by Harper Lin
But for this event, Amelia wouldn’t be able to daydream about her daughter’s future wedding. She was told to ask for Indie Nakanoi.
“She’ll smuggle you in through the kitchen. But you’ll have to stay in the kitchen and out of sight for about an hour before the guests arrive. Then you can just ease into the crowd and see what happens.”
“I can handle that,” Amelia said.
But now, after parking her car a few blocks over and walking with butterflies ricocheting inside her ribcage, she was starting to get cold feet.
“You’re just sneaking through the kitchen, Amelia,” she whispered. “They aren’t going to ask for any security clearance or retina scan. No fingerprints will be taken.” She soothed herself as she neared the building.
The back entrance was for the staff. As Amelia circled the building and walked down the alley in high heels, she saw what she had almost convinced herself wouldn’t be there. Security. Big, mean-looking security with clear-plastic communication devices in their ears.
“I look totally suspicious,” she muttered. “High heels. Trench coat. Worse than suspicious. I look like the entertainment for a bachelor party.”
Lila had never let Amelia down before. If this person was a friend of Lila’s, then that was as good as a signature in blood. After a deep breath and a shift of her spine to square her shoulders, Amelia approached the two men.
They looked like they had stepped out of a Dick Tracy comic book. One was as bald as a cue ball, but he had thick black eyebrows. The other had a square head that sat on top of a tight, starched white collar, giving it the appearance it was about to pop off at any second. They both looked at Amelia the way she thought they would: as if she was some cheap tart looking for action.
“Can we help you?” Mr. Squarehead grumbled, looking at Amelia like if he squinted hard enough, he might see what was underneath her trench coat. They both maneuvered their bodies in front of the door. Behind them, Amelia saw a couple members of the wait staff looking in her direction. Mr. Baldy held a clipboard Amelia assumed had a list of approved names on it.
Just run! Pull your skirt up over your knees and run! she thought. However, the image of herself hobbling pitifully down the uneven, potholed alley like a little girl pretending in her mother’s heels was more of a humiliation than getting turned down by these goons. She cleared her throat.
“I need to see Indie Nakanoi.”
Both men chuckled.
“Something funny, gentlemen?” Amelia wasn’t sure where her sudden attitude had come from, but she decided to run with it. She glared at them, arching her right eyebrow.
“It takes two of you to stand here and look over a clipboard? The name is Amelia Harley.”
“Like the bike?” Baldy asked.
“That’s original. I’ve never heard that one before. If it helps. Yes, like the bike.”
She rolled her eyes, folded her arms, shifted from her right foot to her left, and tapped her well-shod toes in mock annoyance.
You are going to look like a real idiot if your name isn’t on that list.
“Your name isn’t on the list,” Baldy grumbled.
“Then I suggest you go and get Ms. Nakanoi. And if we could make an attempt to move a little faster. I haven’t got all night to stand around out here in the alley.”
“If your name isn’t on the list, that means you aren’t on the list.” Squarehead took a threatening step closer. Amelia stood firm and slowly put her hands on her hips. With the same look she had given Adam and Meg when they were acting up at the store, Amelia stared at the security guard.
“Hey, fellas.” A beautiful woman who towered over both security guards by at least a foot with long black hair that was the perfectly groomed mane of a horse suddenly appeared. “A woman by the name of Amelia Harley needs to be on that list.”
“Indie?” Amelia said, smiling.
“Amelia! Thank goodness you are here.” Indie elbowed past the two security guards. “The kitchen is a mess. I hope you can clear the bad mojo by the time the guests get here.”
“Of course.” Amelia raised her eyebrow again and looked Baldy and Squarehead up and down as if they were a couple of cheap suits on a rack.
“Amelia Harley is a culinary mystic,” Indie said to the men. “If we want this evening’s cuisine to be even halfway edible, we need to get to work right away. The bad vibes are making my endive wilt, and the butter is hard like a rock after being set at room temperature for fifteen minutes. It’s chaos.”
