Page 35 of The Woman Who Couldn't Scream
She tiptoed toward the open door of the parlor, toward the murmur of voices and the clatter of silverware. She peeked around the corner…
The sideboard sported a fabulous buffet. An arrangement of charcuterie, cheeses and breads was laid out on an olive wood platter. Candles flickered beneath a chafing dish. Champagne rested on ice in silver buckets. The smells tantalized and enticed.
A quick sweep of the guests relieved her mind. She saw a young couple, possibly honeymooners, snuggling on the old-fashioned love seat. Four men in various degrees of casual touristy garb stood around the mantel, eating off crystal plates and watching a soccer game on someone’s computer tablet.
She saw no sign of the rotund Dawkins Cipre and his skinny scholar of a wife.
Still, so many people… so many explanations about her own inability to speak. So many difficult social niceties…
The thing that overcame Merida’s last scrap of reluctance was Phoebe, sitting forlorn in the corner by the sideboard. The vibrant woman had prepared this lovely repast, yet she had been unable to coerce her guests intovisiting.
Very well. Merida wouldvisit.
Stepping in, she walked over to Phoebe and touched her hand, and when Phoebe looked up, she smiled and gestured at the buffet.
At once Phoebe came to her feet. “Merida, I’m so glad you joined us. We are having such a convivial time! This week the country I’m honoring is France. Everything is prepared with butter and cheese. I hope you’re not worried about your cholesterol!” She laughed merrily.
Merida smiled and patted her fingers to her lips like someone using a napkin.
“Of course not. You’re young and thin. You can eat anything.” Phoebe led her to the buffet. “Let me take you on a tour. We havesalade niçoise—the tuna is fresh off the boat! I prepared a simple quiche—eggs and chèvre in a pastry shell with bacon and spinach. I have a bowl of sour cream as a side. It’s not traditional, but I think that tang improves the dish,n’est-ce pas?”
Merida nodded, but noted in a panic that at the mantel, male heads swiveled. She looked away.
“Make sure you try some of mycassoulet au canard. When I was in college in France, I learned from the best.” Phoebe didn’t seem to trust that Merida would properly serve herself, for she took a plate and dished up generous portions. “Here I havepommes frites.French fries, of course, but does it get any better than deep-fried potatoes?”
Merida glanced back at the men. Damn! One of them was Officer Sean Weston, the patrolman at the roadblock who had so clumsily made a pass at her. No, no, no. She did not want to do this.
She started to back away.
Phoebe handed her the plate and silverware wrapped in a linen napkin, tore off a crusty chunk of baguette. “Look at the desserts I’ve prepared. Napoleons, cream puffs, éclairs with homemade custard and, the pièce de résistance—crème brûlée.” She clicked her miniature blowtorch. “I’m ready to caramelize the sugar whenever you’re ready. I won’t judge if you eat dessert first. Think of all the women on theTitanicwho worried about their waistlines!”
Phoebe made a powerful argument for self-indulgence.
And Merida had lingered too long.
Officer Sean Weston stood beside her. “I was hoping to see you here tonight. How are you?”
Merida ate a bite of the glorious, garlicky cassoulet and realized this was worth whatever price she had to pay. She nodded at Sean, seated herself in a hard-cushioned antique chair, and went to work on the quiche. And the sour cream. As she ate, she liked Phoebe more and more.
Sean dragged up a chair and sat, elbows on his knees, leaning close. “I’m afraid I made you mad yesterday. Listen, I adore the sheriff. She’s smart and she’s tough. She let me guard her last night, so you know she trusts me.”
Phoebe said, “Officer Weston, Merida needs a glass of champagne!”
He looked startled, leaped to his feet and said, “Yes, ma’am!” and dove for the crystal flutes.
In a distressed voice, Phoebe murmured, “He wanted to come to dinner, I was afraid no one would be here to enjoy all this food, I said yes, I didn’t discover until afterward he was interested in pursuing you. I’m sorry, Miss Falcon.”
Merida patted her hand.
“Thank you, Merida. You are such a wonderful woman. I knew it! A kindred spirit.”
Then Phoebe, the traitor, faded away, leaving Sean hovering with a glass of champagne.
Merida took it with a nod of thanks.
Sean seated himself again. “Merida, do you know why I guarded the sheriff last night?”
Why no. She didn’t.
