by Jerri George
At one time she and her Uncle Dan were pillars in their community, positive, supportive and generous, but now with Dan hanging on to life, it seemed the whole town was distraught.
“I guess I’ll be going now,” Sam said softly.
Candace responded, “I just can’t imagine life without him.”
“I know how you feel. I can barely let myself think of that either.” Sam donned his hat, grabbed his cup, and walked out the door.
“Thanks for breakfast,” she called after him.
Chapter 12
I could lose him, Candace told herself as she drove across the New Mexico countryside toward Colorado. She had left strict instructions at the hospital to be called if there was any change.
It was midday. As far as the eye could see, the desert was bathed in sunlight, a warm, pale-yellow glow which emphasized the cream-colored sands. It reminded her of a butterscotch pudding parfait with whipped cream clouds floating atop the layers. The occasional sage brush rolled across the road, and there was nothing else for miles to distract her thoughts. Normally this would be a welcome scene, but it was certainly driving her insane today.
Speaking with Anton twice, and touching base with several clients helped pass the time before she arrived in Denver. A brief detour to the nail salon for fills became a pedicure as well. As was her practice, Candace arrived at the venue of her next event early. She couldn’t remember driving there, but she had the good fortune of knowing the city streets and shortcuts like the back of her hand. Who needed GPS when you worked a venue so frequently?
Grant-Humphrey’s Mansion was built in 1902, on a parcel of land smack dab in the middle of what would become downtown Denver, tucked among yards of lush trees, plants and flowers. The entire estate was fit for the likes of its former occupants; Colorado’s third governor James Benson Grant, and a wildcat oilman and philanthropist, A.E. Humphreys. Since 1976, it had been rented out to everyone from brides to businessmen for special events. A magnificent building, it featured a crescent shaped marble staircase flanked at the front entrance by an elegantly curved veranda of carved stone surrounding the entire first floor. It was a neoclassical wonder surpassed only by the golden domed capitol building just blocks away.
From her perch on the wrought-iron settee, Candace had a birds-eye view as Dawn skidded, brakes squealing to a stop, in her lipstick red, late model corvette. She slipped out of the low-slung cocoon, her long legs announcing themselves first, since her slender black pencil skirt had slid high on her thighs, and her snug scoop neck cable-knit sweater showed off her proudest assets to a tee. Dawn somehow had managed to attain something memorable from every relationship, but the augmentation of her breasts was by far her coup de grâce. Candace laughed at the silliness of it.
Dawn navigated her way up the stairs and under the great portico, which had been designed to give the front of the three-story house a regal appearance. Dawn’s salon-finished long black hair and dark brown eyes gave her an air of Cleopatra. Candace had to hand it to her, wherever Dawn went, she turned heads. The gardeners and painters were her audience at the moment, and Dawn was in rare form. No matter how Candace tried to compete, even in their adolescence, she would never be five feet, nine inches, that thin, or that brunette.
They met on the veranda near the open French doors which exposed the polished baby grand piano in the parlor. Dawn greeted Candace with an elaborate display of customary European-style pecks on each cheek, making every effort not to smudge lipstick, preceded by a delicate don't-wrinkle-me hug.
“CJ sweetie, I hope I'm not late.” She gushed. “The congressman had some last-minute details to run through. I can't believe we're literally hours away from the fund raiser, and Ronnie wants to change the seating arrangements.”
“It happens,” Candace assured her.
“Shit happens? Did I hear you correctly, CJ? Shit happens? Well, not to me, not on my watch.” Dawn raised her voice an octave to make her point. It was likely the governor could have heard her statement from his office down the street.
“It will be fine Dawn. Things like this happen all the time.” A small sigh accompanied her clarification. “I just need your table numbers and seating arrangements by 5 p.m. tomorrow.”
“Okay, whatever you say.”
