Eat, Prey, Love

by Laura Durham

  Richard walked into the open bathroom and rolled his eyes. I could hear Leatrice talking away on the other end of the line.

  “How’s Butterscotch, I mean Hermes?” I asked, catching myself as Richard narrowed his eyes at me. The little Yorkie had originally been called Butterscotch, but Richard had renamed him Hermes, claiming that the name better fit his personality. I had a feeling it was a matter of the name better fitting Richard’s personality, but I would never dare say so.

  Fine, Richard mouthed, then he inhaled sharply. “What do you mean you’re out of treats already? It’s only been two days. I don’t care how much of a good boy he is. If he keeps eating treats at this rate, he’ll gain ten pounds by the time I get home. I don’t want to have to put Mr. Chubbs on a diet.”

  I swirled translucent powder over my face. “Did you just call your dog Mr. Chubbs?”

  He ignored me. “And no junk food, Leatrice. I mean it. It’s taken months for me to get him on a healthy eating regimen.”

  I shook my head and leaned close to the mirror to apply my eyeliner.

  “For you.” Richard held out the phone. “The hot detective.”

  “I don’t know who’s weirder about that dog, Leatrice or Richard,” Reese said once I’d taken the phone.

  I laughed. “Hopefully watching Hermes will take her mind off worrying about me being sold into a sex-trafficking ring.”

  “Hopefully.” Reese chuckled. “But in all seriousness, Annabelle, you don’t have the best track record of staying out of trouble. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “I promise. I plan to stay far away from Jeremy Johns.” I lowered my voice so Richard couldn’t hear me in the other room. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Good.” His voice dropped even lower. “We can pick up where we left off.”

  I felt my face flush as I remembered where we’d left off on our last date. I turned around and jumped. “Richard!”

  “Well, that’s not usually the name I like women to call out,” Reese said.

  I put a hand to my racing heart. “Not you. Richard snuck up on me.” I shot Richard a look then noticed the somber expression on his face. “What?”

  Richard held out a folded piece of paper. “Someone just slipped this under your door.”

  “Is everything okay?” Reese asked.

  I read what was written in the note. “Not really.”

  Chapter 4

  “That Jeremy has a lot of nerve to write that to you,” Kate said as we got in a golf cart under the portico off the hotel lobby. Even though the welcome dinner was in the garden near the hotel entrance, it was a long way to walk in heels and dresses.

  I slid into the back seat next to Kate and pulled my flowing silk cocktail dress down closer to my knees. I noticed that Kate didn’t bother with her formfitting navy-blue dress, and it rode up to mid thigh. Not that I hadn’t seen plenty of Kate’s legs before, since she didn’t own a skirt that went past her knees.

  “We don’t know it was Jeremy, do we?” Fern asked, turning around from his seat in the front next to the driver and touching a hand to his hair, which was now pulled into a low ponytail.

  “Who else could it be?” Richard asked as the golf cart lurched forward, and he clutched the low metal armrest next to his seat in the very back.

  I shrugged as we chugged away from the hotel entrance and up the curved driveway. “It was rather cryptic. And it wasn’t signed.”

  Richard threw up his hands in exasperation then grabbed for the armrest bar as the golf cart rounded a curve. “‘The question is what can you make people believe you have done?’” He used air quotes as he recited what had been written on the note. “He’s clearly making reference to what we know about him and suggesting if we tell people, he’ll convince them it didn’t happen.”

  Kate gave a low whistle. “You sure got a lot from that one line.”

  “Say it is a threat,” I began.

  “And it is, because we know what kind of lowlife Jeremy Johns is,” Richard said. “Plus, vague notes are just the type of passive-aggressive threats he’d make. He’s too much of a weasel to actually do anything. Remember how he whispered behind our backs to get us in trouble the last time we worked together.”

  I gave Richard a look. “Even if it’s a threat, what can we do about it? It’s not like writing weird notes is grounds for arrest. I’m not even sure what the grounds for arrest are in Bali.”

