My Mother-in-Law Sat Me by the Service Door

was normal. Then Walter Pruitt himself, silver hair, red bow tie, smelling faintly of scotch and expensive hand soap.

And, because nothing ugly stays private for long in a ballroom, Eleanor.

She entered last.

Her gaze went from James to me to the papers spread across a linen-covered banquet prep table in the hotel office they’d unlocked for us. Her posture continue reading …