CHAPTER THIRTY
Sarah hurried downstairs to the fellowship hall during the final hymn. Using flowers, colored tablecloths, and food, Emily and Grace had transformed the fellowship hall from its usual utilitarian look. Even Sarah, who rarely noticed that kind of thing, was aware it was lovely. The only thing that bothered her were the pretty napkins placed strategically on the serving tables with the Howellian insignia. In Sarah’s gut, she knew they should read Southwind.
She walked up to a serving table where Grace was arranging different types of pickup desserts for the funeral reception. For a moment, with Emily out of sight, this felt like a déjà vu moment. It had been Grace who helped Sarah keep things going during the food expo when Emily was taken to the police station. Sarah originally had been nervous working with Grace, but her initial misgivings had rapidly disappeared. Despite her appearance and youth, Grace was one hundred percent wiser in the kitchen than Sarah. Her knife skills and following of restaurant protocol were impressive.
“Hi, Grace! Looks like you have everything under control, but is there anything I can do to help?”
Grace jumped, almost dropping the tray. “You scared me. I didn’t hear you come up behind me.”
“Sorry.” Sarah repeated her offer to help.
“It would be great if you could finish transferring these desserts from our serving tray to the silver platter while I get the coffee urns ready.” Grace handed Sarah the tray she’d barely held on to. “Just keep repeating the pattern I started.”
“Will do. Where’s Emily?”
“In the kitchen.”
Sarah placed the tray in a clear space on the table. “I’ll just pop in to say ‘hi’ to her before I finish this.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Marcus and she have been exchanging words for about the last ten minutes. Better to stay out here and finish with the desserts.”
“Aye, aye.” Sarah gave Grace a mock salute while staring at the closed door to the kitchen. Getting into the middle of a disagreement between her sister and Marcus was the last thing she wanted to do. Instead, Sarah kept her head down and concentrated on carefully lining up the mini-desserts. She recognized the carrot cake and red velvet cupcakes, but she wasn’t sure what the yellowish one in green paper with a dab of icing and a few nuts on top was.
Sarah looked around to see if Grace was busy. Not only was she doing something, but her back was to Sarah. Perfect. Sarah popped one of the unknown mini-cupcakes into her mouth. The delightful taste of banana nut bread filled her mouth. It was delicious, but Sarah made herself not eat another one. They were for the reception guests.
As she put the last cupcake on the silver platter, the kitchen door opened. Marcus came out. He walked to where Sarah was, but he wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was on the x-shaped serving tables. Without saying anything to Grace or her, he turned and left the fellowship hall. Sarah watched him go until she heard Emily come up beside her.
“He’s not happy with me,” Emily said.
“He’ll get over it.”
“I hope so.”
Any further discussion was cut off by the arrival of the first group of funeral guests. Sarah doubted any of this group was the murderer, but from the way they attacked the serving tables, she thought they all qualified as vultures.
By the time the first onslaught of mourners went through the line, Grace and Sarah were busily changing out the trays of finger sandwiches, desserts, and other goodies with refills Emily prepared in the kitchen. From the comments she overheard, Sarah knew the reception was a success, and it was being laid directly at the feet of Thomas Howell and the Howellian.
She could tell, from the way he was holding court in the middle of the room. Thomas knew it, too. Observing his smile, glad-handing, and physical demeanor would have been enough for her to gather an impression, but it was confirmed when he signaled her over as if she was a taxicab he was hailing.
“This is Sarah Blair,” he announced to anyone in earshot. “Sarah’s sister, Emily, is my Howellian executive chef.” He waved his hand toward the serving tables. “Everything you see here is just a taste of our hotel menu. We pride ourselves on serving the best, whether at the hotel restaurant or in your home.”
He lowered his voice so only Sarah could hear him. “Speaking of serving, would you please get me a tonic water with a twist of lime?”
Sarah nodded and went to the bar for his drink. When she returned with it, he took it without breaking stride on advertising the Howellian to take the time to thank her. Disgusted, she went to the serving table and joined Emily in consolidating some of the trays. The crowd had thinned to the point they wouldn’t be putting out any additional food.
She looked around the room to see who was left and was surprised to see Marcus had returned and was engaged in a discussion with Anne Hightower and George Rogers. Curious, she picked up a small tray of desserts, walked over to them, and stood silently waiting for a break in their conversation to offer them the goodies.
Up close, she could tell from his red cheeks that Marcus was exasperated but trying to hold it in.
“I appreciate that you feel all the permits and other minor technicalities for the pub should be resolved in the next few days, but when will the council hear the issue of my other restaurant? I know it was on last week’s agenda, so why delay addressing it?”
Anne patted her hair. “I know it’s important to you, Marcus, but the council has so much pressing business, including appointing a replacement to serve out Lance’s term, that I don’t see how it will come up for a vote for quite some time.”
“But why?”
“Well, there’s been a request for a feasibility study. If that’s the case, you can’t imagine how much work will have to go into studying it for compliance and the environmental impact on Wheaton of what you’re proposing. If I were you, I’d put my energy into the pub and your catering business.”
Mr. Rogers leaned on his new cane. “Looks like instead of spinning your wheels about a restaurant in the big house, you’d be far better off concentrating on that pub and your catering right away.” He gestured with his free arm encompassing the room. “After today’s shindig, I’d be worried about the Howellian cutting into your business.”
“But this food is Southwind style. In fact, it’s been made by Emily, my co-owner.”
Mr. Rogers put his hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “Son, I know you’re not a fool. Look around here, this reception and my nephew running his mouth over there are what people are going to remember. Take what you can get for now and get your name back out there.”
Sarah was afraid of what might come out of Marcus’s mouth next. So far, he hadn’t said anything that could be used against him, but she knew how he could blow his stack. She stuck her tray of desserts into their little discussion circle. “Would anyone like a dessert treat? There’s mini red velvet, banana nut, and carrot cake.”
Mr. Rogers took a mini red velvet off the tray. He popped it into his mouth. “Delicious.”
Sarah handed him a napkin.
“Thank you.” Mr. Rogers inspected her tray and selected a carrot cake this time. She could tell from the smile on his face that he enjoyed this cupcake, too.
“Which one did you like best?”
“It was a tie.” He reached for a banana nut treat. “I guess I’ll just have to try all three to see if any of them are losers.”
After he took his third treat, Sarah offered the tray to everyone again. This time Mr. Rogers declined, as did Marcus.
Anne glanced at her watch and declared, “Look at the time. I really must get going. Hopefully, I’ll see all of you at Tuesday’s council meeting. Thanks to your YipYeow meeting, I think we’ve identified some good candidates for appointment to Lance’s slot.”
Watching Anne’s retreating back, Sarah held her tray out again toward Marcus and Mr. Rogers as she tried to think who in the room Anne might consider a good candidate.