Evil by the Sea. Kathleen Bridge
and put it in the oven. When the filet passed the touch test, she removed it and put it on the warmed plate, pouring the pan’s juices over the top. The aroma wafting off the top reminded her she hadn’t eaten dinner, and neither had her kitten Bronte. Before leaving the kitchen, Liz added a few sprigs of fresh rosemary. Who said the Indialantic couldn’t be accommodating?
Back in the dining room she stood at Julian and Dorian’s table, and asked, “Mr. Rhodes, would you like me to pick out your side dish from the buffet or would you prefer to get them yourself?”
Dorian took a furtive glance at her fiancé then shot up from her chair. “I’ll get them, I know what my Julian likes.” She said it more like a mother would to her son, instead of a lover to her betrothed. “And please call him Julian, Lizzy. I’ve told him that you, your great-aunt and father are like family to me.”
He didn’t look at Liz, instead addressed his fiancée, “No starchy carbs, Dearest.”
Liz handed Dorian the plate and Dorian scurried to the sideboard.
After checking everyone had what they needed and wanting to keep in earshot of the future bride and groom, Liz turned around and grabbed the water pitcher from the buffet. She sidled up to Wren and Garrett’s table. “Water, anyone?”
“Not for me,” Wren chirped. “I already have my drink.” More like drinks, plural, Liz thought, as the girl raised her glass in the air for proof. Wren was on her third umbrella drink, looking bored, occasionally glancing over to Dorian and smiling with a twisted grin when Dorian caught her eye. Her grin was like the one Liz imagined Barnacle Bob having after he played one of his dirty tricks. An example being the time BB kept meowing when Ryan’s pup Blackbeard was visiting, causing the dog to chase Betty’s innocent feline Caro through the hotel until she climbed the thirty foot palm in the hotel’s interior courtyard. Ryan had to get an extension ladder to get her down in true firefighter style.
Garrett smiled politely but said in a serious voice, “When hell freezes over, I’ll drink that witchcraft H20.”
Liz explained that it wasn’t the Sunshine Wiccan Society’s bottled water.
“In that case,” Garrett said, “fill her up!” He held out his glass.
Earlier, when everyone had met for drinks in the lobby, Garrett, who Dorian had explained was not only her accountant but also a quasi-agent, seemed gregarious and outgoing. Now that he was seated with Wren, he nervously fingered the gold nugget at his neck. Perhaps he thought of the charm as a lucky rabbit’s foot as he glanced in Dorian’s direction with lovesick cow eyes. It seemed obvious he was smitten.
After filling his glass, Liz lingered near the busboy—or in this case—busgirl station, stacking dirty dishes, wanting to overhear any conversation between Garrett and Wren. She hoped to get a handle on Wren’s true relationship with Dorian’s fiancé. However, Wren remained quiet, her gaze glued to Julian’s back. No titillating conversation to overhear. Which was just as well seeing Liz should have learned long ago to “mind her own beeswax,” an expression Aunt Amelia always used when gossiping about someone.
At the end of the meal, Phoebe pulled a chair next to her mother’s and Julian’s table and sat, her lower lip in a pout. “Why can’t I be your maid of honor and Branson Julian’s best man?” She put her hand on Julian’s wrist, and matched his glowering stare. “I don’t understand, it’s not like you have any of your best friends or followers here to fill the spot. If you really cared for my mother…” Phoebe’s droning voice reached a crescendo, “you would let her have a bigger wedding.”
Julian took her hand off his wrist and dropped it like it had been infected with the plague. “Enough of you and your whining! You’re upsetting your mother.”
Dorian didn’t look upset, it seemed she also wanted an answer.
Phoebe only paused for a second, not about to give up, she said, “Why, Stepdaddy Julian? Why can’t Branson be your best man? He told me he introduced you to Mama. Aren’t you old pals?”
Julian snapped, “For God’s sake, Dorian. I thought you explained things to her?”
Branson sat alone and seemed amused by Phoebe’s behavior.
“Phoebe!” Dorian chastised. “What’s wrong with you? Ever since coming home from Paris, you’ve seemed changed.”
“Well, losing a father changes you. But I guess it didn’t affect Branson, he didn’t even bother coming for the funeral.”
“That’s enough,” Dorian told her daughter, firmly. “The restaurant had just opened. Your father was okay with it. They saw each other over the holidays. Please, can we just get along?”
Two tables over, Branson shifted uncomfortably in his chair, glancing at Wren, like he was embarrassed by his sister’s behavior.
Wren returned his gaze and smiled.
“You’re an idiot, Phoebe,” Branson said. “Will you ever learn to think before you speak?”
When Dorian turned her attention back to Julian, Phoebe stuck her tongue out at Branson. He responded with the middle finger. Liz saw Wren smile and give Branson a thumbs-up.
It seemed they had a long weekend ahead. Liz couldn’t wait until it was over. Heck, she couldn’t wait until this meal was over. She turned to go back to the kitchen where she knew everything was safe and cozy. No witches or warlocks allowed. When she went to push one side of the swinging doors open, something scampered by, then shot like a rocket to the dining room’s sideboard. Dorian’s ferret leapt on top, grabbed a crab claw from a slab of ice, and took off toward the open doorway into the hallway leading to the lobby.
“Farrah, come back with that!” Dorian chastised, her lips upturned in a smile.
Her smile faded when Julian said softly, but sternly, “What have I told you, Dorian?”
She slunk back down in her chair.
Liz came to her rescue. “I’ll try to find her for you.”
But she didn’t have to because Captain Netherton came trotting in from the kitchen followed by Killer, his huge Great Dane, whose temperament was the opposite of what his name inferred. Killer would probably lick the ferret to death before anything else. The elderly, distinguished captain paused for a second, “That little thief stole one of my U.S. Coast Guard gold cufflinks I got at my retirement. Come Killer, just sniff her out for me.” He sped past them with a slight limp.
Dorian called after him, “Her cage is in the Oceana Suite, I’m positive I secured the latch.”
Julian gave her another chastising look.
“I did, I remember. I wouldn’t put it past one of my darling children to let her out as a prank. In fact, I think I’m sensing which one. Over the years, they’ve always been jealous of my precious ferrets. You know, darling, without my ermines, I would lose half of my psychic powers when it comes to channeling the dead. Just like your sect with their cats and owls. Farrah doesn’t assist me in reading the tarot or someone’s palm, but for some reason when one of my pet ferrets is in the room, it’s easier to connect with those that have passed to the other side. Plus, they’re snuggly companions, just like you my darling. Did you know Cleopatra was buried with her ferret? Wish you’d give Farrah another chance. She did find your father’s tiepin that he gave you. She deserves kudos for that.”
Julian snorted. “You’re stereotyping witches again, Dory. What have I told you? Our new millennium ways are quite different from everyone’s vision of witchcraft in seventeenth-century Salem.”
Dorian once again looked beaten. She didn’t seem the same person Liz had known over the years. Her great-aunt’s psychic friend had always seemed upbeat—if anything—too upbeat.
Having had enough drama, for the time being, Liz left the dining room for the sanctity of the Indialantic’s kitchen. The same place she ran to as a child when she had a boo-boo and needed Grand-Pierre to