Patrice Greenwood - Wisteria Tearoom 03 - An Aria of Omens Read Online Free PDF Page B

Going around to Tony’s door, I offered to take the tray of cakes, but he shook his head.
    “I’ve got it.”
    He stood without trouble. I closed his door and we walked over to the tent. In the middle of one long side, the canvas had been parted and pulled back to form a prettily-draped entrance. Inside was a table set for six, with a linen table cloth and gleaming crystal. The opposite side of the tent was against the SUV, with a similar draped opening giving access to the various coolers and insulated trays sitting in the back of the vehicle. Mr. Ingraham and Manny, both in black tie, were setting out tea lights protected by tall, glass hurricane chimneys on the table.
    “Those are pretty,” I said.
    Mr. Ingraham looked up. “Necessary, I’m afraid, because of the wind.”
    “Even inside the tent?” Tony asked.
    “Oh, yes—it can be gusty, and I refuse to use those electric abominations. Here, let me take that.” Mr. Ingraham relieved Tony of the tray, which he set in the back of the SUV, and turned back, offering to shake hands. “Thank you! And good evening—I’m glad you could join us.”
    “Tony, you remember Mr. Ingraham?” I said belatedly.
    “Thomas, please,” he said, smiling as he glanced at me. To Tony, he added, “I heard how that murder case ended. You did a good job, taking care of our Ellen.”
    “Oh. Thanks.” Tony’s hands moved toward his back pockets, then he changed the gesture and clasped his hands behind his back.
    “Where’s Nat?” I asked Manny.
    He nodded toward the front of the car. “Talking with Claudia.”
    “Claudia’s here? Oh, how lovely!” I glanced at Mr. Ingraham, wondering if he’d invited Claudia Pearson because of our acquaintance or if he had struck up a friendship with her. She had worked with Sylvia Carruthers, and had also been at the thank-you tea that had ended in Sylvia’s death.
    I thought about saying hello to the ladies, but decided it would be better not to abandon Tony. Instead, I turned to Mr. Ingraham.
    “How can I help?”
    “Everything’s under control, but thank you. Would you like some champagne?”
    I smiled. “I won’t say no.”
    He bent to reach into an ice chest on the ground under the tailgate and produced a bottle of Gruet, which he wiped down with a white napkin. I picked up a flute from the table and stood ready while he eased the cork from the bottle. He filled my glass and turned to Tony.
    “Some for you?”
    “Sure,” Tony said. He glanced at my glass, then picked up a matching flute from the place setting next to the one I had raided, and held it out.
    “To a lovely evening,” I said, raising my glass.
    “I’ll drink to that,” said Manny.
    By the time all six flutes were filled, the bottle was empty. Mr. Ingraham took out another, and Manny strolled toward the front of the SUV, glass in hand. He returned almost immediately with my aunt and Claudia in tow.
    “How delightful you look, Ellen!” said Claudia.
    “Thank you. And you look simply stunning!” I said, admiring her high-necked, sleeveless navy gown. Her silver hair was swept up in an elegant French twist, and a squash blossom necklace of needlepoint turquoise glowed against her dress.
    Nat was dressed à la Santa Fe Lady, in a black velvet broomstick skirt and matching full-sleeved blouse, with a cashmere shawl woven in wide bands of blue and green. She smooched my cheek and demanded, “Where’s my champagne?”
    Hugs and greetings exchanged, we all gathered around the table, where Mr. Ingraham had set out a platter of pâté. He took his seat at the head, with Claudia to his right and Nat to his left. I sat at the foot, between Manny and Tony.
    The light of the candles filled the tent with a warm glow. Though the sun was still up, the evening was already getting cool and the occasional breeze made me glad for the shelter, not to mention the privacy it afforded us. Usually when I tailgated it was a card table behind my sedan, at the mercy of the