  Fern’s eyes lit up. “Is this a country that goes in for caning as punishment? If anyone needs a good caning, it’s that puffed-up peacock Jeremy Johns.”

  I noticed our driver’s mouth fall open, and I punched Fern in the arm a little harder than I normally would as a joke. “Very funny. No one’s going to be caned around here. I’m sure Indonesia has a very progressive criminal justice system.”

  I wasn’t sure about that, but I didn’t want my team to insult our Balinese driver with our lack of knowledge. And Bali seemed too groovy to go in for something like caning.

  Fern rubbed his arm. “You’re no fun.”

  Our golf cart swung up to a paved entrance where other people in cocktail dresses stood clustered in groups. “The garden,” our driver said pulling to a stop.

  We thanked him as we got out, and I smoothed the front of my dress once I was standing.

  “Who do we know?” Kate whispered to me.

  “Aside from Jeremy?” I indicated the blond man with the perma-sneer huddled next to Sasha, who’d changed into another wildly colored dress that reached the floor.

  “Clearly aside from him,” Richard said. “Although I might want to talk to him about his note later.”

  I put a hand on his arm. “Let it go. The best thing we can do with an egomaniac like that is ignore him.”

  “The best thing we could do is find the bar,” Fern said.

  “Now you’re talking.” Kate linked her arm through Fern’s and headed into the crowd.

  “We could get our seating assignment.” I nodded to a massive wooden table in the center of the space that had been covered from end to end with a bed of greenery and flowers. Squares of yellow blooms were surrounded by green, giving the tabletop a checkerboard appearance. White cards with names written in swirling calligraphy sat in rows on top of the flowers. This design had Buster’s and Mack’s names written all over it. As a matter of fact, they’d done this look in pinks and purples for a client of mine only the year before.

  Richard leaned over the table to read the names, plucking his card from a patch of green. “They’ve named the tables instead of numbering them. I’m sitting at the Lovebirds table.”

  “Great,” I muttered. Naming tables had been a trend I’d loved when it came onto the scene a few years ago, but having guests wander aimlessly around ballrooms in search of names of Portuguese villages or types of orchids had changed my thinking on the matter. At least with numbers you had some sense of where you were headed.

  A woman with a blond pixie cut and cat-eye glasses approached us. “Can I help you find your names?”

  “I think we’re good.” I smiled at her. “Are you with the resort?”

  “I’m with the planner. I’m Kelly.” She extended her hand.

  “That’s right.” I shook her hand, remembering the missing intern. “Annabelle Archer with Wedding Belles. Carol Ann mentioned you earlier. How’s your jet lag?”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Much better.” She scanned the names on the bed of flowers and handed me my card. “I’ve read your name so often on the roster, I feel like I know you already.” She gave me a grin and winked at me from behind one cat-eye lens as she turned to help another guest.

  I looked down at my card, twisting to face Richard. “I’m at Lovebirds, too.”

  Richard spared me a smile. “Well, that’s a relief. At least one sensible person to talk to.”

  “What table are y’all at?” A petite woman with dark hair pulled into a high bun asked as she sidled up between Richard and me.

 
I held up my card for her to see, and she made a pouty face. If I had to guess, I’d put the woman at over forty years old despite her tight green minidress. She wore nude heels that still didn’t bring her to my shoulder and bright-pink lipstick that would make her easy to find in low light.

  “I’m Dina.” She beckoned for a woman with blond, wavy hair that fell to her shoulders to join us. “Veronica and I are at Sweetheart.”

  “This is Richard, and I’m Annabelle.” I held out my hand. “We’re from DC.”

  Richard shook their hands. “Richard Gerard with Richard Gerard Catering.”

  I gave him an apologetic look. I’d forgotten how much he despised casual introductions. Richard never introduced himself without giving his full name and company.

  “I’m from New Orleans,” Veronica said. “And Dina here is from Texas.”

