“Hermes,” Annabel trilled.
Bernie managed to restrain herself from asking how much. But it had to be at least five hundred dollars. Probably more.
“This is so…so…cozy,” Annabel commented in that annoyingly arch way she had when she and Bernie walked into the Simmons’ living room.
Translation: small. But then Bernie supposed that when you lived in a place that boasted its own solarium, library, gym, media room, bowling alley, and beauty parlor, as well as a canine fitness center complete with treadmill, the Simmons’ flat was small. Annabel plopped herself down on the sofa, put the pug on her lap, and began fingering one of her diamond studs.
In case I missed them, Bernie thought as she took the armchair opposite her customer. Like that was possible. Missing them would be like missing a flashlight beam in the dark. Despite Annabel’s makeup, Bernie noted the dark circles under Annabel’s eyes and the fine lines around her mouth. The haircut was definitely not kind to her. Bernie bet it had been expensive, too. Probably six hundred dollars. Maybe even eight. She was just about to ask Annabel who did her hair when Annabel started talking.
“We have to revamp the menu,” she announced.
Bernie barely managed to suppress a groan. It had taken them three hours yesterday to agree on the one they had.
“I’ve decided I want the same menu for the dogs and their humans,” Annabel continued. “It’ll be much more of a bonding experience that way. And I want the food served on my good Limoges. Naturally the dogs will be seated at the table.”
“Naturally,” Bernie murmured.
Annabel shot her a look. “They do it in Paris all the time.”
But we’re not in Paris, we’re in Westchester County, Bernie wanted to say. But didn’t.
“Yes,” Bernie replied. “It’s wonderful. So humane. When I was in Brussels, I sat next to an extremely well-behaved standard poodle riding on the bus with his owner. There was me, the poodle, and the owner all sitting in a row, all staring straight ahead.”
For a moment Annabel looked miffed at having been outdone in the story department, but she rallied. She waved her hand in the air. “And you don’t have to take care of the decorations. I’ll do those. I’m thinking of using the whole Puggable family. That will work, don’t you think?”
Bernie didn’t think it would work at all. She wasn’t a fan of huge stuffed animals. On the other hand, she wouldn’t have to deal with them. That was a plus. Also, in situations like this, despite what her sister thought, she always went with the client’s wishes. Therefore, she lied and told Annabel she thought it would be great.
“Absolutely,” Libby added. She’d come up after finishing the chicken and was now standing in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. She felt that it behooved her to be in on the planning due to Bernie’s well-documented tendency to commit them to things without thinking them through. Witness today. “Do you have any ideas about what you’d like to serve?”
“Ideas? Ideas?” Annabel repeated. She wrinkled her nose, giving the impression that she found the question puzzling. “That’s why I came to you.”
Libby flicked a tiny piece of ginger off the sleeve of her hoodie. “Well, what’s your price range?”
“Price is no object,” Annabel snapped. “I already told you that in the kitchen, isn’t that right, Trudy?”
Trudy yawned, curled her tongue, stretched, and licked Annabel’s hand in a desultory manner.
“See. She agrees.” Annabel said.
Bernie and Libby both managed to not roll their eyes.
“What about the wine?” Bernie asked, changing the subject.
“What about it?” Annabel said.
“What are your thoughts? California? Long Island? They’ve gotten a lot better recently. French? Italian? Australian? Do you want us to get it or…”
“No,” Annabel replied before Bernie could finish her sentence. “Forget about the wine. Richard will take care of that. He orders it from The Grape, that little shop over by Henley Drive.”
“I know where it is,” Bernie said. Not that she ever bought anything there. They only carried high-end stuff.
“They get my wine for me there. I’m particularly fond of an estate-bottled Spanish Rioja that’s quite hard to come by, but somehow they manage. It’s my special wine. In fact, it’s the only thing I’m drinking now. In any case, we’ll just have wine with the meal; otherwise we’ll stick to bubbling water and soda. Richard will take care of that as well. After all, it’s Trudy’s party so I think it would be nice if there’s nothing there she can’t have.”
“Understood,” Libby said.
Annabel went back to fingering her diamond earring. “And needless to say, I want all the ingredients in this meal to be organic. We don’t tolerate anything else in our house. My husband won’t allow it. Local would be even better. The less of a carbon footprint we leave, the happier all of us will be. Also, I don’t want any black pepper in anything because Trudy’s allergic to it. Naturally, I want both of you to set up and serve. It’ll be more intimate that way. You won’t have to worry about my staff getting in your way. In fact, I’ve given them the time off.”
“Is that it?” Bernie asked.
“For the moment,” Annabel replied as she got up. “If I think of anything else, I’ll let you know.”
Bernie stood up as well. “We’ll call you with the menu.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Annabel replied. “You can fax it to my personal assistant, who will show it to me. If I have any quibbles, I will relay them to her and she will fax you back. Unfortunately, I’m terribly busy with my new projects at the moment. I’m trying to get them squared away, so I can announce them at the birthday party, but I’m sure you girls will do a marvelous job. After all, that’s why I hired you.” She glanced at her watch. “Can I tell my assistant to be looking for your fax in an hour or so?”
