Sour Grapes

this was Catherine’s beloved husband, Anthony, the wannabe state senator. He appeared less comfortable with the social scene than his effervescent wife. He had a slightly “hunted” look, as though he would much prefer to be somewhere far away from the formal, stuffy crowd.
    Strange, for someone seeking public office, Savannah mused. He’d better get used to it.
    A number of people clustered around the head table, clamoring for the Villas’ attention, but they seemed more interested in the quiet conversation they were sharing with each other.
    It was only when Mrs. Lippincott strode over to their table that Anthony disengaged himself from Catherine and stood, shaking Marion’s hand vigorously.
    She pointed to the podium on the slightly elevated, temporary stage that had been assembled at the far end of the room. Anthony Villa nodded his approval and shook her hand again.
    Savannah smiled to herself. Yes, she could definitely take some lessons on People Management and Manipulation from the formidable Mrs. Lippincott. Even the seemingly shy Anthony Villa was eager to do her bidding.
    As an army of waiters and waitresses dressed in stiffly starched black-and-white uniforms invaded the room, Savannah decided to take her leave. She hadn’t been invited to join the guests for dinner, so what was the point of tormenting herself? She’d score something in the kitchen after hours... and what the heck, she’d get a double portion of dessert to reward herself for delayed gratification.

    When Savannah reached the top of the guesthouse stairs and looked down the hallway, she was surprised the difference thirty minutes could make. Half an hour ago, on her last round, the floor had been teeming with tittering teenagers, racing up and down the corridor in all stages of dress and undress, rollers in their hair, curling irons in their hands.
    Now the hall was empty—its silence almost eerie.
    She strolled along the passageway, her pumps making no sound as she stepped on the carpet that was nearly as plush as that of the tasting room, only this rug bore a classic pattern—a green trellis on a background of antique gold with grape leaves bordering both edges.
    The walls were covered with the same wainscoting of old oak, while the upper half was stucco-textured in old-world mission style. The ceilings here were also open-beamed, and at the end of the hall was a large window with leaded glass. An outside light cast its glow through the golden glass, giving the hallway a pleasant, Midas-touch ambience.
    Savannah was more than halfway down the hall when she noticed that one of the doors—2C—was ajar. She heard voices, females voices, coming from within the room.
    Normally she wouldn’t have bothered eavesdropping on what was probably a frivolous conversation. But something in the tone—an almost ominous, very serious note to the voices—caught her attention. Silently, she took a few steps closer and listened.
    “Don’t worry about it,” one of the girls said. “Now I wish I’d never even told you about it.”
    “Well, you did tell me, and I am worried. I’m really worried. And if you were half as smart as you think you are, you’d be worried, too.”
    Savannah heard rustling in the room and got ready to step away from the door if necessary, but the girls continued talking.
    “I told you, I thought about it for a long time. It’s gonna work out just the way I planned. Everything’s set, you’ll see.”
    “I don’t know. I’ve got a bad feeling about this. I think you should tell your folks. That’s what I’d do if I were you.”
    “My folks! You’ve gotta be kidding. They’re the last people I want to know about this... at least until it’s all settled. Then I’ll tell them, and they’ll be cool about it.”
    “And if they aren’t?”
    “They won’t have anything to say about it, will they?”
    “You’d better be careful. You could get hurt.”
    “Naw, if anybody gets hurt, it isn’t going to be me. Guaranteed.”
    Again Savannah heard activity inside the room. “Come on,” one of the girls said. “We’ve gotta get downstairs before Mrs. Lippincott misses us.”
    “You go ahead. I’ve got one more quick phone call to make, then I’ll be down.”
    Savannah had time to take a couple of steps backward before the girl emerged from the room and closed the door behind her. She was lovely, petite, with glossy black hair cascading in waves to her waist. She had big, golden-brown eyes that grew