The Celtic Goddess.He wants to take me to the Celtic Goddess.
Morgan knew enough about the exclusive resort and restaurant to know that it was way out of her comfort zone. What she found on the website confirmed it.
She scrolled through pictures of a gorgeous facility built right into the mountain. Story upon story of floor to ceiling glass. White marble. Gold accents. Five-star reviews from some of the biggest names in the culinary world.
Then she looked at the outfits she’d brought with her. She’d packed for an extended stay in the woods, not for dinner at the Celtic Goddess.
She went to find Donna.
Donna was in the kitchen, slicing fresh herbs with quick, surgical precision. Morgan leaned in the doorway and considered her approach.
“Hey Donna?”
“Mm.”
“If you needed a dress, where would you go around here?”
Donna spared her a glance without slowing her rhythm. “For?”
“Dinner at the Celtic Goddess.”
The knife paused. Just briefly. Then it resumed. “Harlow’s,” Donna said. “On Birch Street.”
“Okay.” Morgan wasn’t sure where Birch Street was, but a quick search would take care of that. It was the other stuff that wasn’t as easily answered. Like what she should look for once she got there.
Death scenes? She was all over those. Fashion? Not so much. That was her mother’s area of expertise, not hers, and she wasn’t about to call and ask. There’d be too many questions Morgan didn’t want to answer.
She stood there for a minute longer. “Do you have any suggestions?”
“For?”
“I don’t know. Color. Style. That sort of thing.”
Donna looked up, her expression its usual composed self, and Morgan realized she might not be asking the right person for fashion advice. Neurotoxins, yes. Haute couture, no.
“You know what?” Morgan said, backtracking. “I’m sure they have someone there.”
“Mm.”
The knock at the front door saved Morgan from sticking her foot any farther into her own mouth.
“I’ll get it,” Morgan offered, treading quickly away.
She opened the door to see Patrick’s cousin Riley standing there.
“Hi,” Riley said brightly.
“Hi.”
“Patrick said he’s taking you to the Celtic Goddess tonight. I thought I’d see if you wanted to do some shopping.”
Morgan blinked. “Actually, yes. I was just about to head into town.”
From the kitchen doorway, Donna appeared.
The two women regarded each other. Riley with open, friendly curiosity. Donna with her usual composure. Then something shifted, briefly, at the corners of her expression. Morgan tagged it as the same almost-amusement she’d glimpsed earlier, surfacing and retreating before it could be properly identified.
“Harlow’s,” Donna said. “Birch Street.”