By that time, Julian had returned, and he said all the guests but one had arrived. Unlike the folks coming to the library breakfast, these people didn’t want to cocoon when there was crime or bad weather in town. In fact, Hermie had warned that the cold weather and snow had piqued the guests’ thirst, and they were already passing on the fancy wines and slugging down bourbon, scotch, vodka, and gin.
I whispered, “Uh-oh,” and nabbed the nearest platter of cold hors d’oeuvres. Julian hurriedly pushed the first sheet of phyllo-wrapped risotto into the oven, grabbed another platter of the cold shrimp rolls, and together we dashed out to the living room. Guests hitting the liquor hard on empty stomachs was like aiming a rocket-propelled grenade into your party. Luckily, the deep freeze outside