Dawn was adept at staying consistently in the spotlight and bringing her clients right along with her. The client she off-handedly referred to as Ronnie was Congressman Ronald Tethermeyer, her recent and most prestigious catch, both personally and professionally. He was every woman’s dream; tall, dark, handsome and single, with eyes on the White House. Ronnie was of Mexican descent with skin that stayed tan in all seasons, which was easy in a city claiming over 300 days of sunshine a year. His Mexican-American heritage would give him a good chance of winning his bid for a second term, a fact Dawn was paid to focus on.
Another subject Dawn seemed intent on was Uncle Dan. “So, what's the lowdown on your uncle? Was it an accident? Do the cops have any idea yet?”
“Not entirely sure, but the Sheriff and I are pretty convinced he didn't just fall.”
“Really? Do you think he’ll make it?”
Candace’s mood turned grim. “Oh God, Dawn. I can’t imagine him not making it. We’re waiting for him to wake up anytime. I don’t know how to tell him about Merlin though.”
“What about Merlin?”
“He’s dead. Didn’t I tell you?”
Dawn was visibly shaken. “He’s what?”
“He died the morning after I found Uncle Dan. Evidently, he was poisoned–both dogs were. The vet said it was Zoloft, the prescription given to people with depression. Uncle Dan wasn’t taking it, so I know something suspicious happened to Uncle,” Candace stated adamantly. “Why else would someone poison his dogs?
“Damn, girlfriend. That’s really strange.”
“I know.”
A pregnant pause ensued.
“Well, let’s take one last look at the menu.” Dawn changed the subject. “I have my copy right here but it’s a little late to change something. Anton will have my head.”
“Well, you already have his heart.” Dawn commented. “I just need to make sure everything is going to be perfect.”
Dismissing her snark, Candace laughed. “I can imagine. The guest list looks like a Who’s Who of Denver.”
The congressman had selected a popular presentation whereby clusters of hors d’oeuvres would be displayed on metal, glass or porcelain trays and served to guests from waiters carrying them throughout the room. For this party they’d be serving signature selections of veal parmesan sliders, goat cheese wontons with Chipotle caramel dipping sauce, tenderloin lollipops wrapped in bacon and mahi-mahi skewers coated with wasabi sesame seeds. The dinner, a Colorado inspired surf and turf, was a selection of seared mint and rosemary lamb loin, poached crabmeat and asparagus spears drenched in Béarnaise sauce. This would be served alongside Grand Marnier smashed sweet potatoes, creamed corn soufflé and Candace’s signature popovers which Dan, and half of Denver, labeled as legendary.
Dawn happily awarded approval of the menu with no alterations but not without asking a dozen or so questions. Unlike Candace, Dawn was not as informed or knowledgeable about formalities. The daughter of a mathematical genius and stock market tycoon who parlayed his way from the college classroom to the board room knew far more about pizza delivery than elegant table service.
The two spent the next hour traipsing through the three interior levels of the mansion. Nothing much had changed since Candace last worked there. The vast foyer, intimate parlor, and library were dressed with Elizabethan drapes, heavily polished furniture and built-in bookshelves, which were all as regal as ever. The basement contained a defunct bowling alley and space for dancing, and in this case, where photo opportunities with the congressman would be held. They discussed every minute detail of flower and liquor delivery, band placement and the strictly scheduled arrival and departure times of the candidate and his entourage.
; The visit was finished in time for Candace to go back to her office, but Dawn quashed that idea. “You’ve been tied up in knots for days. A little break won’t hurt. Go home and chill. I’ll meet you at my apartment in a few hours.”
She exited with the same speed and agility as she had arrived, like the jungle cat she resembled.
Chapter 13
Candace made a quick detour to her office. Dawn should have known work would win out. The familiarity of it would be a welcome change relieving the pent-up stress and worry of the past few days. Collapsing in her desk chair for the first time in a week, Candace closed her eyes and took a whiff of what smelled like searing beef. The aroma reminded her she hadn’t eaten all day. There must be a tasting scheduled this afternoon.
