our micro-roasted Gostwick Estate Reserve Decaf.
To keep Robbie and the rest of the arriving guests in a jovial mood, we began to serve brie, a variety of wines, and Italian sesame cookies—delicate nibbles that wouldn’t hijack anyone’s taste buds. Before the actual tasting of the Gostwick Decaf, we would serve glasses of sparkling water so guests could clear their palate.
After about twenty minutes of greeting guests, I was becoming annoyed. I was supposed to be helping Matt and Ric throw this press tasting, not running the show solo. But Matt continued to keep his ear glued to his phone. Finally, as I moved to greet yet another batch of arrivals, Ric stepped up to take over. With a nod, I returned to the bar.
A few minutes later, I noticed Matt’s mother exiting the elevator. Madame’s escort this evening was her longtime beau, Gary McTavish. The good doctor looked quite dashing in a dark suit and Scottish plaid waistcoat. Madame was dressed stylishly, as well, in a charcoal cocktail dress trimmed in silver, her necklace and earrings simple delicate twists of platinum. Instead of her usual relaxed, confident self, however, she appeared agitated.
Ric was busy with a small crowd, and Matt was still doing some sort of business. He’d failed to greet her with even a wave, his ear still plastered to that damn cell phone. I quickly moved from behind the bar to welcome the senior pair. To my surprise, the usually friendly Dr. McTavish barely acknowledged my presence with a nod.
“Some wine?” he tightly asked Madame.
“Perhaps later,” she replied.
McTavish raised a gray-white eyebrow. “Another pleasure postponed?” he tossed off before heading for the bar.
The two were obviously fighting about something. “What’s the good doctor peeved about?” I whispered.
“Never mind,” said Madame. “Tell me what’s happening with your friend, Ellie. Has she called you back yet?”
I shook my head. “I’ve left messages for two days now. She hasn’t returned one call.”
“Did your messages include the fact that you think her husband is having her followed?”
“Yes. At first, I didn’t want to drop a bombshell like that on a voicemail message, but I had no choice. I felt she needed to know . . .”
“I agree. From what we witnessed at the hotel, Ellie and Ric aren’t fooling anyone, and we don’t know what sort of man her husband really is.”
“I’m worried about her.”
“Do you think her husband would turn violent?”
“That’s the problem. I need to speak with Ellie to find out more. And after that, I plan on speaking with Ric, too. Matt doesn’t want me to upset him, and I’ll be as polite as I can, but I’d honestly like to know what Ric’s intentions are towards Ellie. He’s either planning to leave her again. Or . . .”
“Or what?”
“He’s making plans for their future together.”
“What do you mean plans? Plans of marriage?”
“Maybe.”
Madame groaned. “If that’s true, there must be something in the air.”
“What do you mean?”
She shook her head. “Gary asked me to marry him. That’s why he’s in a foul mood.”
“But that’s wonderful news. Why would he be in a— wait, what did you tell him? Did you turn him down?”
“I’m thinking it over.”
“You’ve been dating the man for more than a year. He’s an intelligent, accomplished, respected oncologist with the sex appeal of Sean Connery. He’s got a romantic Scottish lilt and actually looks good in a ceremonial kilt—what’s to think about?”
“You don’t understand. Gary’s giving up his position at the hospital in a few months. He wants to move to an exclusive community in Albuquerque. Can you believe it?”
“I hear New Mexico’s beautiful.”
“It’s the desert. What will I do with myself? Listen to coyotes bay all night? Head out to the chuck wagon in the morning to rustle up chicken fried steak?”
I began to laugh, and then realized Madame wasn’t joking. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why Albuquerque?”
“Gary has some friends who’ve retired there and say they love it. He wants to take up golf and the community has a golf course.”
“And you don’t want to golf?”
“I see no point in spending hours hitting a tiny white ball with a stick.”
“I’m sure he has other plans for his retirement.”
“He wants to try camping, too.”
“That sounds interesting.”
“It sounds dreadful.”
“But what about all those trips to the bush you took with Matt’s father? You loved those adventures.”
“I trekked the wilderness—in my youth. I have no desire to sleep among cacti on a cold desert rock at this age. I want to die from dancing the Argentine tango, Clare, not