The doorbell buzzed and LouElla twitched like a startled rabbit. “Whoops! Another customer!” She twirled smartly on one Ferragamo toe and wheeled out of the room.
“I see you’ve met LouElla Van Schuyler,” the doctor observed.
I snagged a carrot stick. “Who is she?”
“One-woman welcome wagon.” He dropped his used toothpick into a silver bowl, one that looked vaguely familiar. I inched my way closer to it. “Drinks table is in the kitchen.” The doctor gestured to his left with a glass of white wine.
“And our hostess, too, I presume?”
He nodded.
“I’ll look forward to talking to you later, then,” I said, not wanting to appear rude.
On our way to the kitchen, Paul and I passed through a well-organized pantry with a wall of glass-fronted shelves to the right and on the left, a zinc sink whic
