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John walked into Harold’s study, holding a phone to his ear. “Shaw’s not picking up.”
“Oh, dear,” Harold said, twisting to glance up at him. “I can’t get ahold of Root, either. What of the good detective?”
“He’s doing something with his kid.”
“Well, I suppose we can’t count on him, either, then. And Elias appears to be in hiding again.” He tapped a finger against the wrist rest. “Ms. Morgan?”
“Apparently she has a lot of social obligations at this time of year.”
Pushing back from the desk, Harold pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I knew it was rather optimistic to hope that most of them could attend, but I’d imagined it would be more than just you and me, Mr. Reese.”
John shrugged. “Looks like that’s what you got, Finch. How’s that going to impact your plans?”
“Not so many side dishes, I expect. It’s not too late to cancel the turkey and pick up a couple of game hens. Of course the board games I selected are more for a group…”
“I’ll pick up some smaller games. Thursday at eight?”
“Six, if you’re going to help with the cooking.”
“Sounds good.”