He hesitated. “What the fuck is an epergne anyway?”
She pulled out the photo of the Fanning epergne that Billy Shook had emailed, and that she’d printed out.
“It’s a centerpiece thingy. Multiple arms that can hold little fruits or candies or flowers. We used it in the tent at the wedding, to hold gift cards. Lillian’s is an eighteenth-century family heirloom. And she says it’s irreplaceable.”
***
They took the delivery van apart. Removed the racks for flower arrangements, lifted the bed liner, but there was no sign of the aforementioned epergne.
Cara dragged herself back into the shop and held her head under the faucet in the kitchenette, letting cold water sluice over her face and hair. The thought occurred to her that this would be a handy way to drown herself.
When she turned around, Bert stood in the doorway, shifting nervously from foot to foot. Beneath all the pouting and bravado, he obviously knew he’d messed up. “Now what?”
She sighed. “I’ve got a menu tasting with Brooke Trapnell and her fiancé at the caterers in exactly forty-five minutes. So I’ve got to get myself presentable for that. In the meantime, I need you to take the van, and retrace—exactly—the route you took last Friday out to Isle of Hope and the Fannings’ house. Every stop—the hospital, any house you made a delivery to—every stop, Bert. You go in, and show them the photo of the epergne, and you ask if they’ve seen it.”
He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Like that’s gonna work.”
“Just do it,” she exploded. “And get yourself another charger for your phone. “
32
Delicious smells assaulted her nostrils as Cara pushed through the door at Fete Accompli. Layne Pelletier stood at attention just inside the door, hands clasped behind her back. She wore the traditional black and white checked slacks, clogs, and a white kerchief tied over her hair. Her white chef’s smock was spotless, her name embroidered in script over her left breast.
Her face fell when she saw that Cara was alone. “The bride’s not with you?”
“No. She and Harris called right before I left the shop and said they were running late. They’re supposed to meet me here.”
“You don’t think they’ll stand us up, right? I’ve spent a small fortune fixing all this food.”
“No, no, they’re coming,” Cara assured the caterer. “Marie made Brooke swear she had it on her calendar.”
Cara followed her nose into the shop’s small dining area. A long wooden table held a starched white cloth and a small floral arrangement of lilies, roses, and hypericum berries she’d had Bert drop by earlier on his way to track down the missing epergne.
“I’m so hungry, I could faint,” Cara confided. A small round of roast beef stood on a carving stand under a red heat lamp, a pool of juices \radiating out from it. Silver chafing dishes held a dozen other hot dishes. Shallow bowls filled with finely crushed ice held arrays of boiled shrimp, oysters, and stone-crab claws. A smoked salmon fillet was sprinkled with capers, finely diced hard-boiled eggs, and lemon slices.
Wordlessly, Layne handed Cara a napkin, and loaded it with boiled shrimp.
Cara walked down to the far end of the table. A silver tiered stand held half a dozen iced cupcakes. She turned to Layne. “Cupcakes? Cute, but that doesn’t seem like something the Trapnells are going to think is impressive.”
“We won’t serve cupcakes. These are just all the different options for cake flavors and icings I can do. It’s not cost-effective for me to bake six whole wedding cakes for just a menu tasting,” Layne explained.
The shop door opened, and Marie Trapnell stepped in. “Hi. Sorry to be late.”
Cara introduced Layne and Marie, and Marie looked at her watch and frowned. “I can’t believe the kids aren’t here yet. Brooke texted me they were leaving her office fifteen minutes ago.” A faint chirp sounded from the direction of Marie’s pocketbook. She dug it out, read the text message, smiled, and held it up for the other women to see.
On way. There in 5.
“Wow!” Marie walked over to the buffet table. “This looks wonderful. Are we really going to have all this?”
Layne glanced at Cara for an answer.
“Not necessarily all of it. When I talked to your husband…”
“Ex-husband, actually,” Marie said quietly.
“Oh. Right. Sorry, of course. Anyway, Mr. Trapnell said he and his wife wanted to sample everything we offer, so they could get…”
Marie’s face paled. “Are you saying that Gordon’s coming today? And Patricia too?”
