“NO!” I almost shouted as I stepped back.
“No?”
I pointed at my mouth. “Do you know what this stuff can do? It would leave us both looking like clowns for days. And no amount of makeup remover would scrub it off our faces.”
He started loosening his tie. “You’re right. We can’t go.”
I laughed and halted the tie loosening. “Come on. Three hours. We’ll be back here. I’ll get the lipstick off and then I’ll be all yours. And I’m pretty sure this will never be a problem again.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because a red lipstick occasion has never presented itself before.”
“I’m torn.”
“What about?”
“I don’t like being denied those lips. But you do look really, really good.”
“So, you’re not just beyond beautiful, but smooth tongued as well. You’re the whole package.”
“Back at you,” he said.
“Romeo.” I heard a faint, but undecipherable sound. “Will you come around to the front and pick us up?”
I heard the garage door rolling up in what we’d come to call the ‘car room’ next to the kitchen.
I picked up the feather cape from the bed and handed it to Keir. He draped it over my body with expert ease and tied the little satin tie under my chin. I refused to dwell on how he’d become so proficient with women’s outerwear.
Not being able to resist another look in the mirror, the complete plan having come together, I took his arm, looked at the both of us together and said, “Hmmm. Not bad. Let’s go.”
I noticed the huge full moon when Keir opened Romeo’s passenger side door for me. Romeo was perfectly capable of getting us there safely without help, but Keir liked to drive. So…
If there was ever a place that was absolutely perfect for a murder mystery dinner, it had to be John David’s residence. It was what one would call an English country house if you were a member of the royal family. Or an English manor house if you understood the historical feudal distinction.
The first time I’d visited, I’d been reminded of my one and only claim to acting fame; Rebecca in high school. Twenty-three rooms in three stories of polished wood, priceless carpets, paintings by Dutch masters, and bronze sculptures. When John David had told me he wasn’t really a prospective customer of the Hallows, it was because he could open a dozen art and antiques shops, and spend years stocking inventory from his house before anything would be missed.
While there was much to admire and beauty everywhere you looked, the house could also lend itself to a certain creep factor, if seen through that lens. That was mitigated to an extent by the fact that the house was lit like Yule. Coming up the long drive earlier, I’d remarked to Keir that the place is striking with lights on in every room.
He’d said, “Pretty to look at, but no doubt a strain on old breaker boxes.”
Yes. There was that.
“So, you think it’ll be the old murder-when-the-lights-went-out plot?”
“It’s a fan favorite.”
My British fae lover had a thing for American sports references.
I’d expected that John David would hire help. But he’d hired an army of domestic professionals to put on a version of Downton-Abbey-hosts-the-queen. As the gloved butler was taking our coats and showing us toward the drawing room, I was thinking about the fact that, to my ex, a big anniversary splurge was dinner out with no coupon. I’d definitely landed on my feet.
I didn’t know how it was possible that we’d been right on time and still were the last people to arrive. Perhaps magic kind believed in being fashionably early. It was great fun to get to see everyone decked out in the costumes of 1920s rich people.
Four people I’d never seen before made a point of introducing themselves. I assumed they were hired actors and, when I heard their names, I was sure of it. Professor Smite. Colonel Connolly. Clan Destin. And Lorca Scarlet, who was an attractive young woman with a slender build and exotic violet eyes.
Ms. Scarlet burst into laughter when I told her my name.
“Rita Hayworth. Good one,” she said. “I wish I’d thought of it.
“You and my grandmother.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It was my grandmother’s big idea. Rita Hayworth is my real name.”
Lorca looked crestfallen. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“Forget it,” I said. “They’re so few people who know the name in this day and age that it was kind of fun to run into somebody who appreciates the irony of me having a name like that.”
She cocked her head. “Why is that ironic?”
“You know,” I said, “Because she was a sexy, siren, heartthrob.”
Scarlet didn’t seem to get the joke. “I think the real irony is that you’re unaware there’s no irony. I’d tell you to go find a mirror, but you know…” she raised her eyebrows, “vampire’s house.”
I looked around. “Are there really no mirrors?” I was trying to remember if I’d seen mirrors the one other time I’d been there.
She laughed. “Of course, there are mirrors. I was just having you on.”
I chuckled. “Yeah. Well, you got me.”
John David breezed in looking too handsome and too well dressed to be real. “I’m told dinner is ready. Shall we advance upon the game?” He motioned toward the grand foyer. “Right this way.”
We followed along. “Lily,” I said. “Can you believe all these fresh flowers? At this time of year? Incredible!”
She beamed. “Yes. I had to bring in a truck from London. It was so fun. I should probably give you a commission for making John David outgoing enough to throw parties. He spent as much as I’d normally make in half a year.”
“I’m so glad you got the job. Glad John David patronizes local establishments.” I stopped at an enormous arrangement in the center of the grand foyer. “Nobody does it better. You should get photos.”
“Just wait till you see the table.”
I didn’t have to wait long.
There were four dining rooms altogether, but we were being treated to dinner in grand dame, the one that would make formal dining in the Newport mansions look like poor relations.
Eighteen places were set with enough silver flatware for five courses and enough stemware to give the wine cellar a workout. Flowers and half tapers lined the table end to end and I really did think someone should’ve been taking pictures.
“Your place cards are little envelopes, as you can see,” John David announced. “After dessert, we’ll open them to learn who’ll be playing the part of the investigator and solve the evening’s murder mystery.”
We all exchanged looks then set about looking for our names.
As I casually hunted for my name, I passed Esme. Her dreads were wound into a complicated updo and accentuated with a modest tiara that was flattering on her, as was the deep, red color of her striking sequined and beaded dress.
“Esmerelda. Love the beads and sequins.” She sniffed and might’ve looked the tiniest little bit embarrassed, which was not like her at all. “I’m just teasing. Of course, you had to wear this dress and none other. It’s perfect for you.”