She started to move to address the next row of travelers, including Jeff, but held up a finger as though suddenly remembering. “I have food allergy information on file for most of the group, but I don’t have that information handy for either of you.” She wagged her finger at us. “Be sure to let me know soon.”
Bennett was way ahead of her. He tapped the menu. “I can tell you already that I don’t want asparagus.” Continuing to tap, he added, “I think I’ll enjoy this pasta primavera, but without the asparagus.”
“Got it,” Evelyn said, jotting down a note. “Anything else?” She looked to me then back to Bennett, who had relaxed again.
“That’s it,” he said. “I’ll eat almost anything else.” One brow arched. “Almost. But asparagus?” He shook his head, frowning. “Won’t touch the stuff.”
“Millie won’t eat asparagus, either,” Matthew chimed in. Hearing her name, the collie regarded Matthew with devoted dark eyes. He and most of the others had taken spots on the long sofa. Matthew stroked the dog’s back with obvious affection, talking about her the way parents often brag about their kids’ antics. “You should see her pick the pieces out and drop them next to her food bowl.” He laughed. “It’s hilarious.”
Pinky had separated herself from the group by taking a seat beyond the sofa. Although I could tell that she had been listening in on the conversation, she stared out the plane window with an expression so forlorn that it was obvious she wanted to be anywhere but here.
Matthew rubbed Millie’s face. “You know exactly what you want, don’t you, girl?”
Millie barked in happy response. Pinky sent the dog a scathing look of contempt before resuming her lonely gaze.
“You feed her table food then?” Bennett twisted his chair all the way around. “Is that healthy for a dog?”
“Yeah,” Matthew assured him. “Only the best for my girl here. Organically grown, pesticide-free. I want to keep her around for a good, long time.”
I could have sworn Pinky snorted at that. Matthew must have heard it, too, because he turned to her briefly before returning to our conversation. “So what do you do back in North Carolina?” Matthew asked us. “Are you two, uh, together?”
Bennett told Matthew all about Marshfield Manor and how I’d been hired as assistant curator just over a year ago. He left out any mention of the murder that saw me promoted from assistant to full curator and estate manager, but he gave a succinct overview of our tourist business and hinted about the treasures we shared with visitors.
“I’ve heard of Marshfield,” Matthew said. “Been meaning to visit there, but haven’t gotten around to it.”
Matthew told us that SlickBlade had been contracted to open for a big-name group at an upcoming concert but declined to mention the group’s name.
“You’re not into heavy metal, are you?” he asked.
“Not especially. I’m more classic rock. Some heavy metal is okay—”
He smiled. “Don’t worry. That’s why there are so many varieties of music out there. Not everything appeals to everyone. You’d probably be surprised to find out that I enjoy operettas, wouldn’t you?”
I was.
“Gilbert and Sullivan,” Matthew said. “Can’t get enough of them.”
Delighted to discover a fellow fan, Bennett jumped into the conversation and soon the two men were discussing their favorite productions and even occasionally singing a lyric or two. I listened, joining their animated conversation from time to time. Behind us, Adam read, Jeff tried to go back to sleep, Pinky fumed, and the other travelers chitchatted among themselves. Through all of this, Evelyn made sure our drinks were refreshed and that we had all the snacks we needed. She went out of her way to see to everyone’s needs, quietly reminding Rudy that he was on board to work, not to socialize.