On the dot of three Thursday afternoon, Grover pulled his catering van up to the curb in front of the brownstone where Daisy lived in a third-floor apartment.
“So tell me more about this party,” Daisy said, sliding into the front seat.
“Well, it’s a retirement party,” he began.
“That much I already know,” she said.
“The guy who is hosting it is not the retiree--he’s a teacher. The head of the retirement party committee or something like that. He doesn’t seem to have much imagination.”
“What makes you say that?” Daisy asked
“The guy who’s retiring is a school administrator who’s moving to Florida next week. The host has asked for desserts shaped like books and school supplies and stuff.” He steered the van into traffic headed out to one of the DC suburbs in Virginia. “If you ask me, I think books and school supplies would be the last thing a retiree wants at his party. I think he’d want things related to retirement. You know, like palm trees and flamingos and sunglasses. But I’m not hired to change anyone’s ideas, just carry them out.”
A half hour later, they pulled into the driveway of a modest home just outside Arlington. A large white tent was already set up in the side yard. Grover hopped out first and swung open the back doors of the van. Daisy joined him as another woman approached the van. Daisy recognized her as one of Grover’s employees, Tish.
“Hey, Tish,” Grover said. “Thanks for getting here early. Are the tables set up in the tent?”
“Yup. I’ll start getting the drink trays out.” She clambered up into the back of the van and hefted two trays, then handed them to Daisy.
“Would you take these over to the long table closest to the side of the house?” she asked Daisy.
Daisy did as she was asked and was turning around to head back to the van for more instructions when a man walked into the tent.
“Hi,” Daisy said cheerfully. “I’m Daisy.” She held out her hand and the man shook it.
“Hi, I’m Walt Beecham.”
“Are you the guest of honor?” Daisy asked with a smile. This man was obviously too young to be retiring.
“No, no, I’m the host.” He looked at his watch. “Do you need me for anything around here before the party starts?”
“I don’t think so, but you can ask Grover,” Daisy replied. “Excuse me, I’ve got to get more stuff from the van.” She hurried back toward the driveway.
The man followed her out to the van.
“Hi there, Mister Beecham,” Grover said, extending his hand. “Are you ready for the guests to arrive?”
“Please call me Walt. Yes, I’m ready, though I need to run an errand before the party,” Walt said.
“You’ve got plenty of time,” Grover assured him. “We’re just going to be setting up.”
“All right. My wife has taken the kids over to her mother’s house so they’re not underfoot tonight. She’ll be back soon. If you have any questions, just ask her.”
“Will do,” said Grover.
Walt left and Daisy, Tish, and Grover busied themselves putting out table settings, arranging chafing dishes on the long serving tables, and directing the florist where to put her arrangements once she arrived.
Grover was trying to juggle three containers of sherbet and a bottle of cranberry juice for the punch when the florist turned around suddenly and walked into him. The bottle of juice crashed to the ground, spilling all over the grass and sloshing onto Grover’s khaki pants.
“Oh! I’m so sorry!” the florist exclaimed.
“It’s no problem,” Grover replied. “Daisy, can you do me a huge favor? Can you run to the closest grocery store and get some more cranberry juice? The punch isn’t as good without it.”
“Sure.” Daisy reached her hand out for the keys. “Where’s the closest store?”
“It’s just a few blocks away. It’s saved in the GPS.”
“Be right back.” Daisy jogged toward the van. She turned on the GPS and scrolled through various saved destinations before finding a grocery store in Arlington. “That must be the one,” she murmured to herself. Grover always saved important addresses near his parties in case of emergency, like this one.
Grover had been right--the grocery store wasn’t far at all. It was a small upscale store, located on a leafy street and tucked between a wine bar and a cupcake shop.
Daisy found a parking spot right in front of the store and jumped out of the van. As she hurried into the store she glanced around and saw Walt exiting the wine bar. He was carrying two glasses of wine and he placed them on a small wrought iron table on the sidewalk under a striped purple awning. He then sat down with his back to Daisy. Apparently he hadn’t noticed the caterer’s van parked out front.
Daisy hastened inside, found the juice quickly, and paid for it. She left the store and looked over toward Walt again. There was a woman with lush red hair walking toward his table. When she reached him, he stood up and kissed her lips. They sat down and he covered her hand with his. Daisy looked away and went back to the van. As she pulled away, she happened to look in her rear view mirror again to watch Walt and his wife; as she did so, she almost hit a woman who was standing in front of the van, just off the curb, looking toward the wine bar. Daisy let out a sigh of relief that she hadn’t hit the woman and scolded herself for being so nosy.
“How sweet,” Daisy thought. “A little date with his wife after she drops off the kids and before they have hoards of people at their house.” She smiled to herself. Mrs. Beecham had an open, fresh-faced glow that lent a feeling of familiarity to her wholesome attractiveness.
She returned to the Beechams’ house and found the party preparations in full swing. The catering staff met her as she pulled into the driveway and yanked open the back doors of the van. Two other part-time employees had joined Grover and Tish and everyone was eager to get the rest of the supplies out of the van and set up.
“Daisy, can you make the punch?” Grover asked. “The list of ingredients is taped on the wall inside the van.”
“Got it,” Daisy replied.
Daisy was gathering the ingredients to make the punch when a woman’s soft voice interrupted her.
“Excuse me?” asked the woman, peering into the back of the van.
“Yes? Can I help you?” Daisy asked. She turned her attention away from counting out limes for the punch.
“I’m looking for Grover. I’m Mrs. Beecham. Melody Beecham.”
Daisy dropped a lime and did an almost-imperceptible double-take. Melody’s long blond hair was pulled into a ponytail and she was thin and tired-looking. This wasn’t the woman whom Daisy had seen with Walt.
It was the woman Daisy had almost hit with the van.