For Every Evil (14 page)

“You mean like an English butler?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, but —”

“You look wonderful. And yes, I’d like my tea in the library in fifteen minutes.” She took his arm and together they made their grand entrance into the living room. “I will say I’m glad you shaved off that beard you were growing last fall.”

Bram stroked his smooth cheek. “Yeah. It made me look too much like a bear.”

“More like a woodchuck.” She made a quick perusal of the standing-room-only crowd, noticing that her son was nowhere in sight.

“Maybe he’s not coming,” said Bram, grabbing a handful of cashews from a large, crystal bowl.

“Who?”

“Rudy. That’s who you’re looking for, right?”

She harrumphed. “Who made you so smart? Actually, he did say he might drop by later with John.”

“Figures. You can hardly expect an eighteen-year-old male to escort his mom to a party.” He popped a cashew into his mouth.

“I suppose. In some ways, I wish he’d skip it altogether.”

“Because of what Hale did to him?”

She nodded. “He’s still angry. He doesn’t talk about it, but I know he is. I love him, but he’s got a terrible temper.”

“Sort of like his mother.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Come on, Sophie. Stop worrying. Rudy and John will probably spend the entire evening swilling java in some campus coffeehouse. He’s a smart kid. You must learn to trust his instincts.”

“I do. It’s just — he’s so young.”

“Don’t let
him
hear you say that.”

She adjusted the belt on her best basic black dress. “You know something else? I’m glad Rudy and John have become such good friends. He needs someone to confide in.”

“You mean until he learns to confide in you?”

“Don’t be silly. I’m not asking to be his
buddy.
But for a mother, he could do worse.”

They came to a stop in front of the fireplace. On the mantelpiece above it rested a framed picture of Piero della Francesca, a garland of white roses surrounding the grim likeness.

“He doesn’t look particularly happy,” said Sophie, cocking her head.

“You mean he’s not smiling. Lots of people don’t smile as much as Americans do. In fact, some cultures find our constant need to grin not only excessive, but cloying.”

“Thank you for that
Reader’s Digest
moment.” She noticed Kate Chappeldine waving at them from the dining room. “I think we’re being summoned.” Taking Bram by the arm, she screwed her face into a scowl and then said, “Come on, honey. Let’s go have some fun.”

He rolled his eyes.

As they approached, Sophie saw that Kate wanted to introduce them to the couple she was standing with. They were a handsome pair. The man was tall, with dark hair and light blue eyes. A definite hunk. The woman was also tall, with an exotic, almost Middle Eastern face, long brown hair, and a decidedly athletic body. The clingy red dress she wore accentuated every curve.

“Sophie, Bram” — Kate beamed — “I’d like you to meet Ben and Rhea Kiran. Ben is a photographer. He tells me he’s going to be shooting Hale’s summer catalogue. I thought he looked awfully familiar, but we can’t place where we might have met. And his wife is the creative director, choreographer, and lead dancer for the Rhea Kiran Dance Ensemble.”

“Of course!” Bram extended his hand to them both, though he kept his attention on Rhea. “I was almost positive I’d seen you somewhere before. Sophie and I had the pleasure of attending one of your performances last spring at Northrup Auditorium. You were wonderful.”

“Thanks,” said Rhea, taking a sip of champagne. “That’s always nice to hear.”

“You’ve got incredible elegance,” continued Bram. “I suppose you’ve studied a long time.”

“Since I was a child.”

“Your parents no doubt encouraged your talent.”

“Actually, it was my brother. He was a terrific dancer himself.”

“Really?” said Ben, turning to her. “I didn’t know that.”

“Is your company still performing?” asked Sophie.

“Locally, yes. Unfortunately, what we really need is to mount a national tour. But that takes backing. And to get it, we need more visibility. Which means we need to tour — but we can’t tour without the money. You get the point.” She gave a frustrated shrug.

Sophie noticed Ben put his arm around his wife’s waist. Newlyweds? she wondered. They still had a certain glow about them. “Well,” she said, selecting a canapé from a tray on the dining room table, “maybe your husband can pad his expenses and soak Hale for a few extra pieces of gold.”

Ben laughed. “Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind. Oh, by the way, we’re not married. Actually, Rhea and I just got divorced.”

Sophie’s hand froze midway to her lips. “Really?”

He gave her an amused nod.

“Have you known Hale long?” asked Bram.

“We go way back,” said Ben. “He was one of the counselors at an arts camp I attended one summer — back in 1971. I think he might even have met his wife there that same year. At least, I know they weren’t married yet.”

Bram snorted. “An arts camp! I can just see Hale stomping through the woods with thirty screaming kids in tow, trying to find true north.”

Again, Ben laughed, glancing at Kate. “Is something wrong?” he asked, reaching out to steady her.

“Wrong? No. Just a little too much champagne.” Her smile was apologetic. She turned as another man strolled up.

“Hi,” said the man, his voice excessively cheerful. “I’m Steve Nelson.”

Bram shook his hand, making the rest of the introductions.

“Nice party,” said Steve, eyeing a bowl of fresh strawberries on the buffet table.