“Of course, Miss Nakanoi. Sorry about that, Miss Harley.”
“No worries, boys.” Amelia elbowed her way past them and followed Indie into the kitchen.
“I’m so sorry,” Indie said as she stooped slightly in order to whisper to Amelia. “It was the only thing I could think of that would explain why you are loitering around and why you aren’t dressed to clean up after those slobs out there.” She jerked her head toward the swinging doors that led to the grand room of the event.
“It works for me,” Amelia said.
“You’ll need to do a little mumbo-jumbo to make it look legit.” Indie pulled the right side of her plump lip up as if she was embarrassed to even suggest it.
“Oh. Well, you’re right. How about you bring me some basil, a bulb of garlic, and a glass of ice water,” Amelia babbled. “I’ll take it from there.”
“You want lemon in that water?” Indie asked, smiling.
Amelia thought Indie was one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen. She had an Asian flair, but there was also something different about her. She’d ask Lila when she saw her next.
Within minutes, Indie returned to Amelia with the random supplies. Amelia took them, and at a small table where the staff would be allowed to have a break or snack, she pretended to start her culinary ritual.
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen. If I can have your attention, please,” Indie shouted. “I’d like to introduce you to Amelia Harley. She is my friend and a culinary mystic. Before she joins the festivities in the other room, she is going to contact the gods and goddesses of plenty, of flavor, of heat, and of digestion and offer them a small token in order for this evening’s event to be successful. At least where my kitchen is concerned.”
Amelia stood still with her hands in front of her and looked at the eyes of all the staff that were staring at her. If they thought it was bunk, Amelia couldn’t tell. Indie was quite convincing.
“So, just go about your duties. Amelia will stay out of your way, so please extend her the same courtesy. She’ll be done in about...?” Indie turned and shrugged.
“Fifteen minutes, tops,” Amelia replied, smiling slightly.
“You heard her. Thank you for your understanding. That’s all.”
Everyone resumed their work as if a culinary mystic was no different from having a set of ingredients to follow.
“Thank you so much, Indie,” Amelia said in a hushed voice as Indie came and stood next to her.
“No problem. You tell that Lila she needs to call me.” Indie smiled.
“Hey, if you’ll come by the Pink Cupcake food truck, I’ll bet there will be some complimentary cupcakes waiting for you.”
“The Pink Cupcake? How did you know that is my favorite spot in town? I have my assistant picking up from there a couple times a week.”
“Really? Well, I own that little truck, and I’m so glad you like my creations. Please, when all this is done, come by.”
“I most definitely will.” She looked at her watch. “Okay, the savages are going to start arriving. I’ve got to get to work.”
“Me too. I can feel the croutons hardening.” Amelia chuckled at her own joke as Indie walked up and down the massive kitchen, checking in with every station and smiling as she patted shoulders, nodded with approval and pointed to random stacks of trays and pots.
Amelia looked down at her little display of ritual ingredients. A few of the waiters were watching her. She certainly didn’t want to do anything to ge
t Indie in trouble, so she decided to let go of her total embarrassment and get to mystifying.
That included muttering in a low voice as much gibberish as would come to mind. She also tore apart the basil, rubbing it vigorously in her hands, then letting the aroma fill her nostrils. She loved the smell of basil and wondered how it would taste in a cream cheese frosting.
Then, with as much force as she could muster, Amelia cracked the bulb of garlic on the small table. She broke off the cloves and arranged them randomly in front of her. It was then that she realized the basil had stained her hands green.
Nothing you can do about it now, girl. She pretended it was part of the whole routine. If anyone asked, she would just say that she was the kitchen mystic and things got a little crazy, so she had to resort to using the basil. No evil cookery spirits could fight against it.
Finally, she took the lemon out of the water, squeezed it over the garlic then took a sip of the water to calm her own nerves. She set the glass among the cloves of garlic and walked to the nearest waiter, who had been watching her.
