I nodded. “I just need to check on a couple of things. Jude was supposed to be here, but he must be tied up. Could you spell me for a few minutes?”
“Certainly.” He looked around and lifted the sleeve of his herringbone jacket to peek at his watch. “I was just looking for Dr. Meyers, but I can catch up with her later. I’d be glad to help you out.”
I thanked him and headed down the hall, working my way toward the center’s main room and resisting the urge to veer off toward the textile rooms, where I knew a dress supplier from Raleigh had a vintage gown display. I was just dying to see it, but Makayla made me promise to wait until she could get here. She usually didn’t finish at the coffee shop until four o’clock or after.
The Arts Center’s main auditorium was designed for community plays and other performances and had a stage at one end and plenty of floor space to accommodate portable seating. Today, the spectator seating was stored away, and instead the floor was arranged with vendor booths, everything from photography to floral arrangements, party favors, and even spa packages. On the stage, a local string quartet was performing a classical piece by Bach while brides bustled about, notepads and pens in hand, their questions blending softly with the elegant music. I smiled to myself. Everything was going exactly as planned.
Except when I reached Lynn’s booth, she was nowhere to be found. I looked around, finally interrupting the man in the adjacent booth. A popular local photographer, he had several women looking through his sample wedding albums. “No, miss. I haven’t seen her for a while,” he told me.
Thinking she was probably taking a well-deserved break, I decided to check back later. In the meantime, I headed for a quick check on the Babylonian Fortune-Teller. Only I hadn’t gone far when Flora caught up to me. She seemed flustered. “Have you seen Jodi? She doesn’t seem to be anywhere and she has readers waiting at her table.”
I shook my head. “No, and I can’t find Lynn, either. Maybe they went somewhere together. Let’s go check the break rooms.”
We’d just reached the hallway when Bentley flagged us down. She was carrying a large stack of hardcover books. “Good news, girls! The acquisitions librarian from the Dunston Public Library just purchased two copies of each of our nonfiction titles.”
Flora’s hands flew to her cheeks. “How wonderful! I do so love librarians.”
“Me, too,” agreed Bentley. “Be a dear, Flora, and help me out. She wants all these signed by the authors. Take the top four?”
Flora shot me a worried glance. “Go ahead,” I told her. “I’ll find Jodi and Lynn. I’m sure they’re around here somewhere.”
“And check in on the handyman while you’re at it,” Bentley added. “Chef Belmonte is due to present soon.”
I nodded and took off toward the culinary area of the Arts Center, my heels echoing as I passed by the various rooms, which were all empty for now, but I was sure they would be teeming with brides later. We didn’t plan to open this wing until later each day, after the keynote speaker was done presenting. Then brides could meet their favorite chefs, sample a few of their creations, and decide on foods and wines for their reception menus.
I reached the entrance to the service kitchen and pushed through the swinging door. “Chuck?” I called out. “Mr. Belmonte?”
No answer. Huh? Belmonte should have arrived by now to start setting up.
“Chuck?” I called again, making my way to the back of the kitchen and the large walk-in cooler.
Still no answer. What was it about today? No one was where they were supposed to be. First Lynn and Jodi disappeared and now Belmonte and the handyman were MIA.
“Chuck!” I called again, my toe hitting against something on the ground. There was a scraping sound, followed by a loud hollow pinging noise as a wrench I’d inadvertently kicked slid across the floor and banked off the bottom of a set of steel cabinets. “Ouch!” I cried, cringing from stubbing my toe.
As I rounded the cabinet I noticed a lot of tools strewn across the floor: more wrenches, pliers, a drill, even one of those cordless, automatic nail gun things roofers always use. How careless, I thought. Someone could get easily get hurt. I bent over and picked a screwdriver off the floor as I headed toward the large steel door that accessed the walk-in fridge. Maybe Chuck was still working on the unit and couldn’t hear me through the insulated door.
“Hey,” I said, opening the door and holding up the screwdriver, the cold air making me shiver. At least it seemed he’d been able to fix things. “Looks like you dropped your tools out . . .” And that was when I saw him. I gasped, one hand flying to my mouth.
Chuck, the handyman, lay on the floor in a splattered mess of cake, blood, and buttercream frosting, a nail driven straight through his temple.
Chapter 5