by Nancy Martin
“I wasn’t thinking about the cold,” he muttered.
Chapter 20
The Christmas gala was usually held in whatever location seemed the most avant-garde, the most luxurious, the place best suited for over-the-top set decoration. In recent years, the ballet’s big fund-raiser had been staged at the museum, in a magnificent barn and on the stage of the symphony hall, decorated as if for a full-scale opera.
But this year, an excellent hotel had stepped forward and offered their recently refurbished ballrooms for free, and the ballet board had jumped at the gift.
The music swept up to us as soon as we entered the ornate lobby. A trio of classical Spanish guitars played intricately interwoven melodies. The gala theme was Velasquez, and we were greeted by matadors in red and black with frothy white lace at their throats. I should have guessed Lexie had insider info about the theme. Her black velvet was stunning.
The receiving line began with the executive director of the ballet company, his wife and the Zapper Czar himself, Osgood Paltron, Claudine’s husband and the chairman of the ballet’s fund-raising committee. In high fund-raising mode, Osgood was Prince Charming. He thanked us for coming and paid homage to Lexie as the museum’s unofficial delegate to the night’s revels. He pointed us toward the ballroom, where cocktails were being served before dinner.
In contrasting black and white, Lexie and I went down the grand staircase together. Below us, the growing crowd mingled festively, turning to look as each new arrival descended the marble steps. We heard cheers and applause when we started down, so we linked arms and did the royal wave to much laughter.
On the mezzanine level, we paused. The mezzanine ran around the ballroom like a balcony, with dozens of Palladian archways, each featuring a partially clothed Roman statue.
Lexie reached up and pinched the bare bottom of the nearest alabaster figure. “Let’s find a drink and hang out here to gawk for a bit. Do you mind? I want to see the clothes as everyone comes down the steps.”
A waiter with champagne materialized, and we lightened his load by two glasses.
From our vantage point, we snagged the most entertaining friends for quick chats and watched the parade of arriving guests—elegant women in their finest finery accompanied by affable husbands in cummerbunds and an assortment of festive neckwear. I much preferred black-tie to white-tie, since it gave the men a way to be creative.
“Hot dog,” said Lexie. “Check out that babe. Looks like she sprayed herself with glue and rolled around in a pile of sequins.”
“I think she’s a baseball player’s wife.”
“And that one? Nobody her age has boobs that shape.”
“She’s a partner in a law firm, I believe.”
“Order in the court!”
Next came a grand dame in brocade with a mink-trimmed hem and her regal husband in long tails. Both of them very chic, arty and ninety years of age.
“Nora!”
I turned and saw my college flame Flan Cooper shouldering his way through the mezzanine throng. “Flan! Merry Christmas!”
“You look like you belong on a wedding cake.” He kissed my cheek and held my hand at arm’s length to admire my dress. “Or one of those round honeymoon beds. You’re beautiful tonight. And very, very sexy. Did you bring your boyfriend? The crime boss? I want to meet him now that he’s avoided jail time.”
My heart skipped. “He’s avoided jail?”
“It’s on the evening news. They’ve dropped the investigation. Guess he dodged another bullet. Is he here?”
“No,” I said.
“Damn. Bring him around sometime. I’d like to meet him.”
Dougie Forsythe brushed past us then and accidentally knocked shoulders with Flan. He gave Flan a nasty look before sending me a slit-eyed glare meant to intimidate.
When he walked away, Flan said, “Who’s the jerk?”
“Claudine Paltron’s latest,” I reported. “Pay him no mind.”
“Whatever. Want another drink?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll be back.” He took my empty glass.
Thomasina Silk appeared beside me next, hardly recognizable out of her horse clothes. She wore a simple pillar of chocolate taffeta that flattered her small size and hid her bowed legs. A diamond necklace lay delicately on her collarbones. I had no idea she was so feminine underneath her barnyard persona.
We complimented each other on our dresses, then she cut to the chase.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said about Emma. Like you, I know she didn’t kill Rush.”
“All we need is some proof,” I agreed.
