Free Killer Wedding by Jerrilyn Farmer Page B

tactics, she moved off. And in the crush of guests, I noticed the beautiful man with the thick mustache and the deep brown eyes—the most appropriately titled “best man” at the wedding. He was talking, earnestly, with a group of men about his own age. They all appeared affluent and attractive in their dark suits and dinner jackets. But the man I was drawn to had a leaner, more sensual look. Maybe it was the long hair. Something about him intrigued me.
    â€œHolly could use some food,” Wes said, approaching from another direction. “Shall we go in to dinner? I’m dying to finally see the setup.”
    Holly teetered just behind Wesley, stepping for a moment directly in front of the spotlights that illuminated the T-rex . Her short, white-blond hair became a halo.
    â€œI saw you talking to Vivian,” Wes said, concerned. “You didn’t tell her here.”
    â€œOh, yeah. I told her.” We merged with the gathering crowd of guests heading towards the open doors of the Hall of Small Mammals. Just a human herd going to feed.
    â€œVivian is taking my firm ‘No!’ as an opening gambit. I’m quite the little negotiator, Wesley.”
    He put his arm around me, concerned. “How about that.”
    â€œMaybe we should leave.”
    â€œNow?” Holly wailed. “ Now? ”
    We had entered the grand hall, where two hundred and someodd guests were finding their assigned tables and getting settled amid the glitter of potted trees with twinkle lights. Everywhere, guests were tossing their beanbag leopard place cards on tables to hold their spots, having fun. A new dance band was playing Baby Elephant Walk from Hatari!
    Standing there at the back of the giant hall, we analyzed.
    â€œIce sculptures are so seventies bar mitzvah,” Wes said, commenting on the décor. “But check it out! With all these kitsch embalmed mammals, the ice thing works.”
    â€œThey’re fabulous,” Holly agreed. “Real kooky.”
    I had to agree. The room was spectacular, and now, brought to life with so many happy guests, there was finally that missing note of warmth and animation that the static dioramas had lacked.
    â€œDid you get a contact number on the naked ice guy?” Wes asked, ever the networking caterer.
    I held up a small, white business card. Wes smiled. In truth, I was every ounce the networking caterer as my partner.
    Holly drifted over to the table to which we’d been assigned. Sitting there, beside an unclaimed open seat, was a star of stage, screen, and T.V.—Dick Van Dyke.
    â€œJeez, you guys. Did you see our table? I’m sitting next to the guy from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang! ”
    How quickly these decisions are thrust upon us! How innocent they seem at the time. If we stayed, Holly could talk to a star. If we stayed, Wes could sample Freddie Fox’s cuisine. I considered our party clothes and began to soften. And then, Holly whispered something in my ear. I turned and saw Chuck Honnett at a nearby table. He caught my eye and waved. Who, I wondered again, was that skinny woman seated beside him?
    So I gave in and said, “Let’s just stay for dinner.” Just like that. Leaving would be such a hassle, I reasoned. Staying had so many attractions. I was hungry and food was here. A primitive reaction, I know, surrounded by so many pairs of small mammal eyes.

Chapter 9
    T he waiters were clearing the dessert plates which held scant traces of the masterpieces—miniature zebras made of white chocolate mousse drizzled with bittersweet chocolate icing. I turned to Wesley. “These servers…”
    â€œI know. The best.”
    Among top caterers, the actual food and the way it was prepared and presented were always exceptional. That was a given. But having on tap really well-trained serving staff was the critical difference, the mark of the elite and expensive best.
    I pushed out from the table, preparing to