this is one hungry group,â Ryan said with a smile. His smile made him look even younger, much younger than his thirty-three years.
âLetâs keep them happy. Feed them and water them well is my motto,â I joked as we walked down the side hallway toward the kitchen. Curiosity suddenly pushed forward and I couldnât help asking. âI imagine thereâs a lot of talk about Congressman Wilsonâs death going around.â
âOh, yeah, Iâve heard it mentioned several times. Thatâs such a shame too. He seemed to be a really sharp guy. I heard him interviewed on a news show a few months ago.â Ryan paused outside the doorway to the kitchen. I could see the catering staff scurrying around in their seemingly frantic, but-always-in-control routines. âTodayâs news reports said he died from an accidental overdose of sleeping pills. That is so sad. And such a waste too.â
âI agree, Ryan. Weâve lost a lot of good and talented people this year. We really canât afford to lose any more.â My niece Karenâs face flashed through my mind. Too young to die so young or so violently. Chasing away gruesome memories, I ventured into the caterersâ domain. âDo we have any coffee set up yet?â I asked Ryan. âIâm about to switch poisons.â
âSure, Molly. Want me to get you a cup?â
âThatâs okay, just point me in the right direction.â I scanned the command center where caterers were giving orders. I deliberately stayed out of their way. Artists at Work.
âCoffeeâs over there,â Caterer Rosemary called out, pointing to a side counter. âYou can come in, Molly. We wonât bite.â
âItâs not you Iâm worried about,â I said, heading for the tall urns. The coffee lobe of my brain was still lulled by the rich wine. Time to wake it up. âI donât want to step in someoneâs way as theyâre dashing about. A soufflé might fall, or worse, a whole tray of yummy things.â I noticed a tray with crab delicacies on another counter as I filled a coffee cup. âActually I donât trust myself to be around all your great food. Iâll lose control and start eating.â
âThatâs music to our ears, Molly,â Caterer Marian said with a wide smile. She was the older of the successful twosome.
âGo ahead, have one,â Ryan tempted me, his tray already filled with the spinach-and-cheese-filled phyllo pastries.
I can only resist so much, so I snatched one and popped it into my mouth, letting those delicious and fattening flavors delight. âToo delicious. Iâm out of here before I lose control,â I sped for the doorway, following Ryan, as the catering staffâs laughter drifted behind me.
A deep drink of coffee chased away the rich flavors and the wineâs mellowing effects. Now Iâd be sure to stay sharp. I didnât want to miss any comments about Quentin Wilsonâs death. Aggie was heading my way, a lone glass of red wine on her tray.
âI saved a Pinot Noir for you, Molly, but I see youâve already switched to coffee,â she said with her familiar smile.
âThanks anyway, Aggie. You can give it to one of those sunbathers outside.â
âActually theyâve been ordering iced drinks, no surprise,â Aggie started toward the bar.
âIâll bet the gossip hounds are in full bay with the Quentin Wilson news,â I walked with her.
âOh, yes.â Aggieâs smile disappeared. âIâve overheard a lot of people remarking about it. Itâs a real shame.â
âHave you heard anyone speculating about where Wilson died?â I probed. âThe paper mentioned a Northern Virginia residence.â
Aggie stopped and looked at me, her gaze direct. âWhy are you asking?â
I noticed she didnât answer my question, but I wasnât surprised. I was convinced
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