“I thought about everything. And here’s the thing.” Thomasina held my gaze steadily. “I know how much Emma wants to ride the Grand Prix horses again.”
“Yes . . . ?”
“So I hesitate to reveal what I know, even to you.”
“Thomasina, Emma is the prime suspect in a murder case. If someone doesn’t come forward with evidence to clear her name, she’ll never ride any kind of horse again.”
Thomasina nodded shortly. “All right, here goes. She hasn’t recovered from the broken arm she had over the summer.”
“What?”
“She tries to conceal the extent of her injury so everybody will think she’s fit enough to ride, but I can see it plain as day. She can’t lift that arm over her shoulder. There’s no way she could swing a polo mallet hard enough to hurt a flea, let alone a tall, able-bodied man like Rush.”
“Are you sure? Thomasina, this is important.”
“My horses are important, too. And there’s no way I’d trust Emma on a single one. Not now, anyway. She’s not strong enough to manage them.”
“Have you talked to her about it? Can you be certain—”
“I don’t have to talk to her, I can see it clearly. Besides, you know how touchy she is.”
“Somebody has to tell the police.”
Thomasina frowned uncomfortably. “I hate to go behind Emma’s back.”
“There’s a detective I know. I’ll have him call you tomorrow. If you tell him what you told me, Emma can come forward.”
She shrugged. “Okay. I’ll be in the barn first thing in the morning.”
“You’re a godsend, Thomasina.”
She hesitated again, not ready to leave. “Look, when Emma is ready, I’ll let her ride for me. When she’s in top form, she’s hard to beat. She’ll get strong again. But she’s got to stop the drinking, too.”
“I know she’ll appreciate that vote of confidence.”
Thomasina went off into the party, and I clutched the marble balustrade to stay on my feet. The first ray of hope. I almost burst into tears right there.
I decided to find the ladies room to compose myself and threaded through the people to the edge of the ballroom. A discreet sign pointed the way, and I soon reached a carpeted hallway. A few yards further, and I entered the lavishly appointed lounge. The attendant and I exchanged smiles, and I went to the mirror to pretend to check my hair.
“Miss Blackbird?”
In the mirror, I saw Merrie Naftzinger’s shining face. I turned.
“It is you,” she said shyly. “You look really pretty tonight.”
She was nicely dressed in a prom gown suitable for her age—a slim, high-necked, sleeveless dress that brushed the tops of her sparkly sandals. A more discerning eye might have put her into something with a bit more shape to it, so I suspected she had either chosen the dress herself or had her father’s help. Her hair was wound up in a complicated do, and good drop earrings finished her look.
I said, “Honey, you’re lovely tonight! What a pleasure to see you.”
She smiled more gamely, and I noticed she had changed the rubber bands on her teeth to green and white for the season. “Dad brought me. It’s supposed to be a big Christmas treat.”
“Aren’t you having a good time?”
“Oh, sure, but—well, I thought it was going to be a real ballet. I take lesson
s myself, you see, along with the horseback riding, and Dad thought we’d have fun seeing something besides The Nutcracker this year. But I guess he didn’t understand this is a party, not a performance.”
I laughed and hugged her shoulders. “That’s a man for you! I’m sorry you’re not having fun.”
“Oh, it’s fun,” she said, clearly fibbing. “But I don’t know anybody.”
“Well, you can’t hide in the bathroom all night. Come on, let’s go find someone you can talk to.”
“Is Emma here?”
I saw the hope in her eyes. “No, she isn’t. Fancy parties aren’t really her thing.”
Merrie nodded and looked away to hide her disappointment. “They’re not mine, either. But I thought she might—you know. I really like her. She’s not my mom, but she’s fun.”
I wanted to take Merrie in my arms and hug her hard, but I knew I’d burst into tears if I did.
“My dad likes her, too,” she continued. “He doesn’t talk about it, but I can see that he does. Not anything lovey-dovey, you know. Friends, maybe.”
I thought I had detected more than a friendly interest from Tim for my sister, but I didn’t say so. Things were bad enough already.
