Dressed in black slacks and a
white shirt protected by a fresh white apron, Kate stood behind the buffet
table in the Elks Lodge dining room. Similarly attired and with carving knife
and fork in hand, David had taken his place behind the roast prime rib, rosy
under a pair of heat lamps. The members of the Chamber of Commerce and their
spouses were busy mingling, but in a few minutes they would begin lining up for
dinner.
Orren Waxman approached the
buffet with a double scotch in one hand and a well-lubricated smile on his
face. “Looking good, Katie.” He turned to David. “Doesn’t she look good,
Hardison?”
David smiled at Kate, ignoring
Orren. “She does.”
Orren’s already florid cheeks took
on a deeper hue. “That apron suits you, Hardison. Much better than desert camo
and a flak jacket.”
David regarded him with an imperturbable
expression. “I try to dress for the occasion.”
Orren’s left eyebrow began to
twitch, and Kate wondered if she was about to witness a genuine fit of apoplexy.
“Sorry to hear you lost your
job.” Orren’s slurred words dripped with implied insult.
David gave him a polite smile. “I
don’t know where you heard that. I have a job.”
“Yeah, as Katie’s kitchen boy.”
Orren waved the hand holding his glass, and several drops sloshed over the side
onto the patterned carpet.
David straightened his spine,
emphasizing the difference in their heights, and his eyes narrowed. Kate had
seen that look before, and it usually spelled trouble. While David wasn’t
likely to lunge at Orren with a carving knife in front of the mayor and most of
Morrisburg’s leading citizens, she was grateful for the width of the table separating
the two men.
Movement at the doorway caught
her eye as three men entered, two of them carrying bulky equipment. “Isn’t that
the camera crew from Channel 6?”
Orren immediately switched his
attention. “They must be here to cover my speech.” He waved his drink again and
called out, “Over here!”
Kate recognized the baby-faced young
man with the high-top, shave-sided, hipster haircut in the lead as one of the
anchors of the local evening news, and the other two appeared to be a cameraman
and sound technician.
Orren wrapped one arm around the
anchorman. “My speech isn’t ’til after dinner, but you boys are welcome to grab
a plate and make yourselves comfortable, courtesy of the Morrisburg Chamber of
Commerce.”
The young man disentangled
himself. “Thank you, Mr. Waxman, but we’re working. We’ll just set up our
equipment and try to stay out of the way.”
Orren drained the remaining
contents of his glass. “Whatever floats your boat. I think I’ve got time for
one more refill before dinner.”
Kate noticed the anchorman
staring at David. He motioned to his crew and approached.
“Excuse me, this might sound
weird, but do people ever tell you that you look a lot like David Hardison, the
TV reporter?”
David’s lips twitched. “You’d be
surprised how often that happens.”
Orren shoved the sound man aside
with a scowl. “He is David Hardison, you idiot. The great David Hardison—and
look at him now, working the buffet table in Boonieville, USA.”
The anchor ignored Orren and
gazed at David with puppy-like eagerness. “I’m a huge admirer of yours, Mr.
Hardison. Your reports from the Middle East inspired me to go into television
journalism. And now you’re here in Morrisburg. I bet there’s quite a story
behind that.”
David opened his mouth, but the
young man charged ahead full-steam. “I’d love to do a series of interviews
about your career.”
“Well…I—”
“Don’t be modest. Our viewers
will be fascinated. In fact, we can film the intro segment right now.” He
nodded to his crew, and they began moving their equipment into place.
Orren wedged himself between the
anchorman and the buffet table. “Wait just a minute. You’re supposed to be here
to cover my speech, not this has-been.” He flung one hand toward David in a
dismissive wave.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Waxman, we’ll
cover your speech. This will just take a few minutes.”
The technicians continued setting
up.
Orren tipped his chin and glared
at David. “I don’t know what he’s doing here, anyway. This is a private party.”
He sounded like a six-year-old on
the verge of a major tantrum. Kate glanced around the room. Conversation had
stopped, and the partygoers had migrated toward the commotion. It was time for
a grown-up to step in.
She moved to David’s side,
frowned at Orren, and dropped her voice to a harsh whisper. “Calm down. You’re
making a spectacle of yourself. He’s here because I need his help.”
Orren puffed his chest in a
parody of outraged ego. “You can’t tell me to calm down. I’m the president!”
From the back of the crowd came
the voice of Marva Dooley, the owner of a gift shop on Main Street that
specialized in dog-related accessories. “Shut up, you big windbag!”
Orren bristled, grabbed the big
spoon stuck in the serving dish of mashed potatoes and flung a glob in Marva’s
general direction. Unfortunately, between his inebriated aim and the natural aerodynamics
of mashed potatoes, the mass hit Shirley Cheever, the mayor’s wife, square in
her ample bosom. Shirley shrieked, the mayor swore, and mayhem ensued. Kate
stared in fascinated horror as the formerly dignified guests lobbed carrot
sticks and dinner rolls at each other.
David slid one arm protectively
around her shoulders as an ice cube whizzed by. “Do you think we should call
the cops?”
Before she could answer, the
double door to the dining room flew open, and in marched three uniformed police
officers. The manager of the Elks Club must have called them. As the officers
broke up individual brawls and rounded up the participants, Kate noticed the
Channel 6 News team filming in the corner. Her lips tipped up in a smile.
As a hefty, middle-aged patrolman
escorted Orren past the film crew, he halted and started yelling at the
cameraman. When the man refused to stop filming, he tried to grab the camera.
At that point, the officer strong-armed him through the doors.
David leaned down until his mouth
brushed Kate’s ear. “Looks like Orren’s forgotten his own motto.”
“Oh?”
“Any publicity is good
publicity.”
She laughed. “I wonder how he’ll
feel when he sees himself on the news tonight.”
“You know what they say about Karma.”
“She’s not very nice?”
He chuckled. “Exactly.”
After the police cleared the
room, Kate surveyed the wreckage. “I hope the Lodge got a hefty security
deposit.”
David tore off a long strip of
foil and began wrapping the roast beef. “You shouldn’t be out too much. The
potatoes are a complete loss, but at least the savages didn’t get to the meat.”
She plucked an errant serving
spoon from the floor behind the podium. “Potatoes are cheap. Thanks for
protecting my main investment. I foresee hot roast beef sandwiches as our daily
lunch special for the rest of the week.”
“As long as they’re available to
the staff, you won’t get any complaints from me.” He snuffed the flames under
the big rectangular warming dishes and began stacking them to carry to the van.
Kate returned the serving spoon
to the pile of utensils. “You don’t have to keep working. I’m sure I can get
Pam to help out until Mom gets back from Florida.”
He stopped and took her hands in
his. “Kate, I’m here for you as long as you need me.”
“After this fiasco, are you sure
you still want to stay in Morrisburg?” She’d meant to keep the question light,
but her voice cracked on the last syllable.
His lips quirked up in a wry
smile. “It might not be the peaceful little town I remember, but that’s not
such a bad thing.”
She grimaced. “I suppose there’s
nothing like the occasional public free-for-all to ease war-zone withdrawal.”
He pulled her closer and drew her
into his arms. “I’ve missed you.”
She searched his warm brown eyes.
“I’ve missed you, too.”
He glanced at the ceiling. “Too
bad the decorations in here don’t include mistletoe.”
“We don’t need it.” She stood on
her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Besides, I’ve sworn off mistletoe
for good.”
“Well, in that case…” His head dipped, and his
lips met hers in a long, slow kiss that melted the years away like marshmallows
in hot Christmas cocoa.
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