Shadow Waltz by Amy Patricia Meade Page B

age. “Well now, tell me, what did you two do today?”
    Marjorie glanced across the table at her fiancé.
    Creighton fixed his eyes on his dinner and pretended to be fascinated by the process of rearranging peas on his plate.
    â€œUm,” Marjorie stalled. “Umm, we got involved in a missing person’s case.”
    â€œA what?”
    â€œA missing person’s case,” she reiterated before taking another sip of sherry. Creighton, meanwhile, quietly ate his dinner.
    â€œSleuthing? I thought you were going to work on your book this morning and then discuss your wedding plans this afternoon.”
    â€œY-yes, but—”
    â€œBut what?”
    â€œBut that was before this woman showed up on my doorstep. She’s young—nineteen if she’s a day—and has a baby, a boy. Her husband’s been missing for three days now, and I … well, I couldn’t turn her away.”
    â€œWhy did she go to you? Why not the police?” Mrs. Patterson asked, trying to remain coolly detached and disapproving despite her growing curiosity.
    â€œShe did go to the police,” Creighton answered in between chews. “They gave her the typical hysterical-female treatment. Then she remembered Marjorie’s name from the papers and decided to look her up.”
    Mrs. Patterson cut into a slice of breast meat and sighed. “Poor dear. I can understand why you wanted to help her, but you know you do need to make some time for yourselves. Now that all of Connecticut knows that you’re amateur detectives, you’re going to have all sorts of people knocking on your door. I know it sounds terrible, but you can’t help all of them—there simply isn’t enough time in the day, and right now the two of you need to get on with your lives.”
    â€œBut—” Marjorie started.
    â€œNo ‘buts.’ You can help that girl find her husband by calling Detective Jameson and asking him to look into it. I’m sure he’d be glad to do it, and his involvement would free you up to go forward with your wedding plans.”
    Marjorie buttered a slice of bread and glanced sheepishly at Creighton, who returned the guilty look with one of his own. “That’s a bang-up idea, Mrs. Patterson,” he stated, “except that—that … well … he already knows.”
    â€œWonderful,” Mrs. Patterson declared as she dug into her mashed potatoes. “Now that that’s settled, perhaps, Marjorie, if you’re not too busy this week, we can look over some wedding dress patterns. And Creighton, I told you that the church league and I would be more than happy to provide for the reception.”
    â€œYes, the church league,” Creighton said slowly.
    â€œI know it’s probably not as fancy as the weddings you’re used to attending, Creighton, but it’s the way we small-town people do things. When a couple plans a wedding, they get married in church and then go to the parish hall for sandwiches, punch, and cake. All the women in the community pitch in by bringing something. I’m going to make my salmon tea sandwiches, and I found a recipe in Good Housekeeping magazine for a white cake with divinity frosting, which would make a wonderful wedding cake.”
    â€œOh, I um,” Marjorie was reluctant to hurt Mrs. Patterson’s feelings, but she had to tell the truth, “I already spoke with Creighton’s cook regarding the cake. She wanted to do it, and I do love her baking. Not that I don’t love yours, of course!”
    â€œDon’t be silly! I know you do.” Mrs. Patterson sat back in her chair and grabbed Marjorie and Creighton’s hands. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m getting as bossy as Louise Schutt. It’s just that I’m so excited and happy for you both!”
    â€œYou have no reason to apologize, Mrs. Patterson,” Marjorie said while squeezing the elderly