“Hello?” I called out again, my voice ricocheting through a long dark hallway. I followed the candlelight, gasping as I entered a grand ballroom—no, not a ballroom, a dining room. The long-slabbed table and high-backed chairs reminded me of something medieval: a table fit for a king and his retinue.

Finally, I heard noises—the clank of metal on glass, the sizzle of someone’s cooking. I followed the symphony of sounds, finding my way through two metal swinging doors that led to an industrial-sized kitchen. Half a dozen chefs were hard at work rolling dough for desserts, bowling crab legs, and slicing vegetables and cheese for salads.

“Hello! You must be Mara!”

I jumped at the sound of a voice beside me, turning quickly towards an elderly, stout woman dressed all in black. She was wearing a shiny gold nametag. Delfina.

“No, I’m Tinsley. Mara is the other friend planning the party.” I stuck out my hand and she took it.

“Tinsley … I don’t think we’ve spoken. It’s mostly been Mara, going back and forth in our email exchanges.”

I frowned. “Yes, that’s right. Of the two of us, she’s definitely the one in charge of handling communication. But I’m the one footing the bill.” I couldn’t resist letting her know.

“Oh.” Delfina shifted her matronly hips and gave me an uncomfortable smile. She looked like Betty Crocker, with her old-fashioned apron and starched-white uniform. She had to be nearly seventy or eighty years old.

“The others flew, but I drove. I’m sorry if I arrived too early. I just couldn’t help myself. This place is simply marvelous,” I breathed, watching the workers float effortlessly around the kitchen as though they were following a carefully choreographed dance.

“Oh, no problem at all!” Delfina grinned. “We are so grateful to have you. We get so many revelers and tourists during Mardi Gras. It’s nice to have a proper party to tend to. I’m pleased to have you,” she said curtly. She seemed friendly but proper, and I could tell that she was the one in charge by the way she watched the others moving through the kitchen with a hawklike stance.

“Well, thank you for letting us do it here and agreeing to host the dinner. How can I help?”

Delfina waved me off. “No need for anything. I have it all taken care of. The bedrooms are on the second floor. Each room has been pre-selected, and you should easily find yours. Dinner will be served at seven, not a moment sooner…”

“Thanks again, Delfina.”