“I had my assistant make me a salon appointment and pick out the clothes,” he said, and ran his finger around his collar. “I thought when you earned enough money you didn’t have to wear a tie anymore. Unless you were negotiating venture capital.”

  I smiled and patted his cheek as he opened the door for me. “Think of this as a venture opportunity that might establish the foundation for your future family.”

  He nodded. “As I’ve indicated in the past, the only reason to marry is to leverage fortunes for your children and their children to come.”

  “So romantic,” I muttered as the hostess asked for the name.

  “Toby Mallard. I have a reservation for two,” Toby said.

  “Ah, yes, Mr. Mallard, so nice to see you again. We have your table ready for you. This way, please.” The hostess was a tall woman of Eastern European descent. She was thin with high cheekbones and slanted eyes. Her blond hair was piled effortlessly on her head and she wore a designer white shirt and black wool skirt. Her shoes flashed red on the soles. I wondered who made enough money as a hostess to wear Christian Louboutin shoes. “As per your standing order, this is our finest lunch table,” she said, and waited for Toby and me to sit. I paused for a moment to see if Toby would pull out my chair. He didn’t even notice and sat down immediately, grabbed his napkin off the table and stuffed it in his shirt collar like a bib.

  I sat and tried not to look the hostess in the eye. She didn’t seem to blink as she handed us our menus.

  “Alexander will be your waiter today,” she said. “Bon appétit.”

  “The last time I was here, the service was fine but the meal was a bit goopy,” Toby said from behind his menu.

  “I assure you sir, the cook would not serve you anything goopy,” the waiter said as he reached our table in time for Toby’s comments.

  “Yes, well, we’ll see about that, won’t we?” Toby said, and lowered the menu long enough to look the waiter in the eye.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Mallard, I didn’t realize you were our guest today. Welcome back. Can I get you something to drink?” the waiter asked, appearing contrite once he realized who he was serving. “We have sparkling water, iced tea, and, of course, several wines and cocktails.”

  “We’ll take a bottle of sparkling water,” Toby said. “Then I want iced tea. Pepper?”

  “I’ll take an iced tea as well,” I said. The waiter turned on his heel and left. “Toby, did you ever take a business etiquette class?”

  “Yes,” he said, his gaze on the menu. “Of course, I do business with many foreign investors. I didn’t want to offend. So I read several books on proper etiquette.”

  “Of course you did,” I muttered.

  “The waiter should know better than to contradict a patron. Especially a patron he should know will leave a big tip.”

  The waiter arrived with a bottle of sparkling water and poured both glasses. Then he explained the lunch specials. I ordered a simple steak salad and Toby ordered prime rib. When the waiter left, I smiled at Toby. “It might not hurt to take a refresher course,” I said gently. “A woman of the stature you are looking for has certain expectations when it comes to the man she dates.”

  “That may be true,” Toby said, and picked up his water glass. “But if marriage is the intended outcome, then it is only fair to be myself during the courtship. If I put on airs for the courtship, she will be sadly disappointed once we marry. Don’t you think? Divorce can be so expensive.”

  “You think she’d divorce you over bad manners?”

  “I’ve heard of divorces for something as simple as sneezing wrong,” Toby said absently. “Of course, I will ask for a prenup before we wed.”

  “Yes,” I said, and tried not to shake my head. “That is really romantic.”

  “Romance is overrated when looking for a bride,” he said.

  “Really, Toby? After attending my proposal events you still think that romance isn’t important?”

  “I didn’t say romance wasn’t important,” Toby said. He wasn’t all that good at direct eye contact, so I couldn’t see what he was thinking. “I said it was overrated.”

  “People take dancing lessons so they can dance at their wedding,” I informed him. “Manners are a lifelong skill that need to be practiced whether you are courting someone or not.”

  He blew out a long breath that was almost a sigh. “I’ll have my assistant Francine schedule me for the proper class.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “And dance classes as well. I didn’t realize there would be dance expectations at a wedding.”

