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Peter McCarty leaned on the mantel of a fireplace that hadn't been used in so long it had been converted to a storage place for magazines. On his handsome face was a look of proprietorship and reflected glory that he had in no way earned. Not by matrimony, at any rate, or by any basic honesty that A
Oscar was giving full attention either to the performance or the performer and spared A
A
Warmth brought A
"And I want a shot of whiskey!" Zeddie wailed, the depth of her voice filling the small room and pouring like hot wax into one's bones.
A
"Uh-oh," Curt said. "Don't do that. I'll get you a beer if you'll stop," he coaxed.
"Wine," A
Schatz deposited the baby girl with her mother and vanished around the corner into Zeddie's kitchen-cum-dining area. The song came to an end in laughter and a spattering of applause. Faces turned toward A
"What?" she said. "What?"
An embarrassing silence descended. Mouths moved like those of grounded goldfish, but no one spoke. It occurred to A
"Your wish. My command. All that shit," Curt said, returning with a water glass full of red wine.
The spell was broken. People moved. They talked. They drank. And if any of them wanted A
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A little wine, a little music, the cat transferred to her lap, Curt sitting at her feet playing with the baby, and A
Zeddie strummed her guitar, humming snatches of tunes A
A
Peter dropped his pose at the mantel and took two steps across the room. Hands on knees, he peered into her face. "Are you all right?" He laid the back of his hand across her forehead as a mother checking a child for fever might. A
"I'm fine," she said, and heard her words as from a distance. An anxiety attack; A
McCarty was still in her face. It was all she could do not to shove him back. Deliberately she stroked Calcite, concentrated on the warmth of the cat's fur under her hand. When she could lift the glass and find her mouth, she drank wine. Every eye was on her. It made things immeasurably worse.
To keep from rushing screaming from the room, A
Oscar looked as if he'd sustained a physical blow. The young mother nestled under her husband's arm. Curt appeared a
Anxiety was carried away in the hubbub, leaving A
Her tale of gore effectively killed the party. The young couple were the first to go. The woman scooped her child from Schatz's lap as if merely being in A
Oscar ended with the NPS's standard warning. "I doubt newspeople will call you. This isn't a park-related incident. If they do, refer them to me, George, or the superintendent."
Don't talk to them. Everybody got that.
"I want to talk to George," A
Iverson was at the door, holding it ajar, letting the heat out in the tradition of winter guests. A pained expression met her words.
"I think Brent's killing is linked to Frieda's," A
Oscar looked weary. "I'll set it up in the morning, okay? First thing."
A