“Really?” Intrigued, Eve bit into the cookie, decided she had no regrets.
“It is the place for huge, splashy society weddings in the city. So I worked with Daphne for a few weeks, though Dr. Strazza ran the show.”
She shrugged slightly, crossing her strong, athletic legs. “I didn’t work much with him—he met primarily with Darcy. Daphne was a spectacular bride, absolutely fairy-tale time, and the wedding was perfect. Believe me, Darcy and I weren’t working with Bridezilla on this one. Darcy had Groomzilla to deal with, and I had Dream Bride.”
“So you worked more directly with Daphne.”
“As it turned out, yeah. Darcy had her hands full with the groom. Dr. Strazza was very clear about what he expected, and while there’s nothing wrong with that, he was, well, let’s just term it unpleasant. Darcy—and I know this is talking trash about the dead—nicknamed him Dr. Dictator, and actually gave her entire staff a combat bonus after the wedding.
“On the other hand, Daphne wrote Darcy and me each a personal thank-you when they got back from the honeymoon. She had a quiet class, the sort my cookie-baking grandmother would say comes from a good upbringing.”
With a fresh smile, Lilia polished off her cookie. “I liked working with her—and she had good ideas. She had event-planning experience and it showed, but he most often either vetoed her ideas, or turned them into his ideas. Made it seem like he’d thought of it. I hate that. Don’t you hate that?”
“As a matter of fact.”
“Yeah. Frankly, I didn’t like him. Sorry he’s dead and all that, but I’m glad she’s not.”
She blew out a breath. “So three women I know and like have gone through something horrific. I’m not my grandmother, but I can figure out there’s a connection somewhere. You asked about those vendors. I’m pretty well acquainted with the people who work at both companies, even tight with a few of them. I would swear, without hesitation, none of them could do what was done.”
“You probably shoptalk with the people at both companies, what jobs you’ve done, what you’ve got coming up, what the clients are like, and so on.”
“Sure. You can spend considerable time together, going over menus, decor choices, stemware, linens, coordinating schedules, itineraries, agendas. What worked for Client A, didn’t work as well for Client B. And war stories. Oh.” Lilia flopped back. “Oh, I get it. We talk. I just told a yoga friend about this new client who tagged me yesterday because she’d decided she wanted to go to Borneo, to this specific resort, and book this specific suite. And she wanted to leave today. That’s one day to arrange travel, bookings—and the spa treatments she reeled off. Plus, it’s a popular resort, especially this time of year, and the suite’s booked, and—never mind.”
Lilia batted it away with both hands. “But if it’s not confidential, you talk. Now, I’m not going to tell somebody in the local market that Clients Smith and Jones on Second Avenue are leaving for Europe tomorrow and will be gone for two weeks. That’s just careless and asking to have the clients’ house broken into. But I may tell Darcy just that if we were talking and there was something interesting about it, or if we both knew the clients.”
“Anyone ever try to tap you for information?”
“Sure. Gossip and society reporters mostly, and that’s a line you don’t cross. Unless the client wants you to, and sometimes the client wants you to. Shit.” She put her head in her hands. “Oh God. Could I have said something about Lori’s and Ira’s trip, any of the details? I don’t know. I wouldn’t have used their last name, because they’re Lori and Ira, but could I have said something? I don’t know.”
“You set up the trip for them?”
“Yes, I booked their transpo to and from, had the car they keep there serviced, had the house opened, linens changed, flowers ordered, and the kitchen stocked for the arrival. I checked the guest list—who was coming to dinner, who was staying for the whole long weekend. Worked with First Class for the catering for Thanksgiving dinner. They have a branch in the Hamptons. I even made a list for the house droid on what to pack for Lori so she wouldn’t have to think about it. It’s what I do.”
“How do you do it all?”
“Comp primarily, so there’s a record of everything.”
“They’ve taken this trip before?”
“Every Thanksgiving. It’s their tradition. I can’t go as I have my own—my family in New Hampshire. It’s a lovely tradition for them, close friends, their families. I book what needs to be booked—including some of the guests’ transpo, hotel rooms or rentals, as not everyone can fit in the house. I make reservations, appointments. Ira loves to golf—there’s an indoor nine-hole, and he likes an early tee time. Things like that. And I work with the house droid on wardrobe, book Ira’s haircut for three days before the trip, Lori’s cut and color for the day before. I—”
“I bet they have a usual salon for that.”
“Ira goes to this fabulous classic barbershop. Lori’s used Arthur at Serenity for years.”
“And being comfortable there, they’d probably talk about their plans, how much they’re looking forward to this trip, to having that time with friends and family.”
“Yes, I’m sure they do.” More red strands fell as Lilia pushed at her hair. “You’re saying it didn’t have to be me.”