  I tilted my head and studied him. “Haven’t you ever gone to a wedding, Toby?”

  “No,” he said.

  “No one you know has ever invited you to a wedding?” My tone went up at the end of the sentence. I couldn’t imagine having never been to a wedding.

  “A few of my colleagues invite me to their children’s affairs, but I’m certain they have no expectations that I would actually show up. Usually the invitation is merely a bid for a gift. I have my assistant send along something appropriate and that takes care of the matter.”

  “Oh, boy,” I said, and took a sip of my water. The man had a lot to learn.

  After our meal, I excused myself to go to the ladies’ room. On my way I saw Mrs. Fulcrum and Mrs. Thomson. It seemed Samantha Lyn and Clark’s moms were more in love with each other than their kids.

  “Hello, ladies,” I said as I stopped by their table. Neither one had eaten, which was obvious by the picked-at plates of food that had been pushed aside for coffee and gossip. “How are you?”

  “Pepper,” Mrs. Fulcrum said. “How nice to see you here. Are you a club member?”

  “No,” I said with a shake of my head. “I’m here with a friend who needs mingling advice.” I waved toward Toby, who had removed his napkin and was currently thumbing through his cell phone.

  “Oh, you know Mr. Mallard?” Mrs. Thomson asked. “I heard he was a member of the country club, but I’d never seen him here.” Her expression was full of curiosity.

  “I suggested that he come,” I said. “It’s good for him to get out more and meet people.”

  “Indeed,” Mrs. Fulcrum said, her gaze thoughtful. “I understand he’s single.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Toby’s a great guy.”

  “Maybe we should go say hello,” Mrs. Thomson suggested.

  “I can introduce you, if you’d like,” I said. “But first I’m off to the ladies’ room.”

  “Of course, dear, yes, do stop by on your way back. We would love to meet your host.”

  “One more thing,” I said as I straightened. “I was wondering if you knew anything more about the bartender who died at my sister’s reception.”

  “Terrible,” Mrs. Thomson said. “The hiring manager should have never hired her. I’ve had a word with the board about that.”

  “I’m sorry?” I wasn’t sure why she felt that way. “Why?”

  “The club has standards, dear,” Mrs. Fulcrum said. “Drug-addicted employees are below those standards completely.”

  “Indeed,” Mrs. Thomson said with a nod. “I didn’t like her from the start. She had the look of a drug addict. I understand she died of an overdose.”

  “I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead,” Mrs. Fulcrum said. “But it’s her own fault. She should never have mixed drugs and alcohol.”

  “Typical addict,” Mrs. Thomson agreed. “Those people get what they deserve.”

  “Oh,” I said, unable to digest how horrible these two women were. “Addiction is a disease.”

  “Well, it’s a disease we don’t want at the club,” Mrs. Fulcrum stated. “Seriously, I’ve made it my mission to see that whoever hired her gets fired. They should have more sense than that.”

  “I understand she went to college with some of the members her age,” I said. “Morduray College is quite picky about who gets in, isn’t it? I understand Ashley was a good student.”

  “Oh, dear, Morduray is my alma mater. They must have lowered their standards. I will have to have a talk with the Dean of Admissions,” Mrs. Thomson said with a rude frown. “Hiring that woman caused the club all kinds of grief. Not to mention ruining Warren Evans’ wedding reception. When Samantha Lyn and Clark get married, I’m going to go over the staff myself and ensure that no one looks out of place.”

  “A good drug screening the morning of the wedding will take care of that,” Mrs. Fulcrum said. “I implement it at all my Xi Omicron Mu functions. It helps keep the riffraff out. We’ll write that into the contract.”

  “Excuse me, ladies,” I said, and bowed out. I walked to the restroom, my thoughts saddened by the animosity of those two busybodies. As far as I could tell, Ashley hadn’t done anything to either of them. At the most she had chided Clark for attempting to indulge in underage drinking. Instead of cursing Ashley, they should be thanking her. It was also clear that Mrs. Thomson thought college, even at a small private institution, was merely a place to find a rich husband. I sighed. What decade did she drop out of?

