“Whoa,” Jazz said as we parked in the roundabout out front of the home. “This is very…’off with their heads’, isn’t it?”
“Little bit.”
I got out and reached in the back seat for my purse and sketchbook. I assumed Imogene already had an idea for what she wanted her wedding cake to look like, since we were only three weeks out, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared.
We walked up the brick steps to the front door. I rang the bell, and a moment later the door opened to reveal a man dressed in black and white attire.
“Hello,” I greeted.
“Good morning, Ms. Palmer. Ms. Valentine,” the man replied. “Please come with me.”
We followed the butler through an expansive front room that had a large round table with a vase of fresh white flowers in the center. Down the hall we went, past a living room and a dining room with furniture so expensive it didn’t even look like people were allowed to sit on it. We turned, and the butler stopped. He gestured to an enclosed outdoor patio where Imogene sat. There was a pitcher of orange juice in front of her.
She stood immediately when she saw us. “Thank you, Langston.”
“My pleasure, Ms. Imogene,” he said and then retreated.
Imogene embraced me. “Did you have trouble finding the place?”
She pulled back to look between me and Jazz.
Jazz, being Jazz, said, “It’s kinda hard to miss.”
Imogene blinked and then let out a tinkling laugh. “You’re so right!” She held out her hand. “You must be Jazz. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
“Sit.” Imogene gestured to two vacant chairs. “I thought we could discuss things over brunch. You haven’t eaten, have you?”
I didn’t think saltines counted as a meal, so I shook my head.
“Wonderful. Our chef makes a wonderful crab and lobster omelet,” Imogene said. “Oh. I didn’t think to ask if you’re allergic to shellfish.”
“I’m not,” Jazz said.
“I’m not either. But I am pregnant.” I smiled. “So, no shellfish for me.”
“You’re pregnant!” Imogene squealed. “That’s so exciting! How far along are you?”
“Still in the first trimester,” I admitted.
Imogene stood up. “Let me tell the chef to make you something else. Whatever you want. Tell me and I’ll have it made.”
“I’d kill for poached eggs on toast,” I admitted.
“Done and done.” She stood back up and left the enclosed patio.
“You weren’t lying,” Jazz said when she was sure Imogene was gone. “She’s lovely.”
I nodded.
Imogene returned and retook her seat. “It’s all settled. Langston will be out in a minute with fresh-squeezed orange juice for you.”
“What do you call that?” I asked, pointing to the pitcher.
She grinned. “Mimosas.”
Chapter36