indeed ambrosia, but the more critical question was...Who was the guy in the broccoli suit? Was he an aggrieved husband who was finding ways to mend a broken heart? Or was he a not-so-mild-mannered computer geek who, like thousands of cuckolded husbands before him, had found an ingenious way to get even with the man who'd run off with his wife?
Chapter 15
NUTS! I didn't want Jonathan to be involved in this. I didn't even want to consider his being involved. I didn't need another last-minute suspect; I already had a full roster. Jonathan couldn't be guilty. I didn't even have his photo to hand around! Damn. I...I needed to prove myself wrong about this.
Yeah. That's what I'd do. I'd prove myself wrong. I smiled at the simplicity of my scheme, then frowned. How exactly would I go about doing that?
"I signed up for one of those minicourses a few years back," Jonathan chattered between bites of ambrosia. "I ended up being the only man in a whole roomful of women. Not that any of them ever noticed."
"What were you taking? Beginning macrame?"
"Self-defense," he mumbled around a couple of mandarin orange slices. "I don't want to brag, but by the end of the course, I could take down our instructor with one hand tied behind my back."
Proving that having a broken arm was no impediment to him? Ehh! I so did not want to hear this! I turned my head as someone tapped on my bare shoulder.
"If you're looking for Shelly Valentine, she's the one in the white tights over there dressed like the Sugar Plum Fairy." Bernice swung her pickaxe toward the nearest buffet island. "But you're gonna have to do something about those two dumb Dicks, Emily. You see them giggling over there at the end of the line? Well, they're supposed to be following those two Limeys around, not sniffing around that girl's tutu."
I executed an eye roll of epic proportions. "Bernice, would you please march over there and tell the Dicks that if they don't shape up, I'll...I'll..."I'd what? How did you threaten a dwarf? Revoke permission to whistle while he worked?
"I'd rather have you speak to them," Bernice demurred. "You're much better at handling disciplinary issues than I am. I don't want to give the appearance that I'm overstepping my authority or being pushy."
Whoa! This from the woman who delighted in being the thorn in everyone's side? The pain in everyone's neck? THE BANE OF MY PERSONAL EXISTENCE? I checked out the name on her costume.
Aha! That explained why she was being so nice. She wasn't Bernice Zwerg any longer; she was BASHFUL! Damn. What were the chances we could get her to wear that thing permanently? "Um, Bernice, do you know if the Dicks at least found Percy and Basil?"
"Yup. One of them's duded up like Sherlock Holmes, and the other one's got a really long scarf wrapped around his neck."
A really long scarf? That was a no-brainer, but a little odd. "One of them's dressed like Isadora Duncan?" Who knew that cross-dressing was as popular with the English as it was with New Yorkers?
"I'll give you another clue. He's accessorizing his scarf with a flight jacket, aviator goggles, and a leather helmet."
"Charles Lindbergh?"
"A good guess, dear, but his name tag says he's the Red Baron."
Dear? Bernice Zwerg called me dear? I snapped my mouth shut to prevent my jaw from dropping off the planet. No way was I ever going to let her out of that costume. I'd staple it to her body if I had to!
The floor suddenly quaked beneath us, causing Bernice and me to dart looks at the gigantic lug who was bounding past our table. He looked about twelve feet tall, broad-backed, and bare-chested, a gladiator's trident in one hand and a net in the other. Leather shin guards rose above his sandaled feet. A spiked helmet hugged his bearded face. And below the metal belt that girdled his waist was a loincloth of gold lame that fit him like a diaper. He ate up the floor as if he owned the place, the quickness of his strides creating a definite problem for the Three Little Pigs who were chasing after him.
"Nils," I whispered to Bernice, indicating the gladiator.
"Helen, Grace, and Lucille," she whispered back, nodding toward the pigs.
I checked their names off my mental list. That accounted for just about everyone. I loved it when a good plan came together.
Bernice motioned toward the opposite end of the room with