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, I had a meeting with Laura about her cooking class proposal. I picked a nice class that took place in an old Victorian home setting. It was time to take Laura through the venue and give her an idea of how the proposal would work and why it was okay to have Jen and Brad and a few other couples participate in the class.

  “Wow, this place is great,” Laura said as she entered the parlor of the house.

  “I thought you would like it,” I said, and gave her a quick hug. “Here, let me take your coat.” I waited for her to take off her puffy down coat. The weather was darn cold today. The gray sky and bare black branches of the nearby trees were the perfect backdrop for the blue and white twinkle lights the homeowner had strung from the trees and along the wraparound porch.

  I hung up Laura’s coat with mine on a wrought iron coat rack near the door. I showed her through the parlor to the twin dining rooms that flanked the center foyer of the house. The place was tastefully decorated to show off the original dark wood trim.

  “Wow,” Laura said. “This place could host a huge party.”

  “That’s the idea,” I said. “The kitchen is through here.” I opened the door to showcase the large open kitchen. It was clearly an add-on to the back of the house. The room could hold up to ten people cooking at the same time. The kitchen was set up with two sides that mirrored each other. Both sides had a professional Viking stove with a shining stainless-steel hood. Then there were twin stainless-steel ovens in the wall. A giant Sub-Zero built-in fridge flanked a pot sink. The décor was turn of the twentieth century with black and white subway tiles for a backsplash. White painted cabinets reached up to the ten-foot ceilings. Twin islands faced each other. They had butcher-block countertops with an inset vegetable sink and a portion of marble for rolling out pastry dough. The entire room spoke of a love for cooking.

  Angela, the chef and homeowner, waited for us in the kitchen. “Laura, this is Angela Hart. Angela, this is Laura, our prospective proposer.”

  “Hi, Laura,” Angela said. I met Angela when I did an event for my old employer. The employer who let me go due to budget cuts. I had no regrets about my old job. The best thing I got out of that job was my connection to great people like Angela, who ran her own small business. She was a middle-aged woman about five feet tall and nearly as big around. Today she wore a chef’s jacket and black pants. Her gray hair was pulled back into a no-nonsense bun and she wore little makeup. She didn’t need to, as her skin was porcelain and her cornflower blue eyes twinkled.

  “This place is fantastic,” Laura said.

  “Thank you,” Angela said.

  “I thought we’d keep it intimate,” I explained. “Angela worked up a nice menu in honor of your Kung Pao chicken.”

  Laura laughed. “I hope you’re prepared for mistakes.”

  Angela smiled. “I’m always prepared.”

  “Angela suggested that we have four other couples for the class to fill the kitchen and make it feel like a real event. As I mentioned, I picked out four couples that will be in on the event, including my clients Brad and Jennifer. Everyone will be in on the proposal and will have strict instructions on how to act. I promise no one will give away your surprise. Now, the dining room on the left will be decorated to match your apartment where you first started dating.”

  “Oh, my gosh, mismatched blue plates and white cups?”

  “Exactly,” I said. “I have a friend who works for a prop house. I forwarded him the pictures you sent me. We’ll be able to re-create the setting down to the decorations on the fireplace.”

  “Wow,” Laura said. “That’s awesome.”

  “I’ve got a copy of the playlist of your favorite songs. We’ll have music on in the background. Once dinner is made, we’ll all gravitate to the dining area. When Monica’s favorite song comes on, you’ll propose. Meanwhile, your friends and family will be waiting in the other dining room.” I pointed toward the second dining room across the foyer. “When Monica says yes, we’ll open the doors and your family and friends will be there.”

  “I’ve got a matching dinner menu for the engagement party,” Angela said. “We’ll cater it completely. So there’s no need to fear that you are cooking for it.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Laura said, with tears in her eyes. “I’m starting to get excited.”

