By the time James finds a place to park his car, most of the guests have arrived and Laura's house is buzzing with conversation. He makes his way to the food table and looks it over. The offerings are elegant, innovative, and quite simply, mouth watering. There is something here for every appetite: miniature sandwiches, savory spreads, exotic fruits trimmed into delicate shapes, decadent sweets, cheeses, and biscuits of every sort. He picks up a plate and begins to fill it. When someone touches his elbow, he turns.
"James! I didn't know you were going to be here." It's Laura Hobson, and she is fairly sparkling in a shimmering, sheer black blouse over a turquoise blue camisole with a deeply cut neckline, trousers in black-and-turquoise patterned silk, a cascade of silver and turquoise bangles, and a simple but elegant silver and turquoise pendant that follows the shape of her camisole.
He grins broadly. "Doctor! You're looking lovely this evening. Even better than this table." His smile turns a bit self-conscious as she glances, amused, at all the food heaped onto his plate.
She smirks at him winningly. "Be sure not to miss the drinks table. There's a nice Bordeaux I've opened for tonight, I think you'll like it. Or if you'd like something stronger, just let me know."
He notices she's looking around at faces as though searching for someone. Without further prompting, he explains. "Inspector Lewis has been shanghaied by the Chief Super tonight. He said he expected to be stuck clearing up for at least an hour, and sends his apology."
"Ah." This is obviously what she has been wondering. "Not that I expected him to show, but when I saw you were here . . . Well, I'd better see to the food, looks like some things are getting low." She squeezes his elbow again and then hurries to the kitchen.
James finds a ledge near the drinks table and sets his glass of wine there while he picks over the selection on his plate. The food is as delicious as it looks. He finds particularly addictive the crunchy cheese straws, which have a tasty addition of onion and a touch of hot pepper.
While he nibbles, Hathaway scans the faces, recognizing nearly all of them by now. But some seem to be missing. At least Celeste and her family are not there, and he relaxes a bit as he checks the program he picked up at Holywell and sees that the little girl is done playing for the evening. Professor Gold sets a plate down next to his glass, and she smiles at him warmly.
"I do hope I wasn't too hard on your superior officer. But it's really quite silly for a man as charming as he to be so very much alone, don't you think?"
Before he can answer, the corner of Hathaway's eye makes contact with Doctor Hobson, hurrying across the room with a tray of food. Close behind her is Alec Pickman, a lecherous leer on his face. James feels his eyes involuntarily narrow, and he has to force his attention back to the woman standing at his side.
"Erm, I'm sorry, Professor. I'm, erm . . . not sure it's really any of my business, as Inspector Lewis is so very fond of reminding me. But, yes, he does seem rather lonely at times." He steals a glimpse in Laura's direction.
The sharp-eyed and sharp-witted professor takes that in. "Ahh, I see. You think he fancies our Doctor Hobson, do you?"
James snorts. "It's a theory. But no more than that."
"It looks as though she perhaps has other suitors as well," and she nods in Laura's direction. By now, Alec is not the only man paying Hobson too much attention. Walter Bishop is at her side, and it's difficult to say whether she feels rescued or further beset.
He sets his mouth. "If you'll excuse me, Professor, it seems as though she could use a bit of assistance." He pushes away from the ledge and crosses the room with long, slow strides.
The old woman smiles approvingly at James's show of chivalry, and nods to herself as with subtle movements he detaches each man's hands from the doctor, takes her firmly by one elbow, and guides her to the relative safety of the kitchen, throwing an occasional glare over his shoulder.
"You alright, Doctor? I hope I wasn't presuming too much there."
She blinks, then shakes her head slightly. "No, you're fine. Thanks." She gives a ghost of a smile. "I couldn't tell if they were competing with each other or double-teaming me."
"Do you mind if I keep a bit of an eye out for you tonight? Inspector Lewis will kill me if he finds out either of those men had his hands on you."
