wouldn’t worry,” said Meg absently. “Nordstrom is having a sale.”
Trevor rolled his eyes but remained silent.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I showed Doug my clothing options for Sunday brunch. “What should I wear? It’s either the yellow Calvin Klein belted dress or the light blue pantsuit with the pastel ruffled blouse.”
Doug studied the two outfits. “It depends. Which one is better attire for catching a double murderer?”
I considered. “I think I’d better go with the suit. Just in case we need to make a fast getaway.”
Doug laughed. “I hope that’s not the case. If it is, something has gone seriously wrong.”
“Let’s keep our fingers crossed that our suspected killer takes the bait.”
We’d already been awake for several hours. We went over the plan again during our morning walk with Clarence. Then I called Detective Glass to clue her in. If our harebrained scheme actually worked, we needed someone from law enforcement to witness it. She’d sounded dubious over the phone. After a little cajoling, she agreed to participate.
“No one else has a better idea,” she’d admitted. Not exactly a ringing endorsement.
We jumped in the car and headed yet again in the direction of the Continental Club. At this point, I had the route memorized.
Brunch didn’t start until eleven. We’d agreed to meet Trevor and Meg beforehand to review everything one more time. I glanced at my watch. Right on schedule. The garden bar wasn’t usually open during the day, but Detective Glass said she’d take care of it. Sure enough, we walked right in. Trevor and Meg were waiting for us.
“Ready for the ultimate test of your acting chops?” Meg was dressed in perfect spring brunch attire, a tropical green and white shirtdress with sling-back wedges.
“I’ll invoke my inner Cate Blanchett,” I said.
“For what you have planned, it sounds more like Tina Fey and Amy Poehler,” said Doug.
Trevor blew out a skeptical puff of air. “Let’s not give them too much credit,” he said dryly. “At least not yet.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Trevor. Your part in all of this isn’t nearly as difficult as mine,” Meg groused.
“Enough! Stop arguing. Let’s keep it together,” I said.
“Kit is right.” Doug’s voice was surprisingly calm. “We only have one shot at this. We’ve got a good theory about who killed Grayson and Kiki, but it’s not going anywhere unless we get the police some proof.”
Trevor and Meg glared at each other but said nothing.
“Very good,” I said. “Let’s go out to the main dining room now. The Mayflower Society will be gathering for brunch, and we need to make sure we get good seats. Doug, perhaps you can arrange it so that the right characters in the cast are seated together.”
“Sure thing.” Doug smiled devilishly. “I wonder what my parents are going to think of this.”
“You could have called them this morning to explain,” I said.
“Nah. My mother can’t keep a poker face. She might give it away.”
“One thing’s for sure,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“After this morning, I doubt your mother will bug us again about planning our wedding. She won’t even want to think about us walking down the aisle.”
We entered the large Continental Club dining room. The back portion had been reserved for Mayflower Society members. Not many remained. Grayson’s death had scared off a good number, and Kiki’s murder only made matters worse.
Doug guided Meg and me toward a large round table. He surveyed the room and swiftly guided Professor Mansfield, Frederick and Lola Valdez, Cecilia Rose, and Drake to our table. Trevor found Doug’s parents and sat with them at an adjacent table. There was no need for them to have a front row seat for our shenanigans.
We exchanged pleasantries with our tablemates, and I reintroduced Meg, who didn’t really need it. Most people who met Meg remembered her.
Our waiter approached the table. I nudged Meg, and she grimaced in acknowledgment. As embarrassing as this was going to be, we needed to swing into action.
“Good morning. My name is Jeffrey, and I’ll be your server today. Welcome to the Continental Club brunch. Please help yourselves to the buffet inside the MacArthur Room. In the meantime, can I offer you a glass of champagne?” He smiled and waited for our response.
Meg took the opening. “My friend and I would love some champagne.” She smiled sweetly at Jeffrey. “We plan to enjoy our brunch this morning.”
After our tablemates had placed their beverage orders, we walked to the buffet. Continental Club host Bonnie hadn’t exaggerated when she’d recommended the brunch days ago upon our arrival. The MacArthur Room was filled with a wide assortment of breakfast and lunch entrees, freshly carved meats, a seafood bar, and a made-to-order omelet station.
Meg saw m
e stacking my plate with waffles, eggs, and a slice of bacon and hurried toward me. “What are you doing, Kit?”
“Getting breakfast. What does it look like?”
“Don’t eat too much. Aren’t we supposed to seem like we’re getting wasted?”