  “So am I,” I said.

  We went over a few of the details and Angela had a tiny tasting menu prepared so that Laura could decide on the dishes and desserts for the family. Laura and I sat at a small table in the parlor with a cup of peppermint tea to finish off the tasting. “So, are you happy with the plans?” I asked.

  Laura’s face lit up. “I think it’s going to be perfect. Just as I asked, intimate and yet reminiscent of our first meeting.”

  “Good, I’m glad. So we’re all set. Are you ready for your big day?”

  “I’m ready,” Laura said with a happy smile. “Everything is going to be perfect.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Chapter 12

  My cell phone rang as I left the Victorian house and headed toward where my car was parked on the street. It was Clark’s mother. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Pepper, this is Mrs. Fulcrum.”

  “Hello again, Mrs. Fulcrum. What can I do for you?”

  “Mrs. Thomson and I want to get the ball rolling on the engagement. It seems so silly that the kids should have to wait. We were thinking it could be done tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry?” I said as I unlocked Old Blue and climbed inside. “Tomorrow? That’s rushing things, isn’t it? I mean, it takes time to plan out a big fancy proposal. I need to have a venue and props and such. I haven’t had time to really talk to Clark and Samantha Lyn about their relationship.”

  “Please,” Mrs. Fulcrum said. “What’s there to talk about? They are two young people completely in love. I’m sure you do these romantic things all the time.”

  “Yes, but you asked for sparkle and glitz and video recordings. That is not something I can just do in twenty-four hours.”

  “I’m sure you can if we pay you enough.” Mrs. Fulcrum’s tone was no-nonsense. “I’ve already got a wedding planner hired and she tells me she can pull off the wedding of the century in thirty days. If she can do that, you can pull off a proposal in twenty-four hours.”

  “The kids are so young, why the rush? We should let them savor this time in their lives,” I said. “What is the name of the wedding planner? Because I’m not sure you got a good one if she thinks she can do all that in one month.”

  “Oh, please, we all know money talks, now. I’m giving you free rein. In fact, money is no object. I expect you can pull something off quickly.”

  I scratched my head. “It’s just that Samantha Lyn seems kind of upset over the death of Ashley. Can you give me a couple of days? To make it special?”

  “Oh, please! Samantha Lyn barely knew the girl.”

  “Did you know her, Mrs. Fulcrum? Because it sounds to me like you did.”

  “It sounds to me like you are obsessed with a drug addict. Listen, Clark is going to marry Samantha Lyn in thirty days. Either you can do the proposal or I’ll find someone else to do it. You have until the end of next week.” She hung up the phone.

  I stared at my phone, not sure at all what the right thing to do was. If I went through and planned this thing, then Perfect Proposals stood to earn a lot of money. If I held my moral ground and refused, Mrs. Fulcrum would just find someone else to take her money. I sighed long and hard.

  Maybe I could convince Samantha Lyn to say no. I dialed the girl’s cell.

  “Hey, Pepper, what’s up?” Samantha answered her phone. It was clear she had marked my number in her contacts.

  “Hi, Samantha,” I said. “Mrs. Fulcrum just called and she wants me to move forward with the proposal planning. Before I do that, I need to check that you are okay with this. I mean, you mentioned that you told Ashley you wanted to break up with Clark. I can’t in good conscience plan a proposal event if you don’t want to marry the boy.”

  She paused for two heartbeats. “It’s okay, Pepper,” she said. “I want to marry Clark.”

  “Really?” I tried not to wince. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, sure, I’m sure,” she said. “I talked to the moms and it really is for the best. They aren’t going to stop until we’re married.” I could hear the defeat in her voice. “Whatever our moms want. It will be the next great adventure.”

  “Listen,” I said. “Do you know anyone who takes Xanax?”

  “Sure,” Samantha Lyn said. “Clark takes it. Both our moms take it. Heck, half the people I know from college take it. It helps with all the stress they’re under to get good grades and get good jobs.”