by my footsteps in the hall.
He’d aged since our last meeting. What was left of his gray hair was gone, and purple spots flared across his scalp.
“The hotel isn’t open yet.” He waved his right hand dismissively. “Come back next week.”
“That’s not why I’m here.” I threw him a half-hearted smile as I entered the room, knowing full well he wouldn’t return it. “We’ve met before, Mr. Solomon. I’m Melissa DuBois. I made the veil for your daughter’s wedding.”
“I know who you are. You shouldn’t be here.”
Although I didn’t expect a hug, for goodness sakes, would it kill him to be civil? I inched closer. “I thought you might’ve mistaken me for a tourist.”
“This is a construction zone, Miss DuBois. No one’s allowed in here without a hard hat.”
I glanced at his bald head but withheld my comments. Better to use honey than vinegar with this one. “I only want a minute of your time. I’m afraid there’s been a little fender bender.”
“What do you mean…a ‘fender bender’?”
“I kinda knocked the mirror off your car.” My voice faltered. Admitting the mistake was one thing, but his icy stare was quite another.
“I’ll be happy to pay for it,” I quickly added. “The mirror’s still okay. It’s just not where it’s supposed to be.” I laughed, but it sounded as phony at it felt.
“You think this is funny?” He finally moved away from the bookcase and walked over to where I stood. “Apparently you damage my car, then you trespass on my property, and now you have the nerve to laugh about it?”
“No, no.” I shook my head. “I’m not laughing about it. And I couldn’t drive away without telling you. I fully intend to pay for the damages. I just didn’t notice your car when I drove by.”
“How could you miss it?” He scoffed, until something worse flickered across his face: doubt. “Wait a minute. You weren’t texting, were you? By God, if you were on your cell phone, I’ll sic my attorney on you!”
I shook my head even harder. “No, no. That’s not it. I swear, I wasn’t texting.”
“Then why didn’t you see my car?”
“I noticed something in your trash bin. It’s a long story. I just didn’t want you to think I hit your car and took off again.”
He stared me down for a moment, until his gaze finally swept to the doorway. “Hank! Get in here.”
A middle-aged man appeared. It was Hank Dupre, a local Realtor and my assistant’s uncle. Everyone knew Mr. Dupre on account of his loud parties and even louder wardrobe. Today he wore an orange polo with red flames that licked across the front panel like wildfire.
“Hello, Mr. Dupre.” I realized my mistake right away. “I mean, uh, Hank.” I always forgot to call him by his first name, which drove him to distraction.
“That’s better. Hello, Missy.”
“What brings you out here this morning?”
“I handled the sale for this place,” he said. “And I wanted to meet the interior designer today. She’s supposed to be a real whiz.”
I hadn’t spoken to Hank Dupre since Ambrose and I discovered a dead body at a mansion not far from here, which happened at the start of the new year. That was the case that involved a whiskey barrel, which got me into this mess in the first place. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You, too.” Hank turned to Mr. Solomon. “Is that the designer in the hall?” He jerked his thumb back to indicate a petite woman standing behind him.
She wore a beige linen pantsuit and sky-high stilettos. The shoes seemed a little unsafe for a construction zone, if you asked me, but she stood barely five feet tall, so maybe she needed every inch she could get.
“That’s her,” Mr. Solomon said. “Erika, come over here.”
The woman quickly approached us when he called, then she extended her right hand. She held a clear Lucite clipboard in the other one. “Hello. I’m Erika Daniels.”
“Melissa DuBois. Pleased to meet you.” I returned her handshake, surprised by the strength of the woman’s grip. And, unlike me, she wore a white hard hat over her hair.
I waited for her to shake Hank’s hand before I spoke again. “I hear you’re an interior designer.”
“Yes. I got my degree at the New York School of Interior Design. I focus on old homes, like this one.” She turned to Mr. Solomon. “By the way, the west wing is shaping up nicely, so now it’s time to work on this wing. I think—”
“We need to talk about that.” Mr. Solomon obviously couldn’t wait to regain control of the conversation. “I thought you promised that the library would be done by now. We have our first wedding on Saturday, remember? I don’t want you to slap it together at the last minute.”
Her smile thinned. “I don’t intend to ‘slap anything together’. The books will be delivered this afternoon. All the classics, like you wanted. And, I found the perfect mirror for the hall bathroom. I just need your signature on the purchase order.”
Mr. Solomon snatched the clipboard from her. Purple spots covered his wrist, too, and I wondered whether the stress of the renovation had caused the rash to spread.
“All right.” He removed a pen from the hinge and hastily scrawled his name. “Here you go.” He thrust the clipboard back at her. “Hope this purchase doesn’t break our budget, like some of your other ones.”
“Of course not. Well, it was nice to meet you two.” She began to back away from us, as if she didn’t trust Mr. Solomon enough to turn her back on him.
“As for you,” Mr. Solomon returned his attention to Hank, “I need you to go outside with Miss DuBois and check on my car. Apparently she barreled into my side mirror.”
“Not sure I can do anything about that,” Hank said.
“I need you to take some pictures with your phone and then send them to my assistant.” He shook his head, as if the answer should’ve been obvious. “And you’ll need to get the number for Miss DuBois’s insurance policy and a photocopy of her driver’s license.”
“Is that all?”
I detected some sarcasm from Hank, but Mr. Solomon didn’t seem to notice.
“I think so. Send those things to my assistant so we can get this sorted out. That’ll do for now.” Another dismissive wave of his hand.
The Realtor and I turned to leave, an awkward silence falling between us. I finally broke it when we reached the hall.
“I can take that picture for you,” I said. “No need for you to run around and do his errands.”
“Nah, that’s okay. I was on my way out anyway.”