“That must remain undisturbed for at least half an hour. Can you spread the word?” Amelia asked pleasantly.
“Sure can, Miss Harley. Thanks.”
“Thank you,” she said to the amused waiter. Then Amelia waved across the kitchen to Indie, who winked and waved back.
“Okay. Now it’s showtime,” she whispered as she pushed through the double doors and stepped into the grand room.
It was breathtaking.
Four chandeliers covered with hundreds of crystals sparkled like stars overhead. Amelia could have stared at the glittery masterpieces all night. The dance floor was covered in a rich mahogany that was polished to such a high shine Amelia was sure she could check her makeup in it. There were floor-to-ceiling mirrors framed in gold located randomly, giving the room the appearance that there were several entrances and exits. The huge bar looked as if it had been carved directly into the wall. A couple of guests were already ordering their cocktails, ready to get the festivities started.
As Amelia strolled through the room, she took off her trench coat, causing several of the male guests to turn their heads and follow her movements.
She smoothed her simple black dress nervously. Meg had been the one who had picked it out. It was a little daring in the front, but Meg insisted it would suit her.
She had bought it for an anniversary party she and John had gone to a couple years ago. Amelia remembered she had felt like a queen when she put the dress on and slipped into the sparkly red-and-black shoes she’d bought to go with it. She had red and black sparkly jewelry and had piled her hair on top of her head.
When John had seen her, all he’d said was, “Come on. We’re going to be late.”
That memory was like a punch in the gut. It made her recall his obnoxious phone call yesterday. She clenched her fists as she continued on her way to the ladies’ room. People were checking their coats, and the place was filling up quickly.
Had she not been angered by John’s past and present stunts, Amelia might have smiled pleasantly at the fellows who were spying a new face among the crowd. But she didn’t. She kneaded her green-tinted hands together and finally located the sign leading toward the ladies’ room.
“If he thinks I’m going to show a shred of sympathy to his lying, cheating behind, he’s got another think coming,” she muttered.
Tonight, at Meg’s suggestion, Amelia hadn’t worn red accents but instead wore a huge vintage broach of white stones, a simple pearl choker, and black pumps.
“Simple but elegant, Mom. You don’t need to compete with those ritzy ladies. You’ve got it all.”
How right that little girl had been. When Amelia had come downstairs, Adam had looked up from eating a sandwich and raised his eyebrows.
“Yooo ook booful, Mom,” he said with a mouthful.
That was the best compliment she could get all night, although she was a little sorry that Dan wouldn’t see her all gussied up. She didn’t think they had ever gotten dressed up for a date.
Besides, he wore a suit and was on his feet every day. Who would want to put on so many layers of clothing when he didn’t have to? Still, it might be nice sometime.
Focusing back on the task at hand, it was funny how at a place like this where the plan of the evening was eating wonderful food and hobnobbing with other rich people, so many women were already in the bathroom. Thankfully, it was very large, with a lounge and plenty of sinks. Amelia quickly took a spot in front of one at the farthest end, away from the ever-increasing crowd of ladies.
“Oh, brother,” she muttered. Pumping the soap into her palm, she saw just how dark the green had stained her palms and fingers. “Brilliant.”
“Are you all right?” A concerned voice came from behind her. Amelia looked up in the mirror. Just to her left, a woman was looking at her as if she were a live electrical wire flopping around an open road.
“Yes,” Amelia replied.
Behind this nervous Nelly was the familiar pulled-back hairstyle she’d seen splashed across Spencer Randall’s Facebook page and the many social magazines about town. Candace Rosenbaum.
“Yes. I got fresh basil on my hands.” Amelia couldn’t stop herself. “I’m Indie Nakanoi’s culinary mystic. I’d shake your hand, but…” Amelia shrugged as she lathered her hands.
“Culinary mystic?” At first, Amelia was sure “Nelly” was going to start laughing, roll her eyes, point, and scream the word FRAUD for everyone to see before she had Baldy and Squarehead drag her out of the hall. “How fascinating. What do you do, exactly?”