“That’s the plan. So what?”
“You get drunk faster when your stomach is empty, not when it’s full.”
“Meg, we’re not really supposed to drink too much. We’re going to appear like we’ve had too much. Remember?”
She threw her hands up. “I guess I’m the only one taking my acting role seriously!” She marched off in a huff, grabbed a plate, and selected a few pieces of lettuce and three carrots. Meg exhibited all the qualities of a great artiste, including a tendency to exaggerate.
We returned to our seats, where our champagne was waiting. Meg raised her glass. “It’s been such a stressful week. Thank goodness for bubbly!” In one magnificent chug, Meg emptied the flute.
Professor Mansfield’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Drake appeared to enjoy Meg’s antics and joined in.
“I’ll drink to that!” he announced.
I needed to at least try to keep up with Meg. All I could manage was a simple “cheers” before I drained my glass.
Lola Valdez glanced at Meg and then angled toward me. With a fake tone of politeness, she asked, “It’s so nice your friends could join us again, Kit. Is there a particular reason?”
I’d already thought this one through. “Absolutely. Both Meg and Trevor are considering membership in the Mayflower Society. As I understand it, Mayflower is recruiting younger people.”
Frederick Valdez burst out with, “Absolutely! What fantastic news. Will you join us for our business meeting after brunch?”
It was a perfect setup. “I was certainly planning on it, Mr. Valdez. Thank you for asking me to join,” said Meg.
Jeffrey appeared at the table. “It looks as though we may need refills on the champagne. Shall I pour another round?”
With a hearty dose of enthusiasm, Meg, Drake, and I said, “Yes!” simultaneously.
“Darling, perhaps you should slow down,” said Doug with a patronizing tone. If he wasn’t playing his part to perpetuate our little ruse, his comment would have been extremely annoying.
Meg didn’t give me time to respond. “Don’t be such a wet blanket, Doug. Kit is still trying to recover from the traumatic experience of discovering the poor murdered man’s body in the library.” She patted my hand affectionately.
“Thank you, Meg. I’m glad someone understands.” I shot pseudo daggers at Doug.
Jeffrey reappeared with the champagne. As soon as hers was poured, Meg reached for her glass and downed it. She nudged me under the table. I steeled myself and followed suit in a big gulp.
Professor Mansfield grimaced. “I take it you’re no longer investigating the death of Grayson Bancroft? Or Kiki, for that matter?”
“I tried my best. But I’m no closer to figuring out the murderer than I was earlier in the week.” I allowed my shoulders to slump. “Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”
Doug put his arm around me. “Don’t feel too badly, Kit. The police have no idea who did it, either. At least that’s what I heard from my parents.”
Mansfield grumbled, “I certainly hope we’re allowed to leave later today, despite the lack of progress.”
“We’re definitely leaving this afternoon,” said Cecilia. “I have an important business matter to settle, and I can’t wait around for the police to bungle through their investigation.”
“Anything we’d like to hear about, Cecilia?” asked Frederick.
Cecilia’s eyes sparkled. “I suppose there’s no harm in announcing it. My agent is negotiating a publishing deal for a new book. Hopefully it will be the start of a brand new series.”
“Will it be different than the Savannah books?” asked Meg.
Cecilia played with her dangly silver earrings. “Oh, yes. It’s a science fiction erotic romance. A coming of age story set in another galaxy.” She grinned broadly. “Like Star Wars meets A Catcher in the Rye meets Fifty Shades.”
Seven pairs of eyes stared at Cecilia in uncomfortable silence. No one wanted to tell her the description sounded like the wackiest mixture of genres for a novel. When the silence continued, Cecilia said, “Of course, it will be better written than Fifty Shades.” Everyone nodded politely.
“Sounds like a winner to me,” said Drake. “As long as the books keep flying off the shelves.” He pinched Cecilia’s cheek affectionately.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to visit the buffet for dessert,” said Professor Mansfield. Others quickly agreed.
“You go ahead,” said Meg. “I’ll make sure our waiter gives us a refill.” She winked conspicuously at me.
I grabbed my purse and ducked inside the restroom located right outside the MacArthur Room. I whipped out my phone and texted Meg.
Getting tipsy for real. No more drinks!
I paused to wait for her response.
Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.
I didn’t know what her reply meant. She was definitely scheming. After exiting the ladies, I piled a couple cookies on top of a slice of cheesecake and hightailed it back to the table.