This makes her eyes twinkle. "I'd appreciate it, actually. I have enough to do here without having to worry about who's standing too close behind me . . . and what he may be holding in his hand." She takes on an expression of semi-amused disgust. "Thanks, James. I'm not really worried about Walter, but Alec's had a skinful and any good judgment he may have had is long gone, I should think. And now I really do have to see how the food supply is holding up."
By this time, Professor Gold has moved off to talk with friends. Hathaway collects his plate and finishes off his selections. He snatches a couple more cheese straws and wanders through Laura's house. He's never been here. It's not as big as Innocent's house, and it has a warmer feel.
He checks out the living room, where the concert will take place. She has a smaller Steinway in rich, gleaming walnut, and the room has been cleared of nearly all furniture except seating, which consists of some benches and all manner of chairs. Some chairs have been set up behind the piano bench, and James decides he will try to sit there, where he can peek over the pianists' shoulders and see the music. And anything else on display from that angle.
Deciding there's time for a cigarette before the performance, Hathaway grabs another handful of cheese straws, nibbling as he makes his way to the garden. He reaches in his pocket for his cigarettes, and his fingers discover the marijuana joint he'd collected from Cameron. For a second, he considers it. Been a long time, James, a buzz might be just the thing. But he rejects the idea as a bad one for any number of reasons. Instead, he pulls out his packet, slides one out, and lights it, inhaling long and holding in the smoke for several seconds before releasing it slowly through his nose. He decides to flush the joint away as soon as he gets back inside. Wouldn't do to get caught with it.
He flicks the cigarette down when it is only about half gone and grinds it into the ground. He's uneasy at leaving Laura unsupervised for very long. Indeed, when he finds her, Walter is standing very close, one hand on her waist, listening with rapt attention to whatever it is she's saying. He straightens at James's approach. Laura recognizes that James has his back up, and she speaks before he can.
"Walter, this is James Hathaway, a friend of mine. James, Walter Bishop."
They shake hands, both men circumspect.
"Walter and I were just talking about piano tuners. Apparently, I'm fortunate to have the fellow I've had for years; good tuners are hard to find these days."
Walter nods in agreement. "Now, my dear, if you'll excuse me, I think we should get this concert underway."
Hathaway cocks his eyebrows at her, and Laura smiles softly. "He really is harmless; it's just that he's very hands-on. But thank you, Sergeant. And I think you'd best find a chair pretty soon." She herself leans against the doorway to the kitchen, while Hathaway decides a quick stop in the toilet would be a good idea.
He's drying his hands when he hears raised voices through the closed bathroom door.
"Calm down, Baby, just tell me what happened." It's Cameron's voice, and Hathaway gets as close to the door as he can.
There are a couple of hiccupping sobs, and then Giselle's voice, hushed: "I tried, y'know, rubbing on him the way you said would get him horny but he pushed me off instead."
"He's faking; he's worried his wife will see."
"He was so rough with me, Cammo, his hands are so strong, he hurt me." Her voice is louder. "He's such a beast!" And then: "What was that? Someone was there, Cam! Someone heard us!"
"Shit! Let's get out of here!"
"You have to play, Cam. You go ahead, I'll get myself together so I can play it right this time."
Hathaway hears them both walk away, but he waits a while before listening at the door and finally slipping out. He discretely cuts through the kitchen, helps himself to a few more cheese straws and a glass of wine, and finds a seat with a good view of the music.
Cameron plays first, appearing perfectly calm and repeating the Brahms in the same style he played it earlier. Giselle, up next, also repeats, playing the Mozart, but this time making it sound as it should, and Hathaway wonders at how upset she must have been to play so poorly at Holywell. Then Claire plays something by Ravel that Hathaway doesn't recognize, and he realizes that she is very, very good. The same can be said for Marietta, who renders the Rachmaninoff Melodie in E Major with elegance and precision.
