She released the earpiece, then faced them, crossing her arms. “What. Do. You. Want?”
“We need three groomsmen for thirty minutes,” said Andreas.
Beate elbowed him.
“And a dozen of those foie gras tartlets,” he added. She elbowed him again. “And the guest list.”
“Three groomsmen. Ten minutes. Eight tartlets. And the seating chart,” said the planner, pulling a copy from her utility belt and unfolding it on the table like a map. Definitely a war room.
Andreas eyed his list of the book club’s aliases. Sterling had warned him they all chose their favorite writers as their pseudonym. “Send in V. Khan, I. Mahmood, and A. Mukherjee.”
“Who? Are you at the wrong wedding?”
“We aren’t. They’ll understand.”
She eyed him suspiciously as she pressed her earpiece, and gave orders on her way out. A moment later, a flustered waiter delivered their food. They were four tartlets in when three groomsmen were shoved into the hall by the planner. She leaned her upper body in, keeping her legs outside, tapped her watch, then pointed from her eyes to Andreas.
The groomsmen had the blush of a few beers on their cheeks. Two wore gray, one wore blue.
“What’s this about?” said the tallest man, one of the gray suits.
When Andreas explained, the gents’ faces lit up. Turned out, their book club was for mystery fans.Oida. He didn’t need anyone else inserting themselves into this investigation. He eyed Beate. They had to limit what they told them or they’d never be rid of them.
“Which of you went by V. Khan?” asked Andreas. The blue suit raised his hand. The best man. “I understand you arranged the bachelor party? Why the Orient? It’s a spot most English tourists don’t know.”
“I met a woman at a mystery festival last year. When I mentioned I’d be at David’s wedding in Vienna, she recommended it.”
“Is she here?
“She isn’t. Haven’t seen her since. She was a… bit of a character,”he said, shooting his friends a knowing look.
“How do you mean?” asked Andreas.
Mr. Khan hesitated to answer. “You know, just… a bit much.”
“Muchwhat? Come on, set the politeness aside for a moment,” said Andreas.
He wrung his hands. “She was loud, and…forward.But, well, the same could be said of many Americans. Luckily, I’d had enough pints to tolerate her.”
“Oi, that lady in the red dress? Yeh, she had you trapped. Peculiar lass,” said Mukherjee, the second gray suit.
“What’s her name?”
“I think she said her name was also Vienna? I may have misunderstood. Blame the beer.”
“So you like to party then?” asked Beate, stepping forward. “Did you all get wild during the bachelor party? We heard your ice cream cake had some special ingredients.”
“Trust me, none of us would have gone through that voluntarily. We had to delay the wedding two weeks. I thought it was a gift. I wish I’d refused it now,” said Khan. He gawked at a wad of taffeta on the table, eyes widening, then relaxing. Maybe having a flashback.
“Perhaps that was the goal. Anyone have a grudge against the grooms?” asked Andreas.
“No, they’re great guys, though I know David better than David,” said Mukherjee.
Beate’s face scrunched in confusion. “Sorry, what? Or who, rather. Or is it which?Oida, you know what I mean.”
“English David’s our man, Irish David’s his new husband,” said Mahmood.
Andreas spoke up. “Well,ourDavid was a murder victim. Poisonedinside Room 5 of the Hotel Orient on the night you were there.”