Meg must have flagged down Jeffrey and persuaded him to pour us another round of champagne. When we’d all returned to the table, Meg raised her glass.
“I’d like to propose a toast to the Mayflower Society. For a bunch of older people, you definitely know how to party,” she announced.
Our fellow diners looked stunned but raised their glasses nonetheless. Then Meg pointed in the opposite direction. “Isn’t that Supreme Court Chief Justice Roberts?”
Everyone followed Meg’s direction. While they were scanning the crowd, she grabbed both of our drinks and flung the contents into the potted plant next to the table.
“We still need to play the part, remember?” she whispered in my ear.
I nodded and tried my best to suppress a chuckle.
“I don’t think that was him,” said Professor Mansfield.
“Sorry, my bad. No big deal. If you’ve seen one Supreme Court justice, you’ve seen them all.”
Drake spied our empty glasses. “No fair! You finished before me.” He chugged his champagne. His face flush, he inconspicuously tried to conceal a burp.
Meg giggled. “Good luck in keeping up. We’re professional champagne drinkers, aren’t we, Kit?” She elbowed me.
Doug crossed his arms. “What’s gotten into you two this morning?”
Meg waved him off like a pesky mosquito. “Doug, can’t you let Kit have some fun? Besides, who said American history has to be boring and stuffy?”
“This has certainly been an entertaining brunch,” Lola remarked in a low voice.
Bonnie from the Continental Club appeared at our table. I glanced at my watch. Her timing was perfect, just as we’d planned earlier this morning.
Smiling warmly, she said, “We hope you’ve enjoyed our brunch. Before you adjourn to your business meeting upstairs, please join us in the bar. There’s been a request for a final toast to commemorate Grayson and Kiki Bancroft.”
Frederick frowned. “I hope this won’t cause too much of a delay. We have important decisions to make at our meeting today.”
“Is my future father-in-law going to be elected the next president?” I asked.
Doug shushed me. “Really, Kit? You know that’s a sensitive subject.”
Lola sniffed dismissively. “It’s impossible to say how the vote will go. He’s certainly qualified. But there is an air of suspicion around Winston Hollingsworth.”
“What do you mean, Lola?” asked Meg, feigning ignorance.
She averted her eyes. “With the murders, of course. No disrespect to your father,” she said to Doug, “but the police view him as a suspect.”
Doug removed his napkin from his lap, folded it, and stood up. “I’m confident he will be cleared
of any wrongdoing.”
Taking Doug’s cue, Meg and I followed him out of the dining room and back inside the bar. The rest of the Mayflower Society members were trickling in and finding seats. I glanced in the direction of the courtyard. Sure enough, Detective Glass was lurking outside, in the perfect position for the final act. It was show time.
Chapter Twenty-Six
When Charles the bartender spotted us, he gave me a surreptitious thumbs-up. I’d clued him in last night before we left and convinced him to volunteer for the supposedly impromptu gathering on Sunday. Doug sidled up to the bar.
“Need drinks for the ladies?” asked Charles.
“How could you have possibly guessed?” said Doug, with a heavy dose of feigned innocence.
“A little birdie told me,” said Charles.
Doug leaned in and whispered to him. Charles winked, and then announced loudly, “Two stiff gin and tonics, coming right up, sir!”
Doug passed us our drinks, and I sipped mine immediately. Thankfully, it was carbonated water. But with a lime, stirrer, and Charles’s proclamation, everyone would think we were continuing to booze it up.
Doug drifted a few feet away to speak with his parents. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Buffy bending his ear. No doubt the rumor mill about our inappropriate brunch behavior had already reached the Hollingsworths. Hopefully our performance would work. Otherwise, we’d have an awful lot of explaining to do this afternoon.
The din inside the bar increased as Mayflower Society attendees chatted amongst themselves and ordered drinks. It gave me a moment to check my prop, situated next to the bar. Sure enough, its arrangement appeared exactly as it should. Seven red darts were stuck on the board. The wing of one of the darts, which aficionados call a “flight,” was pear-shaped. The others closely resembled a pointy diamond. To the untrained eye, this minor distinction didn’t matter one bit. For a sleuth looking to identify a sharp murder weapon, it made all the difference in the world. Trevor had also done his job and persuaded our “guests of honor” to sit in the desired position, conveniently next to the dartboard.
Bonnie glanced at me, waiting for her cue to begin. I gave the slightest hint of a nod, which she accepted as the high sign.
Calamity at the Continental Club Page 22
