Chapter Two

At first Nick Pepper had decided not to attend the dinner. He wasn't really fond of the old bastard that was Mr. Meade, though his daughter was entirely different story. But the more he thought about it, the more he considered it was all for the best. He needed to utilize every networking opportunity that came at hand after.

So he stood there in front of the Meade Mansion, his collar turn up against the cold, waiting patiently to be let in.

In moment, a feisty maid appeared in ruffle skirt that was short enough in all the right places.

"Have you come for the dinner?" she asked, knowing full well the look he was giving her. "You're the first to arrive."

Nick plucked his collar.,"Can't start things without the Pepper."

The maid rolled her eyes, but otherwise very professionally led the way down the hall.

The numerous paintings and artwork that covered the walls were enough even to cause him to tear his eyes from the short ruffled skirt. Ornate carpeting muffled their footsteps though the grandfather clock by the stairs clicked softly about. He passed a statue that had what looked to mythological warrior pointing to the east. Nick gave it a curious glance.

"You find many of those about," the maid said with a sniff. "Mr. Meade has a thing about collections. Anything you can imagine. You wanted a tour of the house?"

Nick leaned in closer to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I like a tour about-"

Fortunately his words were cut off by the tolling of the doorbell.

"I must get that," the maid said with a smile, plucking his hand off of her. "Take a seat in the library."

Grumbling Nick settled in the room. Slumping to his chair he glowered at the many books about him. What kind of person made their guest wait for them in the library? There wasn't going to be anything to draw his attention here.

"Books! What's a room full of books doing here!" a blond in seducing red dress cried out.

Nick smirked, changing his mind right away. If the others guests were like this, then forget the old man.

"It's called a library," the maid said as the doorbell rang again. "Wait here."

Nick brushed back his hair, "Hello there."

The woman in red made a disgusted face. "No. Don't even start." She sat down across the room, crossing her leg and reaching into her little purse for mirror.

"Why aren't you armed and dangerous," Nick leered.

When the maid returned with Christina and Cliff, they found Amanda single-mindedly beating Nick with her shoe.

"Looks like it's getting festive in here," Christiana quipped as Cliff went to drag Amanda away from Nick.

"Please no death," the maid wearingly, "it's always spoils a dinner party."

She went and brought in the last of the guests, and they all began to make awkward small talk that was so awkward they settled on sitting in uncomfortable silence.

"So where," Whiliamenia said finally, "is our esteemed host?" She snapped open her purse, "I hope his lovely children aren't here to entertain us."

"No, it definitely says Mr. Bradford Meade," Cliff pulled out a slightly crumple invitation. Marc wrinkled his nose at the state. If you squinted you could see the faded gold trim and once brilliant white paper. "But didn't say what the business is about."

"I hoping for food," Nick said pulling at the lapels of his collar. He sneered at Cliff. "Not that you need any."

As a mild look of reproach crossed his face, Christina interjected quickly, "You keep invitations with you?"

Cliff shrugged, falling back to his easygoing attitude, "It's not like I have many chance to go to fancy parties anymore."

"Well I still do," Amanda pronounced tossing her blond locks.

"And we all know why," Nick muttered.

"Did you say something?"

"Yes, I was wondering why the old man hasn't-"

The door opened again and the assorted guests all turned towards it, hoping to see their distinguished host. Instead to their disappointment, the maid, and what looked like to be her young son, wheeled in a cart with glasses and a few bottles of wine.

"Mr. Meade will be meeting you at dinner. Dinner however will be delayed." She gestured to her son, who began to hand the guests a wine glass. "Would you like refreshment till then?"

"That would be lovely, dears," Christina said eagerly taking a glass from the boy.

At her voice, the boy broke his professional nature. "You're Christina McKinney! The famous fashion designer who dressed Fey Sommers, Gia Gonbardo, and-"

"Justin!" The maid hissed, she added something in fluid syllables of another language. "Remember to always be professional."

The boy grumbled slightly but did as he was bid.

"Why is dinner delayed," Wilhelmina asked as she watched with narrowed eyes as Justin poured her drink, "Mr. Meade is always someone who runs things on time."

"You would know wouldn't you?" Amanda remarked.

Wilhelmina glanced up from her glass of wine, giving the blond a piercing look. Amanda jumped, quickly frustrated.

"Now you know," Marc said to her, sympathy in his voice, "why she's the called the White Witch."