  I noticed that Veronica wore a simpler and less-revealing floral print dress, even though she appeared to be a few years younger than Dina.

  “You don’t work together?” I asked, as a waiter paused in front of us with a tray of pale-orange cocktails in wide-rimmed martini glasses.

  Veronica took two cocktails from the tray and handed one to her friend. “We’re both wedding planners, but we live about two hundred miles apart.”

  Dina sipped at her drink. “We see each other at FAM trips like this and each year at the Inspire conference.”

  I nodded as I took a drink from the waiter. I’d heard of Inspire before. It was the most illustrious event for wedding professionals and was known for world-class speakers and top-notch swag. Word on the street was that you’d return from Inspire with tons of motivation and a suitcase filled with gifts.

  “How many years have we roomed together at Inspire?” Veronica asked Dina.

  Dina held up her fingers while she downed half of her cocktail. “At least five. Our first one was the one in the Cayman Islands.”

  “That’s right.” Veronica nudged her and giggled. “The wild one.”

  “Have you been to Inspire?” Dina asked us. “I don’t remember seeing you two there.”

  “Not yet,” I said with a smile. “It’s on my list for next year.” That was a bit of a lie. I had about fifteen weddings on my list for next year. I didn’t know how I would fit a conference into the middle of a hectic wedding season no matter how good the swag.

  Dina grasped my free hand. “You must come. It’s the best time you’ll ever have.”

  Veronica nodded, her smile bright. “It’s the only time we can really cut loose if you know what I mean.”

  Richard raised an eyebrow at me.

  Veronica produced her phone. “What are you on Instagram?”

  I thought for a moment. “Wedding Belles with an ‘e’ at the end of bell. All one word.”

  She typed it in with her thumbs and nodded. “Nice feed. You have a pretty good following, too.”

  I knew Richard was rolling his eyes even though I wasn’t looking at him. He despised the rise of social media and declared it all ‘smoke and mirrors.’ He wasn’t wrong, as there were plenty of wedding planners with huge followings on Instagram who couldn’t book or plan a wedding to save their lives.

  “We found the drinks,” Kate said as she and Fern walked up to us, each holding two martini glasses.

  “This is my assistant, Kate, and our friend and hairstylist, Fern.” I gestured toward the two women we’d just met. “Dina is a wedding planner from Texas, and Veronica is a planner from New Orleans. They met at Inspire.”

  “That’s funny,” Kate said, taking a drink out of one glass and then the other. “We just met a pair of planners from LA who go to Inspire every year together but don’t work with each other.”

  Dina’s eyes darted around the crowd. “Kristina and Brett? Where are they?”

  Fern waved a martini glass in the direction of the garden entrance, and some liquid sloshed out of the glass. “I think they went to find their seats.” He took a long drink. “Those two are a hoot and a half.”

  “We see them at Inspire every year,” Veronica said, then leaned in and lowered her voice just enough to sound conspiratorial. “Brett used to have his own celebrity reality show.”

  “And Kristina is working on filming a TV special about her celebrity holiday parties,” Kate said. “But they’re both cool. You’d never know they were from LA.”

  “Should we find our seats as well?” Richard asked.

  I could tell he was getting bored of all the talk of reality TV and celebrities. Not to mention, a little jealous. Richard’s biggest complaint about working in DC was our lack of decent celebrities. Sure, some of our clients controlled the free world, but no one could pick them out of a lineup. And they weren’t glamorous and photogenic like actors.

  Lately Richard had become upset by the number of his clients getting embroiled in political scandal. I knew he was nervous that if conversation turned to famous clients, someone might discover that his past two big-name clients had been indicted for fraud and perjury. One of them was even arrested during a party Richard catered, with photos of the man being dragged out holding one of Richard’s signature lamb satay skewers splashed all over the internet. Richard had taken to his bed for three days afterward.

  “I’m at the Honeymooner table.” Kate held up her seating card. “Anyone else?”