I said, “Let’s go find some young people for you. You can’t hang around with the old folks all night.”
She smiled again, and we went out to the ballroom.
I found Flan Cooper again almost immediately, and he reported his nephews were in the crowd somewhere. We soon had Merrie talking with some of the naughty Cooper boys—a new generation from the same hard-partying gene pool. Merrie blushed with the pleasure of their attention.
I saw Tim Naftzinger then, standing apart from the crowd, holding a glass of champagne and gazing at his daughter with an unhappy expression. He caught sight of me watching and wiped the emotion from his face.
“Hi,” I said, going to him. “Merrie looks lovely tonight.”
“Did she tell you what a mistake I made? Bringing her here?”
“Maybe it was serendipitous. Now that she’s met some teenagers, she’ll have a good time. She’s a wonderful girl, Tim. So many great qualities wrapped up in one young lady.”
“She’s strong, too.”
Although we were standing in the middle of a party, I had never seen a man look so shattered. The very essence of him had vanished and left Tim pale and uncertain—a different person from the vibrant young doctor I used to know.
I took a deep breath. “But is Merrie strong enough?” I asked. “To understand what you did?”
“No.”
The party whirled around us—noise, laughter, music and the vivid, flesh-and-blood colors of Velasquez—all an incongruous maelstrom with the two us at its silent center.
“Nora,” he said hoarsely. “She’s too young to be by herself.”
“I’m sorry, Tim.”
He brought one trembling hand to his face and covered his eyes. “I’m sorry, too. I hate what I’ve put Emma through. I just can’t—I haven’t found the courage to turn myself in.”
“I’m sure it was an accident.”
“It wasn’t.” He dropped his hand away. All the color had drained from his face, and he stood rigidly, still holding his champagne flute but stiffly now, as if he had just discovered it was a ticking bomb. “I knew what I was doing. I heard Rush and Gussie arguing, but I didn’t go into the stall until Gussie ran out. Rush was furious, and he hit Emma. I’d never seen him like that. I—I went looking for a weapon. When I came back, he was shaking her. Hard. I had to stop him.”
“Tim—”
I wanted to pull him out of the ballroom, take him somewhere private, where nobody could overhear us. But I was afraid to touch him. He looked as if he might break like glass.
He said, “Emma was drunk. She couldn’t defend herself. I thought Strawcutter was going to hurt her, maybe kill her. He was so desperate, so angry. I hit him with the mallet. I only meant to stop him.”
I could imagine Gussie’s meltdown, and Rush’s helpless rage taken out on the most convenient target: Emma.
“He’d had a fight with his wife,” I said. “She’d just learned about the blackmail.”
Tim looked at me as if I had just spoken in a new language. “Blackmail?”
“Rush was being blackmailed. That’s why he and Gussie were—” I suddenly realized what his shocked expression meant. “Oh, Lord, did you get a blackmail letter? With pictures of you and me?”
“Yes,” he whispered, staring at me. “I paid. I couldn’t risk another disaster, not with this promotion at stake, so I—My God, I thought it was you.”
“You thought I was the blackmailer?” Suddenly his recent behavior made sense. “No wonder you avoided me!”
“Everyone said you were broke and I thought—” He swallowed. “If it wasn’t you, who? Who would do such a thing? I can’t—” He almost laughed. “Listen to me. I can’t understand how anyone could blackmail another person, yet I’m the one who killed Rush Strawcutter.”
I took his arm. “Don’t say that, Tim. Don’t, not yet. Don’t tell anyone.”
“I have to.” His voice was strained. “Emma will be arrested if I don’t. Ironic, isn’t it? I wanted to save her, and she’s the one who ended up ruined.”
“She’ll come out okay. I’m serious, Tim. Don’t say anything to anyone. You have Merrie to think about. If you go to jail, what will happen to her?”
At last tears began to well in his eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t have any family left. It’s just the two of us.”
“Then hang on,” I said, low-voiced and urgent. I caught hold of his arm. “Just wait. Will you promise me? Say you won’t tell anyone yet.”
