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married to the woman.”
    â€œFreddie.” I laughed.
    He gave me a peck on the cheek and hurried off to his vinegar debate.
    Back in the semidark hallway of the museum, taking the first turn quickly, I jumped. Someone had been standing there, just outside the kitchen door. Waiting. Silently.
    Startled, I collided with dark flesh—smack into the warm, hard, damp body of the mad dog, chainsaw-toting ice sculptor.

Chapter 8
    â€œW ho was that guy?” Holly lifted a flute of Taittinger to her lips, taking a tiny sip of the pricey champagne, branding the crystal with a curve of her bright red lipstick.
    â€œIt’s that dress,” Wes observed, checking out my exposed assets. “It’s effective.”
    I began to feel self-conscious. At most parties, you’d find me in my high-buttoned white chef’s tunic. I was, frankly, more comfortable cooking the meat than being the meat.
    â€œYou know, being a guest is stressful.”
    Holly drained her slender champagne flute. As soon as her arm lowered, a waiter magically appeared, offering a tray for her empty glass. Holly stared after him. “How do they do that?”
    â€œThey have a huge number of waiters,” I said. “The service is mega.”
    I surveyed the crowd of wedding attendees, postceremony, as they milled about in the giant foyer, clustering in groups around the twenty-foot-high pile of dinosaur bones exhibited in the center. Now, awaiting dinner, the noise level had ratcheted up a few notches. More drinking does that. The bride and groom were still inside with the photographer and would be out to greet guests in a few minutes. It would be another half an hour, at least, before dinner would be served.
    â€œYo! Mad!” Holly waved to get my attention. “Finish the story. Who was the amazing half-naked black dude, for God’s sake?”
    Before I could answer, she spotted a circulating champagne server and made eye contact. The obliging young woman delivered fresh drinks to our group and moved on.
    â€œThey are good. They are very good.” In the noise of several hundred conversations, I was ignored.
    Wesley, who had been carefully scoping out the rest of the crowd, said, “I don’t see any half-naked men. Don’t tell me I missed them.”
    â€œThe ice sculptor guy,” I said. “He was wild. He works without a shirt, although you would think that might not be the safest policy. I don’t know, maybe the clothing gets in the way of his chainsaw.”
    â€œYou,” Wes said, considering the deep plunge of my new dress, “attract an odd sort of man. I’ve noticed that before.”
    We all sipped our champagne. What’s true is true.
    â€œSay what you will about Vivian Duncan,” Wes acknowledged, “but she does put on a hot event.”
    Holly’s eyes roamed for celeb sightings as she sipped. “This place rocks. Did you see all those beady little eyes staring at us during the vows?”
    Wes asked, “Is she talking about the taxidermy or the groom’s family, I wonder?” And then, as we laughed, he lowered his voice a notch. “You must admit, this is a bizarre site for a wedding. What’s the bride’s deal, again? Doesn’t she write sitcoms?”
    â€œNo. Sara’s the granddaughter of the guy who produced that famous old wildlife T.V. series. Do you remember Exotic Kingdom from the sixties? I think I still see it rerunning on cable.”
    â€œ Exotic Kingdom .” Wes smiled. “Why is all this use of dead puma in the décor suddenly making sense?”
    â€œ Exotic Kingdom ?” Holly asked. “Wow. I’ve caught it on TBS.”
    â€œIt was one of the earliest nature shows. Big JackGantree went out on safari and did the narration,” Wes said. “So, that’s who Sara’s grandfather is! He’s so old now, I hardly recognized him.”
    â€œI hear he gives beaucoup bucks to