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I was immediately struck by how expensive everything looked and felt. The ceilings, offset by chandeliers twinkling in the soft candlelight, stretched high.
Warm and golden, the walls were adorned with oil paintings and gilded mirrors. Each reflected the sparkle of the crystal and fine China surrounding us.
I sat down on the tail end of a long line of guests. The table looked like it belonged in a vintage Hollywood film, polished wood set with meticulously arranged silverware, gleaming goblets, and delicate bone China plates.
The centerpiece of red amaryllis cut across all the goldens and silvers, curiously lush against all this finery.
I turned my head to the left as the butler approached. He looked at me with the same disdain as some of the other guests—like I was a plucked chicken in a kitchen boasting of the finest Japanese Wagyu.
Gulping, I looked down at my plate. Fried green tomatoes. I loved those.
My first bite married the tart juice of these tomatoes, served hot and crispy with a tangy and creamy remoulade sauce.
Course after course followed, each more exquisite than the last.
There was a velvety blue-crab soup. I could taste Old Bay seasoning and a generous sprinkle of crab roe on my palate.
The aroma, rich and savory, took over all my senses. Heck, I coulda had three bowls of that alone.
For the mains, there was an elegant take on plump shrimp and buttery grits simmered in Cajun spices, milk, butter, and cheese.
Finally, a flaky, buttery pecan pie graced our dessert plates.
By this time, I was high on food. I'd savored every single mouthful, and even the chatter around me felt warm and comforting.
Plus, there was no sign of Hunter. Maybe he'd left the party? Maybe Harold had said something to piss him off? It still made me feel the heebie-jeebies.
Harold cleared his throat, and all eyes turned to him. I was almost asleep with all the food warming up my belly.
I felt glad I'd chosen to come tonight. Seeing Hunter had almost made me question my decision, but at least I hadn't run away. That was something.
"My dear friends."
He paused and beamed at all of us. Why did that immediately make me think there was something sinister on that face?
Maybe it was the dim yellow of the lights, or my stomach had become too full. I tended to hallucinate after a good meal.
But Harold looked ... like he was about to sacrifice someone on the table.
"It is such an honor to be in the midst of so many dear old friends tonight. And less of an honor to see my family, of course."
What did he just say?
Murmurs broke out in the room, and some of the guests exchanged sour glances.
"Oh, I hope I haven't spoken out of turn," Harold continued, baring his teeth. "In fact, most of you already know you're only here for the food and my money."
What the hell was going on?
"Now listen up, Harold," a portly man, his face flushed from the copious glasses of wine he'd just downed, sputtered.
Harold raised his hand, and he stopped immediately. I'd never thought this sweet old man could cut such an imposing figure, but right now, he looked like an old wolf.
His eyes shone, the faded light in them almost yellow. His lips had a smile that looked more like a snake slithering across his face.
"I know what you have to say, William. And I'm about as interested as a possum in a persimmon tree. By the way, have you spoken to your wife about returning the silverware that's been missing since last year's dinner?
"I did ask Agnes to launch an official inquiry, but I doubt the esteemed police force of Oakmont will want to be bothered about a bunch of plates and knives.
