ralphdonnelly: why such a long line at Flasks? Everyone needing that Saturday-morning coffee? #saturdaycoffee

ralphdonnelly: heading to swift tailor to pick up my suit for today’s event! #suitrun

ralphdonnelly: not so happy about having to get suit day of and change at the event!! Need faster tailor! #notsoswift #tailornotswift #slowtailors

ralphdonnelly: just realized I got the wrong suit from the tailor!! #wrongsuit

ralphdonnelly: Not happy about this. Maybe I should bring . . . a suit? #lol #legaljokes #suitsnotsuits

Things went on like this for a while, to the point where I was starting to worry about Ralph Donnelly’s safety since there didn’t seem to be any way he was updating this often and not doing it while he was driving. But it had allowed us to realize he was going to a breakfast reception at the Stanwich Country Club, and since he’d already weighed in on the food situation—#quichefail—we knew that he was currently there.

“Hopefully we’ll be able to find him,” Bill said as I swung into the parking lot of the country club. “I don’t know how big this event is.”

“We should just look for the displeased person by the quiche,” I said, circling the lot once. It was pretty crowded—though whether it was people attending the same event as Ralph or braving the chilly weather to play golf, I couldn’t be sure. I spotted an open parking spot and zoomed into it before anyone else could.

“Uh,” Bill said. We both got out of the car, and I could see him taking in the building, which was fairly intimidating up close. “Are we allowed to just walk in?”

“Maybe not,” I said, heading toward the entrance. “But just frown and walk fast.”

Bill furrowed his brow and looked over at me. “How’s this?”

I bit back a laugh, as we were getting close to the valet in front of the entrance. “Perfect.”

The valet looked up at us, and Bill and I gave him simultaneous frowny nods as we headed inside. “Okay,” I said, looking around. It had been about a year since I’d been in the country club—we didn’t belong, but I’d been there over the years for events and especially fancy sweet sixteens—and it looked pretty much the same, like an upscale living room. “The events are usually in that ballroom.” I nodded toward it just as I noticed a woman in a white polo shirt and khakis—who was very much giving off an I work here vibe—look at me and Bill. “Let’s go,” I whispered under my breath, and we hurried over before anyone could ask what, exactly, we were doing there.

“I think this is it,” Bill said as we approached the ballroom. He held out his phone, and I saw a selfie of Ralph Donnelly that had been taken next to the overlarge bouquet of flowers in the corner—#bloomingreat.

“Okay,” I said, looking around. The entrance to the ballroom seemed to be the mingle-and-eat area—I could see chairs lined up farther in, with a small stage and podium set up at the front. Waiters were walking around with trays, and people were talking in small groups as they drank coffee and ate what looked like the disappointing quiche. As I did, I noticed that everyone around us was very well dressed. All the men were in suits, and the women were either in pantsuits or dresses—whatever this event was, it clearly wasn’t casual. And the fact that Bill and I were both in jeans was starting to seem more obvious by the second.

“Is that him?” Bill asked, pointing toward the corner, where a short man in an oversize suit was typing on his phone. Bill held up the selfie for me to look at, and I nodded.

We crossed the ballroom to him, and though the man was still typing on his phone, after a moment, he finally noticed me and Bill standing there. “Yes?”

“Ralph Donnelly?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, a little more warily. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so,” I said, and Bill held out the garment bag. “We just came from Swift Tailors—they accidentally gave you my brother-in-law’s suit, and gave us yours.”

“Ah.” Ralph, for some reason, was starting to turn red. “Right. They had a real mix-up, huh?”

“Yeah,” Bill agreed. “And we actually really need the other suit back, so . . .”

Ralph cleared his throat. “So,” he said, starting to look uncomfortable. “The thing is . . .”

“Wait a second,” I said, suddenly realizing that his oversize suit looked very familiar. “Are you wearing Rodney’s suit?”

“Who’s Rodney?”

“The person whose suit you’re wearing.”

“Well,” he said, turning even redder, “I had this event, my suit wasn’t ready until this morning, and I didn’t realize it was the wrong suit until I was here, putting it on. What was I supposed to do?”

“So, here’s your suit,” Bill said, holding the garment bag out to him. “If you wouldn’t mind, um, changing? And then we can take ours back. We’re a bit pressed for time.”

I nodded, thinking this sounded like a good plan and that as far as Rodney was concerned, he never had to know that someone named Ralph had worn his wedding suit before him. I waited for Ralph to take the garment bag, but he didn’t make a movement toward it, not even when Bill brought it a little closer and nudged the hanger against his wrist. “Uh—Ralph?” I asked, looking at Bill, who seemed as baffled by this lack of response as I was. “Mr. Donnelly?”

“So here’s the thing,” Ralph said all in a rush. “I’ve gotten a ton of compliments on this suit already. Nobody ever compliments my suits!” I could understand that—especially if all the rest of his suits were as hideous as the one Bill was holding.

“Okay,” I said, looking at Bill and then back at Ralph. “Well, I’m happy people like it, but . . .”

“I mean, the suit doesn’t even fit you,” Bill said, a note of finality in his voice, like he wanted to get this wrapped up as soon as possible.

“But that’s just it! People think I’ve lost weight! It’s fantastic.”

“I’m glad you’re getting good feedback,” I said, and Bill nudged Ralph with the hanger again. “But we’re going to need to switch with you.”

He just gave us a look, then looked down at himself. “You know,” he said, folding his arms, “possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

“I think I’ve heard that before,” Bill said, his voice and expression still resolutely cheerful as he held out the garment bag to Ralph again. “I also think I saw a men’s room on the way in?”

“What I’m saying is that I was given this suit in good faith that it was my property,” he said, talking quickly and with the practiced legal cadence that I recognized from helping Rodney study for the bar. “So how can I be assured that the suit you want me to take in exchange is even mine?”

“Because it has your name sewn into it,” I said, my voice starting to rise. I saw a few people look over at me and made myself take a deep breath. The last thing we needed was to get thrown out of here before we could get Rodney’s suit back.

“Nevertheless,” Ralph said, straightening his cuffs, “I think this is an issue that should be handled by Swift Tailors. And . . .”

“Are you really not going to give us our suit back?” Bill asked, sounding baffled. “Seriously?”

“You can’t make me,” Ralph said, raising his eyebrows at Bill. He glanced between the two of us, like he was just now noticing my sneakers and Bill’s duck boots. “Are you two even supposed to be in here?”

My phone buzzed, and I saw that it was someone calling me from the house line. I held up my phone, and Bill nodded, and I could somehow tell, even though we hadn’t exchanged a word, that he was telling me he’d keep working on Ralph while I took my call. “Hello?” I said, walking a few feet away, toward the entrance.

“Charlie?” It was my mother, and she sounded stressed out—which wasn’t that surprising, considering there were fifteen people in our house, most of whom were probably waiting on the breakfast I hadn’t brought back with me yet.