Page 103 of The Rut in the Road

“What?”

“Please be careful, okay?”

I glanced back over my shoulder, still angry. “I can take care of myself,” I said, then slammed the car door.

18

She ranher hand over the smooth mahogany surface, a smile on her lips. She remembered the first time she’d sat down at this table.

It had been covered in a lace tablecloth, every place set with both plates and chargers, napkins in brass rings, three forks, two spoons, and two knives, and two wineglasses.

She’d been terrified.

It was the first time she’d met Matthew’s parents, and she’d so very much wanted to make a good impression. Her family hadn’t been poor, but in comparison to Matthew, she might as well have been.

She missed him. Her Matthew.

“Rayn?”

I pulled myself out of the thoughts of the table’s owners, although I wasn’t sure if it had come from a thrift store because of its style or whether it might belong to one of the party’s hosts. “Yes?” I asked my boss.

“Anything interesting?” he asked, rolling himself over.

“It was a dining room table at some point,” I replied. “Owned by the family of a man named Matthew, then passed to his wife after his death.”

“Huh,” Ward replied. “I guess I’d assumed that Cynthia had bought it herself.”

“Cynthia?” I asked.

Ward smiled. “Our client’s mother, who usually comes to these and asks to speak to Matthew.”

“Ah,” I replied.

“Oooh, dinner!” Vi announced, having opened the door to a knock, admitting two servers who came through the main door, each carrying a tray with several covered plates.

“What’s that?” I asked.

Ward grinned, then patted the top of the table. “That is the same dinner that our client is feeding his guests,” he replied as the two servers set the trays on the table. “Thank you,” he said to them.

“You’re welcome,” one of them replied smoothly. “We’ll be back to collect the dishes in an hour.”

“Thank you,” I repeated, and both of them nodded as they left us to our meal.

“Fancy,” Vi remarked, eyeing the actual flatware. “Reminds me of when the ’rents used to have catered dinner parties.”

Ward’s brows went up, but he didn’t say anything to that, instead starting to lift lids off plates and bowls.

Dinner was roasted chicken breast for Vi and me, and some sort of white fish for Ward, parsnip purée with a light gravy, roasted zucchini blossoms filled with some sort of cheese filling, and charred roasted carrots and brussels sprouts, the last of which Ward also didn’t eat. We’d also been given warm french bread and butter, some bottles of sparkling water, and three slices of an extremely rich chocolate cake drizzled with blackberry sauce.

“This is really good,” Vi murmured around a mouthful. “So much better than having to hit up a Wendy’s.” Which was where the three of us had picked up dinner last night on our way to the private house party just outside of Fredericksburg.

The party itself hadn’t really been terribly exciting. Lots of people in costume masks and sequined outfits like an old-style masquerade ball from the 1920s or 1930s, and although things had wrapped up pretty early, we’d still gotten back late because of the drive.

Ward smiled. “Don’t get too used to it,” he told Vi. “David’s always been generous and made sure to feed us.”

“It’s a good way to make sure he gets you back every year,” I pointed out.

Ward nodded. “It is,” he agreed. “So is paying me very well.” He grinned.