But as the music builds to a crescendo, Hathaway notices movement by the kitchen, and his eyes stray that way. He realizes Pickman is standing behind Hobson, and his hands are everywhere—he cups her breast, strokes her neck, and even tries to slide a hand inside her trousers. Laura is squirming silently, trying to fend him off without causing a distraction from the music. Hathaway starts as if to rise, and when Pickman sees him he immediately disappears back into the kitchen. Laura smoothes her clothes and steps farther into the living room for safety, shaking her head at James to let him know she's alright, not wishing to cause further disturbance.
Then Claire and Marietta play four-hands dances, very fun and lively. Hathaway thinks to himself that the two women certainly seem to be back on friendly terms, considering what happened in the sun room. But perhaps this is all an act, or maybe their making music together takes precedence. But before he has time to wonder overmuch about it, the concert is done and people and standing and applauding.
James watches from the front window as the attendees happily filter out the door, some dropping cheques or folded notes into the tophat placed strategically on the table in the front hall. The Asian student who helps with page turning is writing out receipts for those donors who request them, and Hathaway eyes the mound of money in the hat, thinking how easy it would be for the student to help himself to a bit of remuneration for his time here tonight. The lad is scruffy, with an intentional few days' growth of beard and rumpled, black hair, and he looks up suddenly, eyes squarely meeting Hathaway's, as though he can hear the policeman's suspicions. James breaks the stalemate with an easy smile.
"Getting a lot of donations?"
The young man glances at the hat as though he is just now aware of its contents, then he returns the smile.
"Yeah, we're way up from last year. This house was a good one. This'll really help the contest."
His earnestness is clear in his voice, and James is satisfied that he was carefully chosen as someone who could be trusted with the donations. "That's great. Here, let me . . ." and James adds his own cheque to the hat, accepting the hastily scrawled receipt from the lad.
With a wide grin, the young fellow carefully holds the hat in front of him as he heads out the door. "Going to the last stop? Looks like everyone is pretty much out of here."
"Erm, yeah, I just need to check in with the hostess." James waves at the retreating figure and turns toward the kitchen. "Doctor? You need any help clearing up?"
Laura emerges from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel. She looks happy and exhausted. "I'm fine, James, thank you. The trick to a do like this is to minimize cleanup to things that can be easily stored, binned, or stowed in the dishwasher. You go on to Stillmans', I'll be along fairly soon, I should think." Her smile sparkles, and James returns a grin.
"Okay, see you later."
Conversation is lively as the guests help themselves to the amazing array of food Denise and George Stillman have set out for them. George has not only opened several bottles of wine with admirable labels, but has also mixed up a pitcher of gin and tonic, and several bottled beers are on offer. The Stillmans are easy in the role of hosts, and this makes their guests equally comfortable in their home. But Denise is not fully at ease just at the moment, and she approaches Claire in a bit of a fluster.
"Where's Walter?"
Claire stares a moment, absorbing the implications. "Walter? Isn't he here?" But she knows he's not here, or Denise wouldn't be asking. "Did you ask Marietta?"
Denise composes her face carefully. "Marietta's not here, either. Not yet, at least." She keeps her tone free of judgment, but the potential inferences lash at Claire, regardless. She turns away, biting the insides of her cheeks.
"I'm sorry, Claire, I'm sure there's a simple explanation."
And indeed, at that moment, the front door opens, and Marietta rushes in, cheeks flushed. "Denise, Claire, I am so sorry I'm late!"
Claire merely stares at her, but Marietta doesn't notice, and continues babbling on. "I had a puncture and do you think one, single person could have stopped to help?" She holds up two very dirty and rather scuffed hands. "Look at these! I hope I can still play. Let me just wash up and I'll be ready, I promise." She turns to dash for the bathroom, but suddenly realizes no one else has spoken, and her friend looks to be in shock.
"Claire, darling, whatever is wrong?"
Despite Walter's absence, the decision is made to begin the concert as planned. Claire and Marietta sit down for more four-hands music, but the tension is apparent. As they play, Denise takes the phone into the other room and begins to see if she can find out what is taking Walter so long and whom he might be with.