"There was a mishap in the kitchen. Papi- Our cook, had some trouble."

"I told him telenovelas are bad-"

"Justin," the maid smiled tightly guiding her son to the rolling cart. "Take this back, and go check the arrangements in the dining room."

The boy did as he was bid, though he grumbled slightly as he pushed the cart out the room.

"If any the ladies wish to freshen up, the powder room in right out this door," the maid said, "I'll inform you when dinner is ready."

She flounced out the room under Nick's careful eyes.

"You seem easily amused," Marc commented dryly, "can't keep your eyes on the prize can you?"

"I am keeping them on it." Nick retorted reaching for lighter and cigarette. "Do any of you mind?"

"Yes, I don't smoke and won't be allowed anywhere near the foul smell." Wilhelmina replied, her face incapable of making a scowl.

"More like the witch's face will melt," Christina said in undertone to Cliff.

With disgust, Nick replaced his lighter. "I guess that means no." he groaned rising to his feet pacing angrily about the library. "What I am going to do until the old man gets here? Read!"

"Well this is a library," Amanda said studying her crimson tipped nails. "I'm sure people do something like that here."

"Like you ever read a book before," Nick scowled.

"If you want to talk about books "The Adventures of the Speckled Band" is quite good," Cliff said.

The people in the room all turned to face him with varying digress of disgust on their faces.

"Or maybe not," Cliff said reaching for his wine glass.

"Don't drink too much," Marc said absently, "you know what happens when you get drunk."

Amanda's eyes widened, "you too know each other?"

"Well," Marc said blinking rather fast, "I wouldn't call it knowing each other…"

"I beg to differ," Cliff said curtly.

Marc forced a laugh, as Wilhelmina eyed them suspiciously, "But we don't have to talk about that! What do you think old man Meade is up to?"

"Well it's hardly likely he's selling something," Christina said, "or at least not to us."

"You mean this is more than just a dinner party?" Amanda said surprised.

"There's always a reason for a group of people to gather together," Wilhelmina said tartly, "that's the first thing you do in any sort of business."

"You don't own a business," Nick said without thinking. He regretted his words as she gave him a frosty glare.

"The point is, I don't want to waste my night waiting for Bradford."

Once again the door opened.

"If you follow me," the maid said, "dinner is served."

As Nick went to climb to his feet, Christina knocked him down back to the couch. "Ladies first," she said in a slightly slurred voice dropping her glass onto the table.

With Nick at the end of the line, they followed the maid into the dining room where there were six places set along a long table, a seventh chair placed at the head although there were no place settings.

"Mr. Meade won't be joining us," Cliff asked took his seat.

"He's a bit busy," the maid said tersely. "Enjoy the meal."

"At least the old bastard isn't going to ruin my appetite," Nick muttered picking up his fork and knife. "What is this?"

"Something that is going to ruin my appetite," Amanda cried out pushing the dish away. "It looks like it was alive!"

"Usually most meat was once alive," Christina remarked expertly cutting the food.

"You people have no taste," Whiliamenia said expertly slicing the food, "not that I didn't know that already."

They dined in the room, a different servant occasionally coming to check how they were faring. Each time, they inquired about their host, each time they were given vague answers that told them nothing.

Marc already bored with listening to Marc and Christina talk about old films, nudged Amanda with his elbow.

"Isn't the decorating here ghastly," he said exasperatingly, "not only that horribly heavy cabinet is in here, but who decorates their dining room with a giant peacock painting?"

"I know," Amanda said her face curling into a scowl, "It's got these strange eyes, like it's watching us."

Marc rolled his eyes, reaching for his wine glass. "You've been watching too many murder mysteries."

"I have not," she said.

"Of course you have, you all get this worked up with things are strange."

Nick leaned forward, curious. "How do you two know each other? There's no way you guys can be-"

Marc lifted a perfectly waxed eyebrow, "Can be what, nancy boy?"

The insult curling on Nick's lips was cut short by the door snapping open.

"Apologies for my late arrival." Mr. Bradford Meade said unapologetically as he stepped into the room. "A family emergency."

"So you say Bradford," Whiliamenia all but purred, "so you always say."

"Mr. Meade, I suppose there's a reason why you've brought us 'ere?" Christina said slightly slurred. "Fine dining and hospitality aside, I like to know the reason."

"Do not worry about that," Bradford said circling around the table. "Enjoy your meal. It's the last you'll be able to eat in good conscience."