Dazed, Tim said, “God, I don’t want to ruin her life, too. All because I had a stupid crush on another woman.”
I had no more words of comfort.
“First, do no harm,” he said. “That was my oath as a physician. It’s so meaningless now.”
I heard someone calling my name, but I was afraid to leave Tim. I thought he was in shock. He began to tremble as if overcome by a cold wind.
Lexie slipped through the crowd and grabbed my elbow. She was laughing. “Nora, you’ve got to see this. Come on.”
Tim turned away from her.
“Really, you’ve got to come.” She jiggled me. “It’s hysterical. Claudine’s dress is falling off.”
Tim staggered away.
Lexie glanced after him. “Has Tim had too much to drink? I never took him for the type.”
“Yes, he must be a little drunk.”
“Well, come on now. Wait until you see.”
She dragged me through guests to the edge of the balustrade. She leaned down and pointed. “See? Claudine is dribbling!”
Sure enough, the Mainbocher dress I had sold Claudine was shedding dozens of tiny beads by the minute. As I predicted, the old fabric was too dry and delicate to wear, and the threads were giving way from the weight of the beads. As Claudine intently lectured Dougie Forsythe, her clothing was slowly disintegrating on her body. Around her, the floor was dancing with flashes of tiny glass droplets.
While Claudine reamed him out, Dougie took a pace back and stepped on the beads. One foot slid out from under him, and he went down on the floor like a circus clown. But he grabbed Claudine to save himself at the last instant, and ripped her sleeve completely off her dress. Mouth open, Claudine stared at the shredded fabric dangling from her wrist.
Other guests began to notice her predicament. A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd.
“Oh, shit!” Claudine held up the torn sleeve. “This damn dress is rotten!”
Dougie scrambled up again, and she snapped, “Give me your coat!”
“But Claudie—”
“Take it off this minute!”
Dougie removed his jacket, whereupon it was immediately apparent that he had used safety pins on the back of the shirt to improve the way it clung to his chest.
Claudine rushed up
the marble stairs to leave, and she spotted me in the crowd. “You! You sold me a worthless sack!”
“She told you not to wear it, Claudine,” Lexie spoke up. “She told you it was too fragile, but you wanted to buy it anyway.”
Claudine pointed at me. “I want that dress! Give me that one!”
I melted back into the laughing crowd. Around me, people seemed to surge into a blurred mass. For an instant, I thought I was blacking out. But through the tide of people, I saw a familiar scarf and my attention sharpened. I craned my neck to get a better look and suddenly found myself staring into Hadley Pinkham’s smugly smiling face. He raised a glass of champagne to me.
I spun around and shoved through a knot of surprised guests, making my way to the staircase. Halfway up, I encountered a waiter and told him what I needed. He dashed up the stairs, and I went back down into the crowd.
I found Hadley again, chatting in his most mocking tones to a young man I didn’t know. He saw me and turned.
“Kitten,” he said, feigning surprised delight. “What a fragile beauty you look tonight. Sweet heaven, is that Patou? It’s a masterpiece, but it pales beside your loveliness this evening.”
“Did you crash the gate tonight, Hadley?”
His companion blanched and eased away.
Hadley said, “Let’s not get ugly, kitten. Not in public, anyway.”
“I’d like to shout it from the rooftops, but breaking into a party uninvited seems so petty, doesn’t it? Compared to everything else you’ve done.”
“Lower your voice, please.”
“Afraid I’ll make a scene? And spoil your reputation as the smoothest operator in town?”
“Kitten—”
“I don’t need to make a scene, Hadley. Because you’re about to make one all by yourself.”
We were surrounded then by men in uniform. Ben Bloom was with them.
“Hadley Pinkham?” Bloom reached for Hadley’s wrist. “You’re under arrest.”
“For crashing a party?” Hadley objected. “This is ridiculous.”
The dinner gong sounded and the guests around us began to move toward the dining room. Everyone glanced curiously at Hadley as the police officers took him into custody, but nobody had the bad manners to ask what the problem was.
