Nick lay curled up inside.
“Sorry, fella.” I dipped the basket sideways. Nick’s portly body tumbled half out, and he opened one golden eye and raised a paw as if to say, “Hey, you’re interrupting my beauty sleep. Can’t you leave me alone?”
“This ball is no place for a cat, Nick.” I tipped the basket again and both his hind legs landed plop! on the counter. I lifted him up and set him on the floor. “See here, I’ve filled your bowl with some leftover lobster and shrimp! A banquet just for you, a feast fit for a kitty king!”
Nick ambled over to his bowl, leaned over, and did a cursory sniff. He glanced over one shoulder at me and then dove into the food. I watched him for a few minutes and then glanced over at Chantal. She was just closing her cell phone.
“Rick just texted me that he and Daniel will be a little late, but they will show up.”
I shrugged. “If they do, they do. If not, don’t worry, we’ll be plenty busy.”
My friend arched a brow. “How broad-minded of you. Might I attribute this casual attitude to the fact Leroy Samms will also be on the job tonight?”
I wrinkled my nose. “You may not. I’m looking forward to spending at least a part of the evening with Daniel. What I’m not looking forward to is running into Samms on his security detail. All in all, I’ll consider this a successful evening if those food critics are pleased with the menu.”
“I did a tarot reading for you before I came here. Basically it was very good.”
I lifted a brow. “Basically?”
She shifted her weight. “The gist of it was success is imminent and you are moving in the right direction.”
“But?” I prompted as she hesitated.
“The Moon appeared in the reading. It often signifies illusion, and mystery. The card encourages you to trust your intuition for the answers you seek.”
“Great,” I said. “Well, right now my gut is telling me we’ve got to get a move on.”
Chantal picked up her dainty lace shawl and arranged it around her shoulders. “I do not think that reading referred to the gala at all. I think it was a warning to you to proceed with extreme caution on Violet’s mystery.”
“I’m always cautious.”
Nick looked up from his food bowl. “Er-Owl,” he said.
Chantal laughed. “I think Nick disagrees with that statement.”
I sighed. “He would.” I held my wrist up and tapped my nail against my watch face. “Come on, or we’ll be late. I told Nan we’d be there no later than five-fifteen to start setting up. We can sort it all out later.” I walked over to Nick and looked down at him, my hands on my hips. “And you, sir, stay here and behave yourself. I know you’re disappointed you can’t come, but don’t worry. I’ll be sure to save some Morgan le Fay Pepper Steak for you.”
Nick blinked, then turned and stalked over to the staircase leading to the upstairs apartment. With one final sulky stare at me, he vanished through the doorway.
“Nick,” I called after him. “I mean it. You be good and stay here.”
No answering meow. All I heard was the thump-thump of his tail on the stairs.
Cats.
* * *
By seven p.m. when the museum doors opened to admit a swelling throng, the food had been artfully arranged on the buffet tables that lined the east end of the museum’s massive exhibition hall. Candles twinkled and punch flowed around the sterling silver chafing dishes that held my creations, with cream-colored cards in front of each dish proclaiming its title in elegant script. My Lancelot’s Lasagna and Merlin’s Magical Chicken were joined by Guinevere’s Pasta, which was a linguini in a delicate cream sauce, with shrimp and mussels. Mordred’s Meatloaf was actually a turkey meatloaf, and, for the lighter eater, Lady of the Lake Sandwiches which were turkey, roast beef, and ham sandwiches cut in the shape of—that’s right—coffins. The pièce de résistance, Morgan le Fay’s Pepper Steak Stir-fry, sat squarely in the middle of the table, surrounded by beautiful flower arrangements provided by Poppies. The appetizer table looked good, too—the arugula salad and shrimp cocktail were joined with a pumpkin curry soup served in a hollowed-out pumpkin shell, a meatball soup, confetti cornbread, as well as the good old pigs in a blanket, all with names of Arthurian characters and places. Large crystal punch bowls containing my special punch sat at either end of each table, replete with frozen hand peeping over the edge. Everything looked and smelled great, even if I had to say so myself.
“Too bad Remy couldn’t stay,” I said. “Those floral arrangements are fantastic, especially the ones on the individual tables. Only he would have thought of surrounding those mini-pumpkins with chrysanthemums and black and orange roses.”
“Perhaps it’s for the best,” Chantal said with a laugh. “His head would get swollen with all the praise, and trust me, it does not need to get any bigger.” She tossed me a wink. “BTW, the chrysanthemums were my idea.”