Amelia let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding and smiled as she rinsed her hands.
“Well, you’d be surprised at the level of negative energy that collects in a kitchen. With each overcooked meal or underdone dessert, it leaves a residual shadow behind it. That affects the next meal and the chances of that meal causing indigestion, gas, or in some rare instances salmonella or ptomaine.”
The woman was mesmerized.
“I come in and sweep that away.” Amelia smiled as she dried off her hands as if this were no different from saying she was a doctor or a lawyer or a baker of the best cupcakes in all of Portland.
“Interesting,” Nelly gushed. But before Amelia could ask her name, the woman turned and headed back to a small group of ladies at the far end of the lounge. Arching her right eyebrow, she squared her shoulders and strolled out of the ladies’ room. Had she been able to say who she really was, she would have enjoyed this a little better. But where was the fun in that?
Before she could do anything else, she saw Candace slip out of the lounge and through the doors toward the lobby.
Chapter Seven
The main room had filled up quite a bit. People were laughing, shaking hands, clapping each other on the back as the ladies kissed cheeks and admired one another’s outfits.
“When in Rome,” Amelia muttered and walked slowly to the bar. “Can I get a Coke?”
The handsome young bartender smiled and nodded before disappearing for just a second to the other end of the bar.
“Starting off slow. That’s a good idea.” An older gentleman Amelia had seen already at the bar when she emerged from the kitchen spoke to her. “These things can get crazy once the photographers leave.” He winked.
“You sound like you’ve been to quite a few of these.” Amelia smiled as the man rolled his eyes. They had bags beneath them, and his jowls were loose, shaking when he spoke.
“The name is Roland Merriweather.”
“Hi, Roland. Amelia Harley.” She reached out and shook his hand.
“Miss Harley, where is your date for the evening? A pretty girl like yourself shouldn’t be swimming alone in such shark-infested waters.”
“Really?” Amelia couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not. “My boyfriend has to work.” That was the truth. “He’s a police detective.”
“Oh yes? What’s his name? My brother is
a retired police commissioner.”
“Dan Walishovski. He’s been on the department for several years. Maybe they know each other.”
“I’ll run it past him. Isn’t it funny how every day we see what a small world it is?” Roland said.
“Sometimes it feels that way. But I’ll tell you what, Roland. In a million years, I never would have seen myself at an event like this.”
“Why do you say that? You look like you fit right in.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“Well played, Miss Harley.”
The bartender returned with her Coke. She was happy to take a long sip of the cold drink.
“What are you drinking?” she asked Roland as he gulped down the last of a brown liquid.
“Can you keep a secret?”
Amelia smirked but nodded her head yes.
“Iced tea.”
“I don’t believe you. Long Island iced tea, maybe.”
“Nope. Pure old-fashioned iced tea.”
“Why are you being so sneaky about it?”
“When you’ve been around these people as long as I have, you learn to keep your wits about you.” He tapped the rim of his glass and nodded to the bartender. Sure enough, in the smoothest, most secretive manner, the bartender poured Roland a glass of iced tea, dropped a cherry in it, and served it up. For that little maneuver, he received a ten-dollar tip.
“Well, I’m very impressed, Roland. Since you shared a secret with me, I’ll share one with you.”
Roland Merriweather leaned a little closer to Amelia so she could speak quietly into his ear.
“A culinary mystic? And they believed you?”
“So far so good.”
He roared with laughter, making Amelia laugh, too.
“That is the most wonderful thing I’ve heard in years, Miss Harley. Well, let the games begin.” He raised his glass to Amelia, who happily clinked hers against it.
For almost half an hour, Amelia sat with Roland at the bar while he told her who everyone was.
“That woman over there is married to a plastic surgeon who has probably seen half the women in this place naked,” Roland said dryly. “Specializes in breast augmentations.”
