Fed up

had left for the evening before I called the police and told the entire story to a detective. Robin hadn’t yet seen the film and couldn’t watch it while Nelson was still shooting. Therefore, no one was in immediate danger. I retrieved my plate and returned to the table to finish dinner. Josh had vanished. In his place sat Kitty.
    “You know, darling,” Kitty began, leaning in to speak to her daughter, “I talked to my friend Rhonda the other day. She wants a divorce, the poor thing. Horrid man she married, really, and I can’t blame her. But she says she’ll never leave him because he’s got all the money, and they don’t have a prenup. I guess you two won’t have that problem. You know, fighting over money. No need for a prenuptial agreement if there’s nothing to fight over!”
    “Kitty, would you like anything else to eat?” I said in a panic.
    “No, thank you, dear. I’m not even sure what half of the food is.”
    Bringing up divorce and money at her daughter’s wedding was bad enough, but insulting Josh’s food? Now she had really crossed the line! I saw Ade inhale and exhale through her nose and will herself to ignore her mother.
    As dinner wound down, coffee and dessert plates arrived on the buffet tables. Digger and Alfonso lined up row after row of martini glasses filled with a mixture of crumbled ladyfingers, limoncello, and mascarpone, and topped with fresh raspberries. The bright yellow of the lemon liqueur and the red of the berries looked cheerful and celebratory. As for the ladyfingers, I could eat those spongy delicacies by the dozen. In other words, the dessert was bound to be right up my gastronomic alley. A tray of figs poached in champagne, vanilla, cinnamon, and lemon zest arrived with a pitcher of cream. How was I going to make room for everything? Somehow or other, I’d find space.
    “Oh, Chloe, look! Here come the cupcakes!” Adrianna pointed to one of the buffet tables.
    Ade had decided that what she wanted instead of a typical wedding cake was a cupcake tower fashioned from Sprinkles brand cupcakes. Josh had ordered mixes in red velvet, dark chocolate, and vanilla and had baked a hundred and fifty cupcakes that he’d iced this morning and arranged in a tower. Josh and Hector entered the tent, both supporting the tray of tiered cupcakes.
    “How fun is this!” Ade said happily.
    “This was the coolest idea, hon.” Owen rubbed his hands together. “Let’s go cut the cupcake, my blushing bride.”
    “Cupcakes,” snorted Kitty. “Whoever heard of such a thing! Childish, I call it. How are they going to cut a cupcake?”
    I rose from my chair. “With a knife.”
    Nelson and Robin followed the couple to the buffet table. I kept a keen eye on Robin to make sure that she didn’t get close enough to sprinkle the Sprinkles with poison. The bride and groom choose one cupcake from the top of the tower and held the knife together as they split the cake in two. I cheered as Ade frosted Owen’s nose with her half and then awwwed as they shared a gooey kiss. I caught Robin forcing Nelson’s camera away from me and back onto Ade and Owen.
    When the couple took their seats, Robin threw her hands on her hips. “Nelson, I’ve had it. You are totally incompetent! Give me the damn camera, Nelson! I mean it!”
    “Yeah, right.” In showy defiance of Robin, Nelson slowly played the camera back and forth over the crowd.
    I felt certain that this time, Robin and Nelson wouldn’t take their fight outside, and I was equally sure that they wouldn’t make peace on their own. To prevent an ugly scene, I stepped in. “Stop it!” I ordered in an undertone. “Both of you! Come over here.” I herded the pair out of the tent and stopped just outside the entrance. I didn’t relish having to chat it up with Robin, but I had no choice; I couldn’t allow the two of them to make a spectacle of themselves at the reception. “What the heck is the problem now?”
    Ignoring me, Robin resumed her attack on Nelson. “Get this straight. I am making this film. Me! I am in charge. It’s not about whatever pretty girl you happen to feel like looking at. I’m the producer and director. You’re just the cameraman. I’m the brain, you’re the eyes, and that’s all you are. You shoot what I tell you to. Got it?”
    Nelson leaned forward. “Maybe the film was yours, but it’s mine now. And my film is much more interesting than yours would have been. I’m an artist, and you’re nothing but