To Dine For Catering’s commissary, kitchen, and offices were situated in one central location, creating ease of operation under one roof. Candace and Anton had purchased the 1950’s Tudor style house nestled near the posh Wash Park area of Denver nearly three years ago. The layout and architecture were perfect for their needs and fed the desire they both shared for historical reverence and ambiance. Candace dreamed of an impressive dining room for tastings with an elegant feel that no strip mall or warehouse could offer, and besides, they’d own it. That is, once the mortgage was paid in full, they would.
They decided on a house that needed plenty of work and lots of re-zoning and permitting. Completely gutting and remodeling the kitchen to make it commercial rather than residential. They also built office space in place of bedrooms. Uncle Dan gave Candace the down payment from her trust fund, but both she and Anton ended up investing lots of sweat equity in the place.
“Hi, Boss!” Romaine said. Playfully nicknamed Ro, she was Candace’s right hand gal. What were the odds that the best catering office manager around would be named after a head of lettuce? Ro was Pennsylvania Dutch and a very generous woman in both physical size and heart, a welcome tower of strength wrapped in an apron and was every bit the comforting, confident force Candace needed.
Ro greeted Candace with a venti-sized Starbuck chai latte in hand. She rushed around the side of the desk so that Candace would keep seated, placed the cup on the desk, then and threw her arms around her. “When Anton said you’d be in, I couldn’t believe it, but I told myself if anybody would put the job first, it would be you.”
“Well, the show must go on and my uncle would be the first person to send me here. The customer is always first, Ro.” Candace drew in a big breath of resignation and savored the chai’s spicy aroma and creamy taste. “Thanks for this.”
“Do we have anybody in house today?” Candace queried.
“Ms. McMahon and her mom are in the selection room. I can handle them, and then we’re clear until the tasting at six. I think Cameron is doing it unless Anton makes it in.”
“Where’s Anton?”
Ro took a sip of her own Starbucks. “Shopping. We need fresh greens for tomorrow.”
“Oh, swell. You know how he hates to shop.” Candace giggled at the thought.
“I told him I’d go, but he insisted. I don’t need to tell you how particular he is.”
Candace realized how hungry she was. “That’s fine. Do you think the guys could scare up something for me to eat?”
“Sure thing. I think I saw Cameron making some bruschetta.”
Candace took a couple more sips of tea and stood up slowly. “Perfect. I’ll come in and say hello to the McMahon’s, then work on some room layouts and packing lists. If you can look them over, it would be helpful. I’m not thinking as clearly as usual.”
“I’d be happy to,” Ro said smiling, “There were a couple of calls you might want to return. An attorney named Mr. Long called about an hour ago.”
“Harry or Tripp?”
“Oh, he didn’t say, but he left a number.” Ro followed Candace into the parlor. The front room of the house had been turned into an area where clients viewed and selected dishes, crystal, silver, linens, and colors to be used on their tables and chairs.
Beyond the front room and through sliding pocket doors was a formal sample of a typical event venue with round dining tables and rectangular buffets dressed in usual party fashion. On the other side of the center hallway in the middle of the dining room stood a highly polished cherry wood table and a matching china cabinet filled with crystal goblets and serving pieces once owned by Candace’s mother. An impressive wine rack and a marble fireplace were at one end. It was the perfect location for tastings.
The two large bedrooms toward the back of the first floor were taken up by Anton and Candace’s offices with Ro’s desk just outside their doors. Romaine spent lots of time in the kitchen as well. There didn’t seem to be an employee in the company who wasn’t passionate about food, whether working to prepare it, serving it, or eating it.
“Mrs. McMahon and Suzanne, how are you today?” Candace graciously greeted the bride and her mother. Her posture erect with her hand outstretched, she pulled them both in for a warm hug. “I can’t wait to see your final selections.”
The bride and her mother basked in the attention, knowing nothing of Uncle Dan’s plight, which was refreshing for Candace. She sat and nodded approval as Ro took charge and paraded the tablecloth colors and china choices before them.
This was good. Candace had been overwhelmed by Uncle’s condition and treatment. Preparing for upcoming nuptials was always uplifting and just being in the room with the betrothed gave her renewed vigor. When the appropriate lull in the conversation came, Ro politely shooed Candace back to work.