  We all shook our heads as we walked toward the entrance to the garden, and Kate shrugged. “That’s all right. I bet I’ll meet some fun people.”

  Fern made a face as he looked at his card. “I’m at Sweetheart.”

  “Us, too,” Dina said, pointing to herself and Veronica. “It must be the party table.”

  Fern raised one of his cocktails. “Cheers to that.”

  Richard fell back to walk beside me. “These cocktails are so strong that every table will be a party table.”

  I set my partially full glass on a nearby high-top table as we passed. Richard was right. One more of those deceptively sweet drinks and I’d be on the floor.

  We walked down a set of wide stone stairs, and I stopped at the bottom. An expansive green lawn stretched out in front of us with four long tables arranged to look like a giant X extending from end to end. Runners made from greenery and lush white flowers ran down the length of each table, and a collection of towering green-and-white arrangements that resembled Balinese temples stood in the center of the X. Massive illuminated pillars stood along the sides of the lawn, giving light to the tables, while waiters in beige vests and traditional white Balinese hats were lined up behind them.

  “Whoa,” I said. “Buster and Mack really went all out.”

  Richard tapped a finger to his chin. “I’d love to get those hats for my waiters to wear.”

  “You want your DC waiters to wear caps with gold Balinese embroidery on the front?” I asked.

  Richard sniffed. “We are an international city, Annabelle.”

  “Then why do the women wear nothing but black dresses?” I saw Buster and Mack hurrying across the lawn toward us and waved at them.

  “I’m so sorry,” Mack said, clutching my arm as he reached me.

  “Sorry for what?” I looked from his worried expression to Buster’s pinched one.

  “We meant to move the seating around but we couldn’t,” Buster said.

  I felt a nervous flutter in my stomach. “What’s wrong with the seating?”

  “Nothing,” Mack said. “As long as you and Richard don’t mind sitting near Jeremy Johns.”

  Richard turned to me. “This place has room service, right?”

  Chapter 5

  “How is it possible we’re seated next to the one person we despise when there are forty other guests?” Richard asked.

  I put a finger to my lips as people passed us on the way to the dining tables. “Keep it down. We don’t want to make a scene.”

  Richard turned to Buster and Mack. “How close are we sitting to that slug of a person?”

  Mack wrung his hands. “You’re across the tab
le from him and Annabelle is one person away.”

  Buster’s voice came out as a low rumble as his eyes flitted to mine then away. “His boss, Sasha, is between you two.”

  I let out a breath. “At least there’s some buffer. And Richard, you’ve got a table between you two.”

  “I’d prefer if I had a continent between us.” Richard folded his arms across his chest. “You do remember how he treated us when we worked with him, don’t you?”

  I remembered all too well. He’d been the designer our client had brought down to DC from New York. His ideas had been as awful as his condescending behavior toward anyone he deemed beneath him. And with Jeremy Johns, that meant everyone. He’d been especially dismissive of Richard, no doubt due to the fact that Richard was stylish and confident and had more talent. Sparks had flown, tempers had flared, and in the end Jeremy had thrown us all under the bus. Richard had yet to get over it.

  “Listen,” I lowered my voice,“I want to make a good impression on the owners of Insider Weddings. They’re the ones who got us on the list for this trip. Not to mention the lady who organized this trip. Carol Ann puts together FAM trips all over the world, and I’d really like to be included in the next one. So can we please just suck it up and play nice?”

  “Fine,” Richard grumbled. “I promise not to make a scene.”

  Mack visibly relaxed. “I did try to move the cards, but the little blond assistant shooed me away and put them back where they were.”

  I squeezed his hand. “It’s okay. I know how irritating it is when guests move your seating arrangement, so I don’t blame her for stopping you. But thanks for trying.”

  Buster put a thick arm around my shoulders. “You’re the reason we’re here, Annabelle. Next time we’ll just make sure we don’t get caught switching the name cards.”