Buckridge.”
“Oh, sure. I watch her TV show every now and then. I think she’s originally from Minnesota. Lives somewhere out east now.”
Lela picked up the pace. “She’s also staying at your hotel.”
It was news to him. “Do you know her?”
“Not well. We met once, socially.”
“But you’re a fan of her show?”
“In a manner of speaking. Come on.” She pushed through the crowd at the front of the store and made her way slowly to the back, where a table had been set up with stacks of books, a water pitcher, and a glass.
Everybody knew what Constance Buckridge looked like, so Bram spotted her with no trouble. She was in her early sixties, attractive in a Kim Novak sort of way. She favored neutral tones, creams and tans, colors that highlighted her still flawless skin and dyed-blond hair. She usually wore her hair in a bun or twist — Bram wasn’t sure of the word — and today was no exception. He’d never noticed it on TV, but in person she had an infectious energy that radiated throughout the room. He’d heard that she was well liked in the cooking world.
Scanning the crowd to see if he recognized anyone else, he was surprised to find the same man he’d seen leaving the Maxfield earlier with Sophie. “Who is that guy?” he asked Lela, pointing him out.
She turned to look. “That’s Constance Buckridge’s oldest son, Nathan. The New York gossip mills consider him a real catch, sort of a creative hunk with a huge bankroll. He’s divorced. Never remarried. And that man over there” — she nodded to the opposite side of the room — “the shorter, balding one wearing die chef’s uniform? He’s standing behind his mother. Sort of clean-cut and preppie, wire-rimmed glasses. He’s Paul Buckridge, Constance’s younger son. He’s talking to two women. The one with the long hair is his sister, Emily. The other one — the woman Paul has his arm around — I don’t think I’ve ever seen her before.”
But Bram had. It was Sophie.
“They sure seem glad to see her,” said Lela, looking puzzled. “Especially Nathan. He’s hardly taken his eyes off her. Maybe she’s his new squeeze.”
“No, she’s not,” said Bram.
Lela stopped and looked up at him. “You sound pretty sure of that.”
“I am.”
“And that would be because …”
“She’s my wife.”
She glanced back at Sophie. “I see.”
“I don’t,” muttered Bram, though he planned to find out.
Cocking her head, Lela added, “But she’s so short And you’re so tall.”
“Works for me.”
Moving behind die table, Constance called out “May I have everyone’s attention for a few seconds?” She waited until all the talking died down. “I want to thank everyone at Kitchen Central, especially Jean Lundstrom, for inviting me here this afternoon. I intend to sign books until my hand falls off, but before I begin, I want to introduce you to some special people who’ve accompanied me here today. First my two handsome sons, Chef Nathan Buckridge…” She held out her right hand to him.
Nathan smiled as the crowd clapped.
“And Chef Paul Buckridge.”
He moved closer to his mother and gave a polite nod.
“My daughter, Emily,” continued Constance, putting her arm around the younger woman’s waist.
With her long, straight blond hair and large, soft eyes, Bram found her very attractive. He wondered if Constance had resembled her daughter in her youth.
“By the way, Emily did all the photography for the latest book,
Cuisine America”
Again, applause burst from every corner of the room.
“Next, I’d like to introduce my son-in-law, Kenneth Merlin. Kenneth is our senior legal counsel.”
More applause as a thin man in a dark suit stood in the back.
“And since we have a local luminary here with us today, I’d like to introduce you all to Sophie Greenway, who has just taken
“Oh, sure. I watch her TV show every now and then. I think she’s originally from Minnesota. Lives somewhere out east now.”
Lela picked up the pace. “She’s also staying at your hotel.”
It was news to him. “Do you know her?”
“Not well. We met once, socially.”
“But you’re a fan of her show?”
“In a manner of speaking. Come on.” She pushed through the crowd at the front of the store and made her way slowly to the back, where a table had been set up with stacks of books, a water pitcher, and a glass.
Everybody knew what Constance Buckridge looked like, so Bram spotted her with no trouble. She was in her early sixties, attractive in a Kim Novak sort of way. She favored neutral tones, creams and tans, colors that highlighted her still flawless skin and dyed-blond hair. She usually wore her hair in a bun or twist — Bram wasn’t sure of the word — and today was no exception. He’d never noticed it on TV, but in person she had an infectious energy that radiated throughout the room. He’d heard that she was well liked in the cooking world.
Scanning the crowd to see if he recognized anyone else, he was surprised to find the same man he’d seen leaving the Maxfield earlier with Sophie. “Who is that guy?” he asked Lela, pointing him out.
She turned to look. “That’s Constance Buckridge’s oldest son, Nathan. The New York gossip mills consider him a real catch, sort of a creative hunk with a huge bankroll. He’s divorced. Never remarried. And that man over there” — she nodded to the opposite side of the room — “the shorter, balding one wearing die chef’s uniform? He’s standing behind his mother. Sort of clean-cut and preppie, wire-rimmed glasses. He’s Paul Buckridge, Constance’s younger son. He’s talking to two women. The one with the long hair is his sister, Emily. The other one — the woman Paul has his arm around — I don’t think I’ve ever seen her before.”
But Bram had. It was Sophie.
“They sure seem glad to see her,” said Lela, looking puzzled. “Especially Nathan. He’s hardly taken his eyes off her. Maybe she’s his new squeeze.”
“No, she’s not,” said Bram.
Lela stopped and looked up at him. “You sound pretty sure of that.”
“I am.”
“And that would be because …”
“She’s my wife.”
She glanced back at Sophie. “I see.”
“I don’t,” muttered Bram, though he planned to find out.
Cocking her head, Lela added, “But she’s so short And you’re so tall.”
“Works for me.”
Moving behind die table, Constance called out “May I have everyone’s attention for a few seconds?” She waited until all the talking died down. “I want to thank everyone at Kitchen Central, especially Jean Lundstrom, for inviting me here this afternoon. I intend to sign books until my hand falls off, but before I begin, I want to introduce you to some special people who’ve accompanied me here today. First my two handsome sons, Chef Nathan Buckridge…” She held out her right hand to him.
Nathan smiled as the crowd clapped.
“And Chef Paul Buckridge.”
He moved closer to his mother and gave a polite nod.
“My daughter, Emily,” continued Constance, putting her arm around the younger woman’s waist.
With her long, straight blond hair and large, soft eyes, Bram found her very attractive. He wondered if Constance had resembled her daughter in her youth.
“By the way, Emily did all the photography for the latest book,
Cuisine America”
Again, applause burst from every corner of the room.
“Next, I’d like to introduce my son-in-law, Kenneth Merlin. Kenneth is our senior legal counsel.”
More applause as a thin man in a dark suit stood in the back.
“And since we have a local luminary here with us today, I’d like to introduce you all to Sophie Greenway, who has just taken
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