I think I said something clever, like “Hmmmggffh!” before I stumbled toward the house.
Around four, a black van pulled into the driveway. Emblazoned on the side, in large red letters, were the words JOIN US FOR DINNER … AND A MURDER. Clearly the entertainment had arrived. A young man with sandy-colored hair and round glasses alighted first. He introduced himself as Eric, and he seemed to be the leader of the small troupe. There were five of them in all, three men and two women. Eric quickly made the introductions. There was Tom, a muscular man with a shaved head, who appeared to be in his midforties, and Steven, a tall, almost painfully thin young man in his early twenties. The women were as different as night and day. Karen was a matronly looking brunette with a somber, serious face. Susie was almost as blond as she was buxom, and I seriously doubted if either attribute was God-given. After Aunt Winnie and I showed them their rooms, Eric went over the plan for the evening.
“Basically, we’ll circulate among your real guests,” Eric said, in a thick Southern drawl. “But we’ll all be in character, so to speak. Tom and Karen are playing a married couple, as are Steven and Susie. I play an old school friend of Steven’s. The basic premise is that both Karen and Steven suspect that Tom and Susie are having an affair. I play the concerned friend. Without giving too much away, various characters will appear to drink too much, flirt, and fight with one another. Ultimately, this will lead to the apparent death of one of them. At this point, the real guests will be asked to band together in an attempt to solve the crime and identify the so-called murderer. We’ve done this bit several times, and from start to finish it usually takes about two to three hours, so depending on when you want to start, we can be done in plenty of time for everyone to celebrate the New Year.”
“I’d like it to end around eleven thirty,” said Aunt Winnie. “That should give everyone time to enjoy themselves before ringing in the New Year. Our guests will probably start arriving around eight, so, let’s plan to start your show around eight thirty. Dinner will be served in the dining room at nine.”
“Sounds good,” said Eric. “I look forward to it.” Aunt Winnie smiled and excused herself.
“So”—I turned to Eric after Aunt Winnie had left—“do you guys perform these dinner theaters full-time or do you have other jobs?”
Eric laughed. “God, no. We’d all starve to death if this was our only income. No, this is just a part-time gig until we find real jobs or get discovered. Steve and I started the group about a year ago. We’re in film school together. Steve met Karen in one of his acting classes and Tom is a retired cop I met at the gym. He’s always wanted to be an actor.”
“And Susie?”
“Steve met Susie at some party. At the time we were looking for another woman to round out the troupe, and she seemed a perfect fit for some of the glitzier characters.”
“Does she attend film school with you, too?”
“Susie? No, she just wants to be in films. I don’t think she necessarily wants to direct them.”
Peter entered the room. “Hey, Cocoa Puff,” he began. I glared at him. “Sorry.” He smirked. “I mean Elizabeth. Can I get your help in the dining room?” Clenching my teeth into a semblance of a smile, I excused myself to Eric and exited the room in what I hoped was a dignified manner.
Once we were in the reception area, I swung around to face Peter. My head was pounding, although it was hard to tell if it was from my headache or just sheer frustration. “Look,” I said, “is it too much to ask that you stop calling me that name? In case you haven’t noticed, I am no longer some sad little girl who is addicted to a stupid cereal.”
His eyebrows pulled together. “What’s the matter with you?” he said. “Don’t tell me I interrupted another one of your conquests. Poor Daniel will be crushed.”
As I had just met Eric, I took his comment as mockery. My jaw tightened in anger. “Seriously,” I said, through gritted teeth, “don’t you think we’re a bit old for this?”
Peter peered down at me suspiciously. “What’s the matter with your mouth?”
“I get lockjaw in cold weather,” I said sarcastically.
“Really?”
My valiant effort for a devastating comeback resulted in one word: “Yeah!” Pithy, but still lame.
No doubt I’d think of the perfect comeback hours from now, when it would do me no earthly good. What did they call that? It was the French for “staircase wit.” My mind drew yet another blank. Pathetic. I couldn’t even think of the damn word. Maybe Mr. Collins had the right idea after all in writing down his little bons mots in advance.
Aunt Winnie came into the room. “Oh, good, Peter. You found her. Come on, you two. I need help getting the dining room ready.”
Mentally composing acerbic comments for future use, I followed Aunt Winnie and Peter into the dining room. The man was simply impossible. None of this was doing much for my headache, and I forced myself to concentrate on what Aunt Winnie wanted me to do.
The long, narrow dining room ran front to back along the whole right side of the house. Aunt Winnie wanted to split the room into two sections, one for the tables and one for cocktails and dancing, so Peter and I moved the tables to one side. “I’d like there to be six at a table,” she said, “but we’re having seventeen guests total, so we’ll need to put five at one of the tables.”
I did a quick count in my head. “Um, Aunt Winnie? I think we only have sixteen guests.”
“No, dear. It’s seventeen. I have a little surprise for you tonight.”
I looked questioningly at Peter, but he seemed equally in the dark. My stomach lurched. Aunt Winnie’s surprises were famous—or perhaps infamous was the more appropriate word. I knew better than to try to cajole it out of her. She could keep a secret better than anyone else I knew. It was a trait I found quite vexing, actually.
Her announcement made, Aunt Winnie quickly changed the subject. “Elizabeth, you help me put on the tablecloths. Peter, would you mind making those wonderful napkins—you know, the ones that look like roses?” My face must have registered surprise because he blushed and mumbled, “It’s a trick my mom taught me years ago.”
Fascinated, I watched as he folded the heavily starched napkins into an intricate shape that did indeed resemble a rose. For the centerpieces, Aunt Winnie brought out a basket of white roses and some small silver bowls. “I saw this idea in Martha Stewart’s magazine,” she told me. Filling the bowls with water, we floated the flowers in them. “Now, all we have to do is sprinkle the tables with this silver confetti and we’re done,” she said.
“What do you want to do for the bar?” Peter asked.
“Let’s use the sideboard,” she said. “Elizabeth, help me move it to the front of the room. I think that will work just fine. Peter, I’d like you to act as bartender, if that’s all right. Elizabeth, I’m leaving you in charge of the hors d’oeuvres tray.” After completing all the last-minute tasks necessary for any party, we went to our rooms to get ourselves ready.
As I walked up the stairs, my foot hit something. Looking down, I saw it was a watch. I was reaching down to pick it up when Henry appeared at the top of the stairs. When she saw me holding the watch, an expression of relief crossed his face.
“Oh, good,” he said, “you found it.”
“Just this second. It was on the stairs,” I said. As I neared him, I reached out my hand, the watch hanging facedown. On the back was an inscription. Without consciously meaning to, I read the looping words: “To Henry. All my love, V.”
Raising my eyes to his, I saw that his face was flushed. Quickly taking the watch from me, he mumbled, “It was a gift. From, um, from my first wife.”
“It’s very nice.”
A proud smile tugged at his lips. “Thank you. It is a handsome piece. Even Mrs. Dubois commented on it.”