25
As I eased the Porsche around the bend I knew immediately which home belonged to Oliver Weddinghouse. Every light in the stately, two-story was on, illuminating the waterfront. The electronic gate was open and a servant instructed us to drive the entrance road to the portico where a valet would park the car. We disembarked, walked across the portico to the door where we were greeted by another staff member who welcomed us, opened the door, and pointed us to where we could leave our coats.
“Is this your typical book launch?” I asked Valerie, as I helped her with her coat.
“For the heavy hitters.”
“Like Jackie?” I hung the coats.
“Yes.”
I followed Valerie who knew her way around the home, which was buzzing with people from the writing and publishing world, most held a glass of champ
