Fifty hours until show time, Katie thought as she walked through the main ballroom of the hotel. The tables were in place, but not set. The tents were up, as were the game booths. She had already toured the gardens, which were in perfect shape. The morning of the party, the gardeners would give the area a once-over, tidying any wayward bushes, sweeping the paths and raking the leaves.
She compared the table layout with the master diagram on her clipboard and carefully counted. Exactly right, she thought when she finished. The decorations were in place, the lighting had been fixed so that no one had to suffer with a spotlight in his or her eyes. The stage had been pushed into the corner and the various bands and musical groups had been confirmed. Check, check, and triple check.
She walked toward the kitchens to go over the food one more time. She pushed open one of the swinging double doors and found most of the kitchen staff gathered around three large workstations. All the head chefs were there, as were their assistants.
Jerome looked up and saw her. “Katie!” he said with delight. “Always compulsively thorough.” He pressed his hands to his chest. “Worry shortens the life.”
“I worry so my clients don’t have to. In my line of work, compulsively thorough means ‘wildly successful’.”
He nodded to one of the other chefs and moved toward her. “All right. I’ll volunteer to go through the food with you before you even ask me,” he said, taking her arm. “How’s that?”
“Very nice of you. Most brilliant chefs are far more temperamental.”
“I know. My goodness is a curse. People take advantage of me.”
“And then you threaten them with a deboning knife.” She glanced back at the crowd of kitchen workers. “What’s going on here? You haven’t booked another big event, have you? Jerome, there’s not room for-”
He plucked a perfect strawberry from a tray and pressed it between her lips.
“Eat,” he commanded. “And don’t worry. There are no other parties scheduled until Sunday afternoon, and by then you’ll be long gone. This tonight”-he motioned to the collection of people gathered around the work tables-“is our menu tasting. We’re working on developing some new dishes for the hotel’s fine dining room. I like to get opinions from all the staff before making the final decision.”
“Okay.”
“More than okay. We’ll be so inspired by our tasting that for the next forty-eight hours, we’ll work feverishly to make your party brilliant.”
“It’s getting a little deep in here, Jerome, and I’m wearing open-toed shoes.”
He laughed, took her free hand in his, and kissed her fingers.
She followed him to the huge refrigerators. He opened several doors, showing her trays of meat waiting to be cut into the right size for grilling on skewers. Two more refrigerators contained the vegetables, as well as fruits for chocolate dipping. Against the far wall, seven-foot dollies held trays to deliver the various courses. In the pantry the chocolates from around the world were waiting to be cut into chunks suitable for melting, while several hundred fondue pots were stacked on more dollies.
“The wine has been pulled from the cellar,” he said. “The hard liquor will be delivered in the morning.” He cupped her chin, squeezed, then released her. “Fear not, bright angel. Nothing will go wrong. I promise to make your party perfect.”
“I appreciate that,” she told him. “I do my best to stay calm before big events, but this one is downright huge. I want to make it a success.”
“We both have a lot on the line. I won’t let you down, my darling girl.” He grinned. “Now, is there any way I can convince you to join us for the tasting? I promise you, the food is amazing.”
“No, thanks.” She tapped her clipboard. “I have four million lists to make.”
“Try to get some sleep in the next couple of days. You want to be beautiful for your client.”
“I’ll do my best. Thanks for everything.”
“You’re welcome.”
She closed the cover on her clipboard and waved goodbye as she headed back for the kitchen. She made her way to her car. There was nothing more to be done tonight. In the morning there was a whole new to-do list, phone calls, and the beginning of the countdown. In the morning it would be less than thirty-six hours until show time.
Francesca entered the popular West Side eatery shortly after seven in the evening. In honor of her meeting with Jeff, she’d pulled out one of the only two nice outfits she owned, a sleeveless summery linen dress with a matching short jacket. Forty-five minutes and a very interesting conversation with a man named Earl at a survivalist-spy store in the San Fernando Valley had steered her toward the lightweight personal recorder she’d tucked into her purse. She’d pinned the tiny, voice-activated remote microphone to the neck of her dress, where it was concealed by the edge of the jacket.
Earl had promised three hours of recording time, given her tips on increasing clarity, and offered to help her put on the microphone. She’d refused the latter.
Now, as she made her way through the crowded bar, she tried to convince herself that this was just another one of her psychology experiments. Her entire purpose was to see how someone responded to her, based on appearance. But instead of dressing in a fat suit, or like the great tattooed lady, she was a slightly vampy version of herself.
She’d suffered through an entire day of rollers to get her long hair to cascade in thick curls. Makeup accentuated her green eyes, lip liner made her mouth look bigger, and she’d enhanced her natural assets with a push-up bra.
All a disguise, she thought, trying not to feel sick to her stomach. What had seemed like a great idea at the time, was becoming more and more problematic. Had Katie been right? Should she and Brenna have thought this through more?
Before she could decide, she spotted Jeff at a table by the window. He saw her as well, stood and waved. She waved back and walked through the crowd.
She hadn’t seen her brother-in-law since Christmas. He was still pleasant-looking with sandy-colored hair and pale blue eyes. The mustache was new, as was the absence of a wedding band. Only a couple of inches taller than her own five feet nine, Jeff wasn’t a big guy. With her wearing heels, they were the same height.
“Francesca,” he said, sounding delighted. “I’m so pleased you called.”
She forced herself to take the hands he offered and squeeze them. When he leaned close, she did the same and let him kiss her cheek. The light contact made her skin crawl.
“It’s been way too long since I’ve seen you,” she said, sliding into the seat across from him and smiling. “Okay, you and Brenna are splitting up, but after having you as a part of the family for nine years, I didn’t want to let you walk away without saying something.”
“My feelings exactly.”
The waitress appeared. Francesca ordered white wine. When they were alone, she smiled at Jeff. “How’s business?”
“Great. Frantic, but I’m learning more every day. There are amazing advances in cardiac medicine. The practice is one of the biggest on the West Side. All those lawyers and movie producers. Excellent insurance.”
“It’s important to get paid,” she agreed.
His pale eyebrows rose slightly. “Was that a crack?”
No, but she wouldn’t mind thwacking him over the head with a heavy book. “What? Oh, sorry.” She smiled. “No. Of course not. You know me-I can’t ever be subtle. Besides, I’m still a struggling grad student. I’m impressed by those who can make the big bucks.” She leaned toward him. “You worked hard, Jeff. All those years of study and the long hours. You deserve your success.”
He relaxed and patted her hand. “Thanks. I’m glad you understand. I figured the entire family would be talking about hiring someone to rub me out.”
“My grandfather maybe, but the rest of us understand.”
“Really?”