Клэр Донелли - Hiss And Tell

Using every bit of cover he found, Shadow made his way around the house, following his nose. The breeze was coming toward him, and it held a touch of that slightly rancid tang that came from food the two-legs had thrown away. Well, sometimes a cat could happily fill his belly from what the two-legs didn’t want.

The scent grew stronger as he advanced, until at last he found the source—another disappointment. Shadow could clearly smell the old food, but there were only traces left on the stony ground beneath his feet. He couldn’t eat traces, and the food itself was sealed away in heavy metal containers that were too hard to break into and too heavy to knock over.

It was enough to bring a faint mew of frustration out of him.

Then he heard voices again, and scrunched down to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. But the voices didn’t come his way, so he went to investigate.

That turned out to be an excellent idea, because as he drew closer to the voices, he also smelled food. Good food. Shadow poked his head around something that couldn’t make up its mind whether to be a window or a door and found a room the two-legs used for messing around with food, making it hot or mixing it up together. Sunny and the Old One often worked in a room like this. It was also where they fed him.

But this room was much, much bigger, and there were several people in there, clattering pans and talking. It reminded him of places he’d sometimes seen in his travels, somewhere a cat might find a meal. Sometimes a cat might even try to make friends and get a really good meal. He’d learned, though, not to go inside. That would only mean trouble, loud voices, and someone in white chasing him away.

So he’d held back, watching the busy humans, until finally they started coming outside carrying very large plates. This seemed odd. Were they going outside to eat? Sometimes Sunny and the Old One did that, but they usually brought food to the thing that made smoke. And he didn’t smell smoke now.

Shadow waited for a chance to follow one of the two-legs and came to a table. A long white thing came over the sides and down to the ground, and Shadow quickly hid under that. But he peeked out from under it, watching many feet come and go. Then they stopped, and he decided to take a risk and come out from hiding. Shadow craned his neck and stretched as high as he could, unable to see the top of the table but taking in the smells that wafted down.

He could distinguish several kinds of food that he knew—and many more he didn’t. It was enough to make a cat’s mouth water. Shadow gathered himself for a jump to the top of the table. But then voices came from the other side, and he darted to the cover of the white stuff again, crossing under the table and peering out from under the far side.

Feet again! This was getting monotonous, not to mention annoying. His stomach growled from the good smells. Shadow poked his head out to see what the two-legs were up to.

He caught a wave of made smells and saw humans in bright colors talking loudly. They were clinking glasses and eating little things. . . .

That’s what must be on top of the table! He slunk out, but no one noticed him. He tried to sit and watch, to wait for his chance. He waited for a long time. Seconds, at least.

The smell of food was making his head swim. He couldn’t help himself—he had to have some!

Crouching low, Shadow sprang up and scrambled to the top of the table. Yes, there were the big plates, covered with all kinds of little foods. Ignoring everything else, he followed his nose, greedily trying everything he came across. Some of it tasted odd, some of it he spit out. But lots of it tasted good . . . very good.

*

Sunny looked inher closet, trying to mix and match an outfit into existence for a so-called casual lunch. Deborah had mentioned that the meal would be outdoors, so Sunny figured a top and slacks should be appropriate.

The problem is, I’ve worn most everything I’ve brought. Remembering all the bags the de Kruks had unloaded didn’t exactly cheer Sunny’s mood. She finally chose a pair of khakis and the blouse she’d worn under her cinnamon suit.

When she got downstairs, Sunny found Tommy and Yardley Neal dressed as if for an afternoon at the country club. Yardley wore a white linen suit, while Tommy wore a raw silk jacket over a polo shirt and dark gray slacks.

I guess this is how it feels to be the poor relation, Sunny thought gloomily. Of course, she comforted herself, when we get to the big house, we’ll probably find the present Mrs. de Kruk wearing a diamond tiara, and Emperor Augustus in a golden crown. She really wished Cillie Kingsbury were there to lighten the mood, but she wasn’t around, apparently having gone straight to the big house.

When they met up with the rest of the guys, Carson had on a light blue linen-weave jacket over a white collarless shirt, Peter wore the jacket from his blue suit over a green T-shirt, and Beau had recycled his oatmeal-colored jacket over a tan Henley shirt. At least half of us look like fashion casualties, Sunny’s alter ego commented snidely.

Perhaps because it was a command performance, the Senator—or more likely his wife Julia—had tried for a more festive atmosphere. The younger group arrived at the terrace to find the Kingsburys and de Kruks with wine- glasses in their hands, nibbling on hors d’oeuvres.

Fiona Ormond stepped onto the terrace like a general commanding her troops. Indeed, she had a single file of people carrying covered trays behind her. “Ladies and gentlemen, our cake candidates!” she announced.

The folks with the trays marched to the serving table, placed their burdens down, and removed the covers.

The cakes came in a wide range of varieties, some in small round tiers, others square. The frostings ranged from fondant to butter cream to cream cheese and even cannoli filling, decorated with spun-sugar blossoms or cunningly created leaves or petals, climbing vines, and in one case, what looked like a bunch of grapes dangling down the side. They weren’t all white, either. Some bore designs in contrasting colors. One had stripes, which made the tiers look like stacked hatboxes to Sunny’s eyes. Then there was one in delicate lavender with purple polka-dots. And one bakery had apparently decided to go completely nontraditional, with a chocolate ganache cake.

The cake servers themselves were an equally unusual assortment, from the thin guy in chef’s whites (including a toque with a poofy top) to the the curvy girl in a shirt emblazoned with the legend, “LA PATISSERIE DE MAINE.”

Sunny blinked when she realized who was wearing the sweatshirt—Robin Lory. Ben Semple’s girlfriend was staring around so avidly that she almost missed the table when she put her tray down. She looked very disappointed when Fiona shepherded her and the others back to the kitchen.

La Patisserie’s entry was more on the traditional side, a stepped set of round tiers ringed with pink frosting flowers, whimsically surmounted by a miniature bride and groom. They’ve got serious competition, Sunny thought. But at least Robin had her moment as a waitress to the rich and famous.

Apparently, Beau had a similar notion. “I’ll be the bartender,” he volunteered, heading for a sideboard with bottles of wine and aperitifs. Most of the crowd gravitated after him to get their glasses filled or freshened.

I suppose I might as well play waitress, Sunny thought. She headed for another table which held platters of various finger foods.

But as she edged around the crowd and got a full view of the table, she froze.

Standing on one of the platters was an all-too-familiar figure, happily scarfing down all the snacks.