THIRTEEN FOR DINNER

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

        I’m starving and Mr. Brackett refuses to begin dinner until all the guests arrive. There are twelve of us in all, ready to eat but we’re waiting on one last couple. Seems their attendance tonight is pretty important to Mr. Brackett. Their names are Mr. and Mrs. Kendrick and I hear they are extremely wealthy as is everyone at this dinner, everyone except me that is. I guess I have them all fooled though. Mr. Brackett introduced me as his niece Makayla. He told them I will be moving to Ithaca, New York soon to attend Cornell University. According to my eccentric Uncle, I will be taking hotel management courses. Sounds good to me, since I have no idea what I want to do with my life anyway. What I do know is I don’t want to stay in this one horse town and work at a hair salon with my mother. So for now, I am wealthy and headed to a University that would oblige me inheriting a fortune to attend.

            I imagine Mike is in the kitchen stressing over the bisque about now. I think it’s been simmering for far too long. I wish I was in there with him, instead of standing here in these uncomfortable heels, trying to make small talk with people much older than me. There’s a flashy redhead monopolizing the conversation, thanks to her I don’t have to say much. She is Mrs. Regina Montoya and has the biggest set of fake hooters I’ve ever seen. She’s wearing a low cut, tight fitting lavender dress, and a push up bra that has her chin nearly resting on her boobs. She’s openly flirting with all men; I feel for her husband, he’s quiet and unassuming and appears bored as if he’s heard all her self-indulging stories many times before.

            A very handsome man just introduced himself and his wife to me. His name is Austin Phinney and he graduated from Cornell. Just my luck, I am afraid he is going to ask me questions about the University. He and his wife do make a striking couple.  Her name is Brianna and she’s beautiful like Steffi, except more glamorous. She doesn’t say much, she just smiles a pretty soft smile. I heard Austin tell someone she is an opera singer so I decide to ask her a little about that to defer the Cornell questions.

            “I’m sorry I’m late,” I hear someone say. I turn to the doorway, thrilled at the interruption, not to mention extremely thankful that the last two guests have finally arrived and now we can eat. My heart skips a beat as I am looking into the most gorgeous face I have ever laid eyes on. The guy can’t be much older than me, maybe a couple of years, and he is hot, oh so hot. I feel myself blushing and I hope no one notices. 

            Mr. Brackett looks a little nervous as if he is not prepared for this guest. “Is Mrs. Kendrick with you?” he asks his face masking his confusion.

            “Sorry no.” The guy says. “My grandmother regrets that she is not able to attend with me tonight.”

            God he’s hot and smart. He talks proper and polished and suddenly I want to go hide in the kitchen with Mike and stir the bisque.

            Mr. Brackett has broken out in a full on sweat and is rubbing the back of his neck nervously, and as we all gather at the table I realize what has him so uptight. Without Mrs. Kendrick coming with Quillan it leaves us with thirteen for dinner. My stomach flip flops and I feel guilty. I really don’t belong at this party, so if I left, there would be twelve guests and all would be well. Mr. Brackett is looking at me like I am a curse and I want to bolt but Austin Phinney has just pulled my chair out for me so I sit. He and his wife take their seats to my left. On my right are Phyl and Mikey Atienza. From everything they are saying they’ve undoubtedly made their fortune in a multi-level vitamin business. Phyl is a good advertisement for their industry. She is in excellent shape for having four kids. Mikey has curly hair and the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. I wonder if his face ever hurts from grinning so much. Across the table from me, to the left, are the flirtatious Regina and her hen-pecked husband.  Next to them are Mary Elizabeth and Peter Butler. They are Texas oil tycoons and the oldest couple here. Peter is loud, braggadocios and drinks too much. He gives Regina a run for her money. The last couple at the table is Tony and Emma Chizzam. Tony is beefy x-professional football player. He and his wife are conservative, born again Christians, and have made it abundantly clear they do not believe in ghost, but I saw Emma look a tad bit nervous a few minutes ago when Peter Butler loudly disclosed the horrid history of this place.

            The hot guy takes the chair directly across from me and it’s then our eyes meet for the first time.  I can’t help but notice a twinkle flicker in those steel gray eyes. Maybe he’s pleased because there is someone else at this strange dinner that is close to his same age. Or the sparkle in his eyes could be because he thinks I’m pretty, after all Mike said I looked beautiful and French.  Austin notices our inspection of each other and promptly introduces me. “This is Makayla, our esteemed host’s niece. She is heading to Cornell next month.”  

            “Quillan Kendrick,” he grins out of the side of his mouth as he nods his head, “Nice to meet you Makayla.”

            I smile but dare not say anything, darn this deep southern accent. I know no matter how hard I try I won’t sound near as educated as he does so I choose to remain mysterious, aloof and French.

            Mike is prompt with his service. He has long since cleared away the bisque and salad and now he is placing the main course on the table. He gives me a slight wink as he places the filet mignon in front of me. I think the big boobed Regina noticed. She gives me a wry look as she pops a baby carrot into her mouth. Other than that tiny infraction the dinner has gone off without a hitch. Everyone is making small talk and seems to be enjoying themselves. From the   conversation at the table, I’ve figured out Mr. Brackett intends to buy this property for some sort of boarding school and he is looking for investors. He sent out several business proposals; the people here tonight must be the ones who showed interest.

            The wind is howling outside, and the forecasted storm has arrived. A loud clap of thunder shakes the room and I remember I am supposed to be utterly frightened.  Yet, the unexpected arrival of Quillan and the absolutely delectable meal has nearly chased all my apprehensions away, not to mention the very entertaining conversation flowing from the mouths of this eclectic group of people.

            We have just finished our Crème Brulee, I refrain myself from picking up my dish and licking it clean. Mike is pouring an expensive bottle of Port. I am surprised when he pours some into my glass. I’ve never drank before, besides I’m underage and he knows it, but still, he fills my glass.

            Mr. Brackett lifts his goblet in a toast. “To this historical home. May the vision I have erase the dark past, and bring a bright future.”

            The clinking sound of the glasses filles the room as we all toast and take a big swig of the fine Port. I nearly gag. How could this be so expensive? It tastes like Nyquil. I manage to swallow the burning liquid without making a face. Mr. Brackett sits his glass on the table and dabs at his mouth with his linen napkin before he speaks.

            “I have devised an interesting way to show you the mansion,” He says and the grin on his face sends a chill down my spine. “Instead of giving a guided tour, I have decided it would be thrilling to send you on a treasure hunt of sorts.” By this time he has everyone’s attention including mine and my stomach begins flip flopping again, swirling the Port and Crème Brulee around in my belly. Go on a treasure hunt in this creepy house? Is he kidding? There’s no way I’m participating in Brackett’s crazy game.  I’ve done my job, filling in as a guest, even though it wasn’t needed; but I refuse to go traipsing through this haunted mansion.

            “There are three floors, thirty -six bedrooms,” he’s saying. “Twenty-four bathrooms, a conservatory, a library, a billiard room, a couple of dens, several sitting rooms, a kitchen, dozens of hallways, an attic, a basement, the cupola and not to mention several staircases and…” his eyes dance in excitement, “a few secret passageways.”

            “And just what is it we are hunting for?”  Regina asks in her sultry voice as she traces her finger over the rim of her chalice.

            Mr. Brackett swirls the Port around in his glass before inhaling the aroma of the expensive wine. A resounding clap of thunder explodes outside the mansion, shaking the historical home, knocking out the power. From the darkness Mr. Brackett answers Regina’s question. “You’ll be looking for a way out.”