Save the Date(74)

“Wait a second,” he said, lowering the phone. “I can’t let you take that—”

But we didn’t wait to hear what else he was going to say because, like we’d discussed it ahead of time, we both bolted at the same moment and ran up the street. I unlocked my car when we were a few feet away, and then we threw ourselves inside.

“So,” Bill said, as I peeled out onto the street, “we need to convince Ralph Donnelly to give up Rodney’s suit.”

“And find someone to marry Linnie and Rodney,” I added.

“And bagels,” Bill added, and despite everything that was happening, I smiled.

“Right,” I agreed.

Bill shook his head. “It’s certainly turning out to be an interesting morning.” He looked over and smiled at me. “Let’s do it.”





CHAPTER 17


Or, #extortion




* * *



I HAD BEEN AFRAID THAT it would be hard to find Ralph Donnelly, but he proved surprisingly—and a little worryingly—easy to track down. Ralph had a very active social media presence, which was why, never having met the man, I knew not only what he looked like and that he apparently loved pugs, but also what his morning had consisted of.

ralphdonnelly: starting the day off right—coffee run! #coffeerun

ralphdonnelly: why such a long line at Flasks? Everyone needing that Saturday-morning coffee? #saturdaycoffee

ralphdonnelly: heading to swift tailor to pick up my suit for today’s event! #suitrun

ralphdonnelly: not so happy about having to get suit day of and change at the event!! Need faster tailor! #notsoswift #tailornotswift #slowtailors

ralphdonnelly: just realized I got the wrong suit from the tailor!! #wrongsuit

ralphdonnelly: Not happy about this. Maybe I should bring . . . a suit? #lol #legaljokes #suitsnotsuits

Things went on like this for a while, to the point where I was starting to worry about Ralph Donnelly’s safety since there didn’t seem to be any way he was updating this often and not doing it while he was driving. But it had allowed us to realize he was going to a breakfast reception at the Stanwich Country Club, and since he’d already weighed in on the food situation—#quichefail—we knew that he was currently there.

“Hopefully we’ll be able to find him,” Bill said as I swung into the parking lot of the country club. “I don’t know how big this event is.”

“We should just look for the displeased person by the quiche,” I said, circling the lot once. It was pretty crowded—though whether it was people attending the same event as Ralph or braving the chilly weather to play golf, I couldn’t be sure. I spotted an open parking spot and zoomed into it before anyone else could.

“Uh,” Bill said. We both got out of the car, and I could see him taking in the building, which was fairly intimidating up close. “Are we allowed to just walk in?”

“Maybe not,” I said, heading toward the entrance. “But just frown and walk fast.”

Bill furrowed his brow and looked over at me. “How’s this?”

I bit back a laugh, as we were getting close to the valet in front of the entrance. “Perfect.”

The valet looked up at us, and Bill and I gave him simultaneous frowny nods as we headed inside. “Okay,” I said, looking around. It had been about a year since I’d been in the country club—we didn’t belong, but I’d been there over the years for events and especially fancy sweet sixteens—and it looked pretty much the same, like an upscale living room. “The events are usually in that ballroom.” I nodded toward it just as I noticed a woman in a white polo shirt and khakis—who was very much giving off an I work here vibe—look at me and Bill. “Let’s go,” I whispered under my breath, and we hurried over before anyone could ask what, exactly, we were doing there.

“I think this is it,” Bill said as we approached the ballroom. He held out his phone, and I saw a selfie of Ralph Donnelly that had been taken next to the overlarge bouquet of flowers in the corner—#bloomingreat.

“Okay,” I said, looking around. The entrance to the ballroom seemed to be the mingle-and-eat area—I could see chairs lined up farther in, with a small stage and podium set up at the front. Waiters were walking around with trays, and people were talking in small groups as they drank coffee and ate what looked like the disappointing quiche. As I did, I noticed that everyone around us was very well dressed. All the men were in suits, and the women were either in pantsuits or dresses—whatever this event was, it clearly wasn’t casual. And the fact that Bill and I were both in jeans was starting to seem more obvious by the second.

“Is that him?” Bill asked, pointing toward the corner, where a short man in an oversize suit was typing on his phone. Bill held up the selfie for me to look at, and I nodded.

We crossed the ballroom to him, and though the man was still typing on his phone, after a moment, he finally noticed me and Bill standing there. “Yes?”

“Ralph Donnelly?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, a little more warily. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so,” I said, and Bill held out the garment bag. “We just came from Swift Tailors—they accidentally gave you my brother-in-law’s suit, and gave us yours.”