over the restaurant-critic position at the
Minneapolis Times Register.
Sophie is an old friend of the family’s.”
Sophie waved as everyone clapped.
“There’s one last person I need to include in my introduction.” Constance stepped over to a small, professorial-looking white-haired man standing at the front of the crowd. Slipping her arm through his, she continued. “This is my brother, the eminent clinical psychologist, Dr. Arthur Jadek. Since his retirement four years ago, he’s become my right arm. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
The man smiled somewhat shyly as people applauded. Bram thought he looked ill at ease and wondered if perhaps he didn’t much care for the spotlight.
“And now I’ll be happy to sign your books.” Constance kissed Arthur on the cheek, then sat down behind the table. In an instant, the knot in the room formed itself into a line.
“She’s going to be here for hours,” said Lela disgustedly, folding her arms over her chest.
“You better squeeze in somewhere if you want her signature,” said Bram.
“Oh, I’m not interested in that.”
“Then why are we here?”
She shrugged. “I’m fascinated by celebrity?”
That couldn’t be her entire reason, thought Bram, but he didn’t have the interest to pursue it.
“Do you want to go talk to your wife?”
“I would, but she’s gone,” he said, feeling miffed. As soon as Constance Buckridge had begun signing, Nathan and Sophie had exited through the back door.
“Are you sure?” Lela stood on her tiptoes to look around. “I saw her leave.”
“Do you want to get back to the hotel?”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Ms. Dexter, but I thought we had a date for a cup of coffee.”
“A date?”
“As in an appointment. A social engagement.”
“You’re sure your wife won’t mind?” She was trying to match his light tone, but her words stung. Something about the look in Nathan Buckridge’s eyes told Bram he wasn’t just an old friend. “As a matter of fact” — he checked his watch — “it’s almost happy hour in our fair town. I don’t suppose you like hot New Orleans jazz?”
“You have to ask?”
“Then I know just the place for a couple of cool draft beers. What do you say?”
“Lead the way.”
7
Several hours later Sophie surveyed the Belmont’s dark interior looking for Harry Hongisto. For a Saturday night, the dinner crowd was pretty thin. Okay, so it was just after six, but in a town noted for early dining, it didn’t bode well. Sophie had been wanting to talk to Harry all day and finally decided that having a face-to-face conversation with him was better than doing it over the phone.
She and Nathan had returned to the hotel immediately after leaving Kitchen Central. In die car on die way back, she’d tried to keep the conversation neutral and impersonal. She told him about Harry Hongisto’s restaurant and the bad reviews he’d received from the former restaurant critic at the
Times Register.
Nathan seemed sympathetic, asking her how much power the reviewers had in this town. In New York, he said, a bad review could sink a restaurant. Did she think that was the case here?
She described the slow decline of the Belmont during the past few years, adding that she felt the two reviews had really hurt business. In the end, if Harry had to shut down, it would be hard to say whether the reviews themselves had pushed the restaurant over the edge. Nathan asked a couple more questions: Where is it located? What sort of food does it serve? But before she knew it, he’d brought the subject back to their past again.
Sophie had grown increasingly ill at ease in his company, especially after he made it clear that he’d never gotten over her. As a way of ending their afternoon together, she’d agreed to meet him for lunch on Monday. He was so insistent, and in her heart she had to
Minneapolis Times Register.
Sophie is an old friend of the family’s.”
Sophie waved as everyone clapped.
“There’s one last person I need to include in my introduction.” Constance stepped over to a small, professorial-looking white-haired man standing at the front of the crowd. Slipping her arm through his, she continued. “This is my brother, the eminent clinical psychologist, Dr. Arthur Jadek. Since his retirement four years ago, he’s become my right arm. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
The man smiled somewhat shyly as people applauded. Bram thought he looked ill at ease and wondered if perhaps he didn’t much care for the spotlight.
“And now I’ll be happy to sign your books.” Constance kissed Arthur on the cheek, then sat down behind the table. In an instant, the knot in the room formed itself into a line.
“She’s going to be here for hours,” said Lela disgustedly, folding her arms over her chest.
“You better squeeze in somewhere if you want her signature,” said Bram.
“Oh, I’m not interested in that.”
“Then why are we here?”
She shrugged. “I’m fascinated by celebrity?”
That couldn’t be her entire reason, thought Bram, but he didn’t have the interest to pursue it.
“Do you want to go talk to your wife?”
“I would, but she’s gone,” he said, feeling miffed. As soon as Constance Buckridge had begun signing, Nathan and Sophie had exited through the back door.
“Are you sure?” Lela stood on her tiptoes to look around. “I saw her leave.”
“Do you want to get back to the hotel?”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Ms. Dexter, but I thought we had a date for a cup of coffee.”
“A date?”
“As in an appointment. A social engagement.”
“You’re sure your wife won’t mind?” She was trying to match his light tone, but her words stung. Something about the look in Nathan Buckridge’s eyes told Bram he wasn’t just an old friend. “As a matter of fact” — he checked his watch — “it’s almost happy hour in our fair town. I don’t suppose you like hot New Orleans jazz?”
“You have to ask?”
“Then I know just the place for a couple of cool draft beers. What do you say?”
“Lead the way.”
7
Several hours later Sophie surveyed the Belmont’s dark interior looking for Harry Hongisto. For a Saturday night, the dinner crowd was pretty thin. Okay, so it was just after six, but in a town noted for early dining, it didn’t bode well. Sophie had been wanting to talk to Harry all day and finally decided that having a face-to-face conversation with him was better than doing it over the phone.
She and Nathan had returned to the hotel immediately after leaving Kitchen Central. In die car on die way back, she’d tried to keep the conversation neutral and impersonal. She told him about Harry Hongisto’s restaurant and the bad reviews he’d received from the former restaurant critic at the
Times Register.
Nathan seemed sympathetic, asking her how much power the reviewers had in this town. In New York, he said, a bad review could sink a restaurant. Did she think that was the case here?
She described the slow decline of the Belmont during the past few years, adding that she felt the two reviews had really hurt business. In the end, if Harry had to shut down, it would be hard to say whether the reviews themselves had pushed the restaurant over the edge. Nathan asked a couple more questions: Where is it located? What sort of food does it serve? But before she knew it, he’d brought the subject back to their past again.
Sophie had grown increasingly ill at ease in his company, especially after he made it clear that he’d never gotten over her. As a way of ending their afternoon together, she’d agreed to meet him for lunch on Monday. He was so insistent, and in her heart she had to
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