Bernie looked at Libby. Libby looked back at Bernie.
“That’ll be fine,” Libby said as she saw her plans for the day disappearing over the horizon. Now she’d be even further behind.
“Good.” Annabel smiled. “And by the way, Bernie,” Annabel added as she got to the doorway, “you should cut down on the carbs. You’re getting a little chubby around the derrière.” And she patted her rear end. “I hope you don’t mind my saying something, but if the positions were reversed I’d certainly want to know.”
Bernie managed to get out a strangled thanks as Annabel walked through the door. “Am I?” Bernie asked her sister as soon as she was sure Annabel had left the building. She wasn’t going to give Annabel the added satisfaction of overhearing her comments if she could help it.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Libby replied.
“Really?”
“Really. Of course, in comparison with her rear end, everyone’s is big.” Big was not the word Bernie wanted to hear at the moment. “Thanks a heap.”
“Oh come on. Annabel just can’t stand to see anyone looking good. I would kill to have your body,” Libby told Bernie as she watched her sister study herself in the mirror hanging on the back of the bathroom door. And she wasn’t just being nice. She meant it.
“Maybe I shouldn’t wear these pants anymore.”
“Bernie!”
“You’re right.” Bernie brushed a lock of hair off her face. “Why am I listening to someone who could be a stand-in for a famine victim?” The corners of Bernie’s mouth worked themselves into a smile. “And we are charging her a lot of money.”
Libby smiled. “Pots of it. And we’re getting three-quarters of it up front or we’re not doing it.”
“Good,” Bernie said. If there was one thing she’d learned over her years of catering it was that the rich didn’t like to settle their bills. “And now for the menu. I think we should start with a liver paté on toast points, some cheese stuff, maybe some bacon and peanut butter on crackers…”
Libby wrinkled her nose.
“Hey, I know they�
��re not haute cuisine, but dogs and kids like them,” Bernie said a little defensively.
Libby nodded. It was true. They did.
“And then,” Bernie continued, “we move on to steak and potatoes.”
“What about the cake?”
“Something vanilla. Maybe an old-fashioned layer cake, light on the frosting, in the shape of a dog bone?”
Libby pursed her lips. That would do. “Ice cream?”
Bernie thought for a moment. “Probably not. That might be overkill in the sugar and dairy department.”
“This should work,” Libby observed after they’d faxed over the menu.
“Of course it’s going to work,” Bernie said indignantly. “We designed it, didn’t we? Although I’m sure Annabel will have some quibbles.” Bernie bracketed the word quibbles with her fingers.
“I’m sure she will,” Bree Nottingham, real estate agent extraordinaire and social arbiter of Longely, said as she swept into the living room with Rudoph, her six-month-old pug puppy, trailing behind her. They were both wearing pink coats and rhinestone collars. “Annabel always has quibbles. Of course, when you have that kind of money you can afford to.”
“It’s not the quibbles I’m worried about,” Libby replied as she pictured six dogs running up and down the table. “It’s everything else.”
“It’ll be an interesting event,” Bree commented as she watched Rudolph sniff the sofa leg. “I just came by to tell you that Rudolph is allergic to chicken, so don’t put chicken on the menu. He’s a sensitive soul, the poor dear.”
Bernie looked down at Rudolph, who was currently trying to dig a hole in the carpet. He didn’t look sensitive to her. He looked like a miniature Sherman tank.
“Interesting in what way?” Bernie asked. She decided to sidestep the whole dog food allergy issue. Bad enough she had to deal with people with food allergies, let alone their canines.
Bree smiled brightly. “In the way that married couples frequently are, dear.”
“And that is?” Libby asked. She’d expected the conversation to go in another direction.
Bernie leaned forward slightly. “Yes. Elucidate for us. Inquiring minds want to know.”
But instead of answering, Bree gave the Simmons’ sister another of her smiles and said, “I’m sure you two will do an excellent job. You always do.” After which she left. Just like the Grand Duchess, Bernie thought.
“Now what do you think she meant by that?” Libby asked Bernie as soon as she heard the downstairs door closing.
“I think she means that the Colberts are getting a divorce. Or one of them is having an affair.”
“Seriously?”
Bernie gave her a look. Honestly, sometimes her sister was so naïve. “What else could it be?”
Libby shook her head. “I don’t have a clue. All I know is that whatever it is, it’s none of our business.”
“I suppose,” Bernie said feigning agreement even though she really didn’t believe that, and she didn’t think that Libby believed it either. After all, they’d been raised in a house with a mother who had elevated minding other people’s business into an art form.
“I think we should concentrate on planning,” Libby said.
“I think you’re right,” Bernie agreed.
This was not debatable. They had lots to do and not much time to do it in.
Longely is an imaginary community, as are all its inhabitants. Any resemblance to people either living or dead is pure coincidence.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2008 by Isis Crawford
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 0-7582-4816-4
Table of Contents
Cover
Excerpt
Books by Isis Crawford
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
Recipes
Preview
Copyright
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