She sailed off, leaving me to absorb the atmosphere and glance over the crowd of gaily dressed patrons. While most had elected to dress in Arthurian garb, there were many other types as well. I noticed two Sir Lancelots with swords, a King Arthur in a purple velvet robe, a roly-poly Harry Potter, two Edgar Allan Poes complete with stuffed ravens perched on their shoulders, a Miss Marple, a Scarlett O’Hara . . . even a woman in a suit carrying a book and bicycle handlebars I took to be Jessica Fletcher. I spotted my part-time boss Louis Blondell wearing an Inverness cape, deerstalker hat, and pipe in the tradition of Sherlock Holmes. I moved off quickly before he could spot me. I had two articles past due that I knew I wouldn’t be able to finish in the foreseeable future. So far I’d seen no sign of Daniel, Samms, or Broncelli, just Danny Travis, who’d drawn guard duty. I slid into a quiet corner and looked around, craning my neck for a glimpse of Nan or Violet, and finally spotted Violet. She stood in the midst of what appeared to be a group of knights, wearing a green velvet gown and floral head wreath I’d noticed in some paintings of Guinevere. There was a figure standing next to her, in black robes with wild red curls cascading down her back, and Chantal, who had reappeared, gasped and pointed.
“Look at that! Nan came as Morgan le Fay. Can you imagine that?”
I shook my head, trying to imagine the effervescent Nan as an evil sorceress. “Hardly.”
“Neither can I. I do like Little Bo Peep, though, although the girl wearing the costume looks as if she’s just swallowed a toad.”
I followed Chantal’s gaze and saw Little Bo Peep in a full-skirted shepherdess dress complete with white stockings, black Mary Janes, and a little stuffed lamb tucked under her arm. A short black cape graced her shoulders. She stood by the appetizer table, and as she lifted her black half mask to sample a shrimp I gasped. “Omigod that’s Daisy! Violet’s assistant.”
“Ah, no wonder Nellie is giving her dagger looks.”
Nellie Blanchard stood right behind Daisy in the line. The older woman wore a black hood with an attached collar and crown that hid her curly white bob, but I had to admit she looked positively regal in the black and violet medieval gown, a gold sash looped around her waist.
“Who’s she dressed as?” I asked Chantal.
“If I had to guess I’d say the Evil Queen from Snow White. Judging from the look on her face it seems appropriate. Poor Little Bo Peep. If looks could kill she’d be six feet under.”
I had to agree. Nellie’s thin features were drawn into a dark scowl as she glared at Daisy’s back. I wondered if the younger girl could sense it, because Daisy suddenly seemed to give a little shiver, and stepped out of line. I considered following her when a hand dropped on my shoulder, and I spun around to face Morgan le Fay or, rather, Nan Webb.
“Isn’t it just thrilling? What a turnout! And people are raving about the food!” Nan’s eyes were bright as she looked my costume over. “Gretel, right? What a cute costume!” Her gaze roved over Chantal’s outfit
. “And you look divine,” she cooed. “So . . . princessey.” Her hand darted out to give mine a quick squeeze. “This is such a raging success. Violet is so pleased.”
A man dressed in a colorful court jester costume suddenly appeared at our elbows. His belled hat jingled as he fingered the pricey Nikon D90 hanging from a leather strap around his neck. He aimed the camera, shot off three or four pictures in quick succession, then made a low bow and sashayed over to another small group off to our left.
“Yowsa!” I blinked my eyes rapidly to dispel the lingering effects of the powerful flash. “Who was that?”
“Wally Behrens. He’s the cousin of Edward Levey, the dentist. Wally’s a professional photographer. He just rented that small studio on Atkins and is trying to promote his business. We asked him to take publicity pictures,” Nan said. She was blinking rather rapidly herself.
“Yeah, well I hope he’s good.” I glanced pointedly across the room where Wally crouched in front of a group of giggling girls dressed as fairies.
Nan shrugged. “He’s doing it for free to get exposure. As Violet would say, the price was right.” She glanced over my shoulder and let out a little squeal. “Oh, you must excuse me. I see a reporter from the Carmel Post!” With an air kiss and a quick wave, she fluttered off.
I watched her red wig bob and weave through the crowd and glanced around again. If Broncelli and Samms were here, they were well disguised. I turned to Chantal. “There are supposed to be food critics here . . . somewhere. Maybe we should meander over toward the buffet and try to find them—maybe we can get a feel for what they think of my creations.”
