Boston's Man-Eater

XXVI

My eyes, along with those of others were fever-bright with veneration.

The staff stood in a sequence that lead to the place of ceremony, all smartly dressed in their respective uniforms.

As I smiled at the captain in a clean cut regalia, Tess handed me a flute of champagne and linked her arm through mine.

"This is beautiful," I whispered, gazing around the grand dining room.

It had floor-to-ceiling windows for walls, and the tables were draped with luxurious red silk, contrasting to the cream chairs.

All of them, including ones from the mezzanine floors possessed red lanterns and roses, illuminating the place with a red-golden hue.

But the best part was the 15 foot chandelier that was positioned in the center of the room, leaving crystallized reflections onto the expanded interior.

"I have to give it to him-it's gorgeous," Tess hummed.

"I'm jealous," I said and she chuckled at my childishness.

"Good evening, Tess-Sir," a waiter bowed politely, "Right this way."

As we crossed the carpeted floor to the front of the room, I focused on the African-American jazz singer by the podium, the exceptional acoustics bringing a sense of relaxation.

I was pleased to see that Mason had actually considered issuing my name on a place card, but the waiter frowned when searching for Tess' missing one.

He walked around the table, a shadow of anxiety dimming his eyes.

"There seems to be an error with the set-up."

"What do you mean?" She asked with a comforting tone.

"I'm pretty sure it was here, I'll speak with the manager right away," he hurriedly left.

Meanwhile, Tess joined me at my right as I read the rest of the place cards.

Zoe would be joining us too, and an unfamiliar couple with Marisol as well.

The realization made me queasy as I remembered the conversation Caroline and I had the day after the celebration.

"Kyle, I'm sorry for last night. It wasn't uncalled for."

"I'm glad that you've apologized."

"Yeah," she hesitated, "but I do feel the need to clarify what I meant."

My dubious eyes surveyed her with disinterest, as I didn't want her words to upset me.

"What is it?"

"It's just that..." she ran her hand through her hair, "...a few years ago, before you joined us here or moved to Boston, a scandal surfaced which included Marisol Sanchez and a few entrepreneurs."

"What kind of scandal?"

"She was convicted of assault and battery."

"What?" I scooted to the edge of my chair, my eyes searching hers for sincerity.

"Apparently she'd threaten them, discreetly and indiscreetly, at their offices, their homes. She even attacked them once, and I don't know if it's a stroke of strange coincidence, but it included Damien Baker and Lucas Stevenson-both murdered by the hands of the Lady in Red."

"What kind of threats?"

"The matter wasn't disclosed."

"So, you're saying that Marisol is the Lady in Red?"