Literally her home away from home, her renovated bedroom office was clad in hues of hunter green and raspberry. A taffeta covered couch sat against one wall with a large framed mirror above it, and a Queen Anne writing desk was placed dead center in the room. A built-in bookcase displayed mementos and pictures of dozens of past events featuring Candace and many recognizable faces in Denver society. High-back chairs in green and raspberry plaid with touches of gold were placed before the desk with pillows of the same fabric tossed on the raspberry couch. The room was as bright and colorful as its occupant, although Candace thought it strange that several of the pillows were askew.
An antique coffee table with claw feet held a stunning dried flower arrangement and a spray of bridal magazines for guests to peruse. On the corner of her desk was her pride and joy, an authentic Tiffany lamp with stained glass hues that matched the fabrics. Paintings on the walls were eclectic in taste. Impressionist landscapes and female portraits in bold shades of pinks, greens and yellows framed in antiqued gold. She loved the room and how it made her feel, both pretty and proud, and safe.
On top of the desk was a Waterford crystal candy dish and vase, both gifts from her uncle. Beside them were a crystal paper weight and a marble replica of Thomas Jefferson’s favorite piece of architecture, the obelisk, a gift from Anton who loved history as much, or more than, she did. She was surprised to see the vase filled with fresh cut flowers.
Anton must have gotten them this morning. He always made sure it was full. He was such a dear. She bet he had someone come in and clean while she was gone. Candace rearranged some of the misplaced items on the desktop and buried her nose in the blooms to smell their fragrance.
Checking her computer calendar for the next dated event, Candace was sufficiently relieved. The Alexander-Carver wedding reception at Lionsgate Event Center was up next. The management at the site were responsible for all table set up, dishes, and glasses. The job would be a slam dunk. Floral arrangements would be set by the venue as would the tablecloths, chair covers and napkins. This particular venue was an old dairy farm gatehouse which now possessed every accoutrement a wedding party could possibly desire. In addition to a groom’s suite upstairs, there was a bridal bedroom with a four-poster bed, mirrored antique dressing table and elegantly appointed chaises for the attendants to relax on before making their grand entrance. A five-thousand-square-foot ballroom was adorned with a magnificent wood floor througho
ut, crystal chandeliers and stained-glass windows. Down a few steps, an enclosed sunroom created the perfect setting for a double-sided buffet. There was little to do to make this a visual success.
Candace clicked the mouse to open the file and review the menu. Just as she began to focus, the door swung open to reveal a very serious young man dressed in a spotless white chef’s jacket and pressed black pants carrying a tray full of appetizers. As usual, Cameron was very GQ in appearance with the exception of black Crocs dirtied with mud. It was clear he had ridden his bike to work again from Cook Street, the local culinary school where he had begun formal training.
“CJ, I’ve been worried sick about you, and Anton’s been a mess,” he said as he set down the tray and placed the dishes in front of Candace. “But, don’t tell him I said so.”
“Oh, Cammie,” Candace said the nickname only she dared use. “You’re a sight for sore eyes!” She turned her face upward for the kiss she knew would be planted on her cheek. “Has he really been a mess?”
“He sure has but tries like hell not to show it. I’m so glad you’re here.” His hug was warm and sincere. Cameron was a gracious and eloquent young man, worldly beyond his years, and Candace had recognized his potential long ago. Shy and understated, his chocolate-colored curls fell softly around his eyes, giving him a tender almost innocent expression, but the twinkle they possessed and the wink he often used told another tale.
“How’s your uncle doing? I was so sorry to hear about his condition.” His voice was deep with a soft and gentle tone. He walked behind her chair, squeezed and kneaded her shoulders like pastry, which made it difficult to decide if she should sink back and enjoy or eat some morsels from the dish in front of her.
“He’s still in a coma, Cammie. I just can’t believe it. The police don’t have any evidence, and I don’t know what to think.” She shook her head. “At first, like everyone else, I thought it was an attempted robbery, but now they say nothing was taken or disturbed except for some boxes of papers.”