Chantal didn’t answer because at that moment Rick Barnes, dressed in elegant white tie and tails as Prince Charming, walked up to us and slipped his arm across Chantal’s shoulders. Black head bent over blond as he gave Chantal a kiss on the cheek and then he nodded at me.
“Wow, Nora, it all looks fantastic.” He sniffed the air ravenously. “Smells even more so.”
“Thanks, Rick. It’s always nice when hard work pays off.” I glanced around. “Where’s Daniel?”
“Oh, he’s coming,” he answered, a bit evasively, I thought. “There were a few loose ends that came out of that meeting he has to tie up, and then he had to run home and get that costume.” He chuckled. “But don’t worry, he’ll be here.”
Chantal took Rick’s arm and the two of them meandered over to one of the banquet tables. Left solo, I decided this might be a good time to seek out Daisy to finish our conversation from the night before. As I passed one set of partially open double French doors I caught a glimpse of my quarry in the hallway. Her face was flushed and her body language definitely indicated she wasn’t alone. I flattened myself against the wall and pushed the door open a crack so I could peer out without being seen.
Daisy was indeed not alone. Another woman stood opposite her, dressed in a colorful skirt and blouse. I would have recognized her from the unkempt fall of curly dark hair before she turned, affording me a glimpse of a sharp nose and glittering eyes.
Daisy’s companion was Magda.
The older woman’s hand snaked out and grabbed Daisy’s wrist. She leaned over, whispered something to the girl. Daisy jerked her arm free and for a minute I thought she might slap Magda, but she just turned on her heel and walked away, leaving the other woman standing there muttering under her breath. As I debated following Daisy, Magda suddenly turned and strode in my direction. I backed up, prepared to blend in with the crowd, and then stopped as I heard a soft “Ow.” I glanced over my shoulder and saw Louis Blondell rubbing his shoulder.
“Hey, Nora. Great to run into you, literally speaking.” He held up a coffin sandwich. “Absolutely delicious.”
“Thanks.” I glanced casually over my shoulder. Magda stood on the threshold, her chest heaving. She glanced around the room, then flounced off in the opposite direction from the bar and was swallowed up in the crowd of gaily dressed revelers.
Louis peered down at me from under the brim of his cap. “Is something wrong? You look upset.”
“Upset? Me? I guess I’m just a bit anxious, that’s all. I’ve got a lot riding on tonight.”
I started to move away but he caught my arm. “Well, if those food critics don’t rave about these dishes, they don’t deserve their jobs,” he said, licking his fingers as he popped the last of his sandwich into his mouth. “Oh, and speaking of jobs, you”—he waved his finger in the air—“owe me two articles. Any idea when I can expect to see them?”
“Louis? Louis Blondell, you rascal, that is you. Where have you been hiding? You were supposed to call me!”
I breathed a silent sigh of relief as a girl dressed as a Victorian lady, hair up in a French twist, sidled up to Louis and laid her hand possessively on his arm. I noted the haggard expression on Louis’s face and figured she wasn’t exactly someone he’d wanted to run into. I wiggled my fingers and took the opportunity to slip away and retrace my steps back into the hall. Daisy was nowhere to be seen. I returned to the main ballroom, being careful to avoid the corner where Louis and his “friend” were in deep conversation, and decided to check out the bar. I hadn’t spoken to Lance in a few days, so I had no idea if Violet had hired him or not. I started toward it, and then stopped as I saw the lady herself talking to a Sir Lancelot and a Lady of the Lake, no doubt wealthy patrons. I swiftly changed course, sidling up to her just as Lancelot and the Lady moved off. Violet’s eyes lit up when she saw me.
“Nora, how cute you look. Red Riding Hood?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.” I smiled at her. “It’s a great ball, Violet.”
“Due largely to the excellent food.” Her hand reached out, squeezed mine. “Any progress on our other matter?”
“A little. It’s slow going. I hope to have some sort of news for you soon.”
“Favorable, I hope,” she said and there was no mistaking the anxious note in her voice.
“I hope so.”
Two more costumed patrons came up demanding Violet’s attention, so I slipped away and continued my trek toward the bar. The large, black-lettered sign above the wood-paneled bar read CAPTAIN JACK DANIEL’S WATERING HOLE, and the man behind it was dressed in full pirate regalia. The line wasn’t too long, so I slipped into place behind a girl dressed as Peter Pan, and when my turn came I ordered a Bloody Mary.
