Craig stopped eating. “Mars Winston! No wonder that name sounded so familiar. I remember that. He accused Simon of promoting his personal political agenda through his media outlets. That was a huge scandal.”
Dad helped himself to more stuffing. “Mars is too intelligent to kill someone after a public falling-out.”
“Natasha isn’t.” The dry comment came from Francie.
The colonel sipped his wine. “I’m most fascinated by this murder of a private investigator. The police have reason to think there’s a connection. Wouldn’t surprise me. Simon was known for his ruthless business tactics.”
“This is so exciting. It’s just like one of those whodunit dinner games.” Hannah gasped. “Could we do something like that at the wedding?”
I couldn’t help myself, it was too obvious and I had to say it. “You want someone to be murdered at your wedding? What a lovely memory.”
“Not for real. You know, a mock murder.”
Had Hannah always been this crazed? Was there a disease called Wedding Euphoria that prevented brides from seeing anything else?
Fortunately, Mom changed the subject to MacArthur and we made it all the way through dessert without another mention of murder.
After dinner everyone pitched in to clear the table. If my mother hadn’t been present, I’d have left the mess in the kitchen and joined my guests in the living room. But one of Mom’s cardinal rules was that the cook didn’t rest until the kitchen was spotless. She would bug me unmercifully if she thought there were still dirty dishes in the sink.
Mom must have worked some motherly guilt on Hannah, who flounced into the kitchen. “I’ll load the dishwasher, but I’m not scrubbing anything. It would ruin my manicure.”
Heaven forbid that should happen. While Hannah started cleaning up, I called Natasha’s cell phone number. No answer. I tried Vicki’s number next. Also no answer. I was dialing Andrew’s number when Humphrey strolled into the kitchen.
He smiled as though all was right with his world. “I’m supposed to ask you to put on some decaf coffee. Francie and the colonel would like brandies, your father would prefer a port wine, and Craig wants whatever Hannah is having.”
I nodded at him. “As soon as I get through to someone about Mars. None of them are answering their cell phones. I hope that’s not a bad sign.”
“They’ve probably been told to turn off their phones. They interfere with hospital equipment.”
I hung up. “How do you know that?”
He flipped a milky white hand open, palm up, like he was surprised by my question. “I pick up bodies from hospitals every day.”
I sank into a fireside chair. His words reminded me that Mars might be victim number three.
Humphrey fell to his knees like he was proposing. “You’re still in love with Mars.”
I wasn’t, of course, but I was more than willing to let him think so. “Humphrey,” I said . . .
Hannah chose that exact moment to burst out laughing. “Why does everyone think that? She’s so over Mars. Do you think she’d have invited Natasha and Mars to dinner if she was still in love with him?”
Thank you, Hannah. I shot her an exasperated look.
Her eyes widened. “That’s why you’re so familiar. You’re that kid who used to ride his bike back and forth in front of our house after school. Gosh, I didn’t recognize you at first, but I felt like I knew you from somewhere.”
Humphrey appeared flattered. “Let me give you a hand with those.” He pulled on dishwashing gloves and began to scrub. “To be honest, I never thought anyone noticed me. I just confessed my childhood crush on your sister. Imagine my surprise to learn she feels the same way.”
Why did he keep saying that? Surely I hadn’t given him the wrong impression. I had to let him down nicely, but how?
Biting her upper lip to keep from laughing, Hannah turned slowly to look at me. “Imagine that!”
I rose. “I’m going to get the wine.” Maybe if I left them alone, Humphrey would fall in love with Hannah instead.
The den, where Bernie had set up camp, had two entrances—one to the living room and one to the sunroom. I pushed open the door from the sunroom and the dogs forged ahead of me, trailed by little Mochie.
Bernie had left his clothes scattered about. His suitcase lay open on the floor next to an enormous duffle bag that had seen better days.
I pulled port and brandy from the liquor cabinet. My arms full, I turned in time to see MacArthur digging in Bernie’s suitcase. I hissed at him but the bulldog kept after his quarry.
As I set down the bottles, MacArthur took off running with something sticking out of his mouth. Daisy and Mochie chased after him into the sunroom. Intending to cut them off by going the other way, I opened the door to the living room, where the rest of my guests chatted.
The clacking of dog toenails on the hardwood floors grew louder. MacArthur, still carrying something in his mouth, raced into the living room with Mochie riding on his back and Daisy in hot pursuit.
The colonel managed to catch the frantic MacArthur, and I hurried over to remove Mochie from the poor dog’s back. Mochie jumped off before I got there. He leapt onto an empty chair and groomed his front paws as though they smelled offensively of dog.
MacArthur displayed no signs of injury but I noted that he remained close to the colonel. The delicious treat that had started the wild chase turned out to be a Toblerone chocolate bar.
I took it into the kitchen where Humphrey and Hannah worked side by side and threw it into a trash bin that none of the animals could reach.
Worried that Bernie might have more than one chocolate bar in his suitcase, I returned to the den. On my knees, I pushed back the items MacArthur had dislodged. When I flipped the suitcase shut, a newspaper article flapped halfway out. I opened the top enough to pull the paper loose and couldn’t help noticing that it was about Simon. It was a short segment from the Miami Herald Food Section about the Stupendous Stuffing Shakedown and Simon’s involvement.
I’d assumed that Bernie had come to Virginia straight from England, but there wasn’t any real reason for my assumption. Still it disturbed me a little bit to think Bernie had known about the contest in advance and had bothered to keep the article. I stood up, irritated with myself for imagining that it meant anything. Bernie knew he was coming to town, saw the article, and ripped it out. Nothing sinister about that.
I collected the port and brandy and took them to the dining room where I kept the Waterford stemware Mars and I had received as wedding gifts. After serving everyone, I hustled to the kitchen to put on decaf organic Colombian coffee.
Hannah and Humphrey chuckled about something as though they were old buddies. But I had to give them credit, the kitchen counters sparkled and only a few items remained to be cleaned. Humphrey had even washed and dried the dreaded roaster and roasting rack.
At my request, he handed me a Rosenthal coffeepot that I kept in a high cabinet because I rarely had an opportunity to use it. I rinsed it out and poured in the hot coffee. In a matching bowl, I plopped a generous helping of whipped cream for those who felt they hadn’t been sufficiently indulged. The coordinating creamer, ironically filled with nonfat milk, and the sugar bowl went on a tray with them. Humphrey carried it all into the living room.