“So, are you Captain Jack Daniel?” I asked the bartender. I scrutinized him closely. He had what looked to be a year’s growth of beard hanging from his chin, an eye patch over one eye, and a scarf wound through long dark hair that I assumed had to be a wig. As he passed me my drink he grinned and then spoke in a rough voice.
“Captain Lance is the moniker I prefer, but the powers that be insisted I go under the name of Jack Daniel. Arr-arr-arrgh.”
He raised his eye patch and pulled his beard down low, and I laughed. “Lance! I wondered if Violet contacted you. That’s some getup. You had me fooled!”
He wiggled both eyebrows. “I meant to stop by and thank you. She said you recommended me highly. As for my ‘getup;’ well, that’s the idea of a masquerade, isn’t it, me pretty? To revel in disguise?” He dropped his “pirate” voice and whispered, “You wouldn’t believe what they’re paying me. Phil still wanted to keep the Poker Face open tonight, though, so he’s manning the bar.” He glanced around the crowded room. “All I can say is I’m working my booty off to earn these big bucks. This is some crowd.”
I held up my glass. “This drink is good. You’re not skimping on the liquor here, like you do at the Poker Face.”
He stuck his tongue out. “This place isn’t my livelihood. Besides, there’s enough liquor here to blitz a third world country.”
“Well, my food’s going pretty quickly. I just hope I made enough.” I glanced around. “You’re flying solo?”
“Heck no.” Lance grinned. “I brought Jose.”
I wrinkled my nose. Jose was a cousin of Lance’s former barkeep, Pedro. Pedro had been an excellent bartender and an acceptable short order cook. Jose, not so much. But, according to Lance, the guy had promise and he was learning. I leaned over and peered underneath the bar. “I don’t see him. Is he hiding?”
“He went on break about twenty minutes ago, and he seems to have gotten lost in the crowd.” Lance craned his neck and glanced around the room. “He’s dressed as Smee, the pirate from Peter Pan. I think I saw him chasing Carmen Miranda a while ago.”
I chuckled and glanced at my watch. “I have to put the desserts out at nine, and the exhibit opens at ten. You haven’t seen Daniel around have you?”
“Sweetie, in this crowd I wouldn’t recognize my own mother. What costume is he wearing?”
I pointed to my gingham dress and dropped a little curtsy. “Why the Big Bad Wolf of course.”
Lance slapped his palm down on the bar. “Oh no! You got him to rent that wolf costume from Girard’s? What did you threaten him with?”
I batted my eyelashes and assumed an innocent expression. “I beg your pardon. He was quite agreeable about wearing it.”
“I’ll bet.” Lance laughed. “Well, for an FBI guy it’s probably the perfect disguise. Listen, I’d love to chat more, but duty calls. If you see my buddy Smee, tell him to get his behind back here. He would be the guy in black and white stripes, a stuffed parrot on one shoulder, chasing all the pretty girls.”
I laughed and moved off, noticing as I did so the line behind me had grown. I left Lance to wait on Princess Leia and Luke Skywalker and took up a position near the rear of the room. I sipped my Bloody Mary, and glanced around the milling throng at all the colorful costumes: fairies, clowns, pirates, ghosts, witches. I caught sight of Wally, over by the buffet, snapping away, and I hoped for Violet’s sake the “free” pictures wouldn’t end up being a big waste. As I turned toward the large bay window, one costume in particular caught my eye. A tall woman, dressed head to toe in scarlet—scarlet gown cinched with a scarlet sash, ankle-length cloak, shoes, stockings . . . even her sleek pageboy bob, which I guessed was a wig, was a muted shade of red. Her features were partially obscured by a red-and-white half mask that covered the upper portion of her face, so only her full, scarlet-glossed lips and chin were visible. I thought she personified the “Red Death” from the Edgar Allen Poe mystery, and idly wondered if that was the image she was trying to project. She stood for a moment, glancing around, and then turned and made her way toward an alcove at the far corner of the room. I saw her vanish into it. A few seconds later she emerged, and Bo Peep was with her. The two of them were whispering, and at one point the Red Death wagged her finger under Daisy’s nose. Then she pulled an object from underneath her cloak, but before I could get a good look at whatever it was, Daisy took the other woman’s arm and pulled her into the hallway. As she did so, a figure in a bright orange skirt disengaged itself from the crowd and slipped into the hall after them.
Crime and Catnip Page 8