Sophie followed his gaze, her stomach giving an involuntary growl. The Micklenbergs were known for providing a tempting array of buffet treats. An ice sculpture formed the centerpiece for the table, surrounded by mounds of shrimp and carved crudités. Next to it was a long silver tray of dipping sauces. Curry. Peanut oil, vinegar, and hot peppers. A spiced Cajun mayonnaise. A cocktail sauce with plenty of sliced lemon. Her eyes moved to the caviar and a lovely crock of anchovy butter. Thick slices of a dark Russian rye sat next to it. And next to that, a large wheel of baked Brie covered with caramelized brown sugar and toasted walnuts. Home-baked mince pies with brandy sauce completed the menu. Sophie knew there were other tables scattered here and there around the house. Each with a different assortment of goodies. It was all she could do to bring her attention back to the conversation at hand.

“Lots of great artwork in this house,” continued Steve, still surveying the scene. “This is really neat for me because I’m going to be photographing Hale’s new summer catalogue.”

Sophie blinked. She looked immediately at Ben. At first, he just stared. Then, his back stiffening, he said, “Excuse me, but what did you say?”

“Me?” Steve hesitated. “Well, first I said it was a nice party.”

“No, the part about the catalogue.”

“Ah … Oh. That I’ve been hired to photograph Hale’s summer catalogue.”

“Who hired you?”

The man looked from face to face, obviously hoping someone would offer him a clue to what was happening. “Hale hired me,” he said somewhat defensively.

“Have you signed a contract?”

“It was a verbal agreement. How come you’re so interested?”

“Because” — Ben smiled, his voice ominously pleasant — “Hale hired
me
to do that shoot. Several weeks ago. One of us is being screwed.”

“Well, it’s not me! I’ve got a firm commitment!”

Ben’s face flushed with anger. “So do I!”

Rhea put her hand on Ben’s arm, whispering, “It’s not his fault. Just let him go.”

“I’m not the least bit worried,” said Steve, backing away. “Hale is a man of his word. Unlike some people.”

Ben’s fists tightened.

“Why don’t we go find you some champagne,” said Bram, starting to walk Steve toward the east sun room. “I think we all need to cool off.”

“I’m not going to let Hale get away with this,” insisted Ben, his eyes searching the crowded room. “That asshole’s got to be around here somewhere. It’s
his
goddamn party!”

“Just calm down,” replied Rhea, leading him out of the dining room. “We’ll get this sorted out, don’t worry.” She gave Sophie and Kate a small wave goodbye.

After everyone was out of earshot, Sophie muttered, “Hale strikes again.”

“So it would seem.” Kate didn’t even try to hide the acid in her voice. “That man should be put away — or put out of his misery. One of these days, someone’s going to do it!”

“Hey, come on,” said Sophie. “They’ll work it out.” She put her arm around the young woman’s shoulders, surprised by the intensity of her reaction.

“At whose expense?” Kate ran a hand through her thin blonde hair.

“Well … let’s hope it’s at Hale’s.”

“Fat chance.” Her mouth set angrily.

“Come on, Katie. It’s a party. Let’s forget about that gasbag for the rest of the evening and have some fun.”

Kate just stared straight ahead. “Of course,” she said somewhat woodenly. “You’re right. Listen, there’s something I forgot to do. Gallery business. You understand. I’ll catch you later, okay?”

“Okay. But what — ?”

“Tell Bram to save me a dance. I’ll meet you all in the conservatory in half an hour.”

There was no use arguing. “We’ll be there.”

Kate swept to the front door and out into the cold night.

“Not smart,” said Sophie under her breath. “Not smart at all.” She didn’t know what Kate was up to, but she hoped it had nothing to do with Hale Micklenberg.

Rudy and John entered the Micklenberg mansion an hour later. Neither had bothered to dress for the affair.

“I’m only here because I’m curious,” said John, handing his leather jacket to a man standing next to the front door.

Rudy did the same. “I don’t even have that excuse.” His eyes took in the noisy scene. “It’s amazing how many friends you have when you’ve got money.”

“I hardly think we qualify as friends.”

“Good evening, gentlemen,” said a man carrying a tray of champagne. He was tall and lanky, with thinning brown hair and a weak chin. By the leather patches on his sport coat and the distracted look in his eyes, Rudy pegged him as a professor.

“Don’t I know you?” asked John. He took one of the flutes.

The man bowed slightly. “Louie Sigerson. I’m a friend of the family’s.” He set the tray down on a small table and took a glass himself, lifting it to his lips. “If you play butler, you get the entire tray all to yourself. Quite a deal.”

Rudy could tell he wasn’t exactly drunk, but he wasn’t exactly sober, either.

“Sure,” said John. “I remember. We met at the Chappeldine Gallery. You came in to see my show several days after the opening. I’m John Jacobi.”

“The bone and feather man,” said Louie, extending his hand. “How nice to see you again. What are you working on now? A rabbit femur perhaps? Detailed duck down?”

John began to laugh. “And this is Rudy Greenway.”

“Greenway? Any relation to Sophie Greenway?”

“I’m her son.”

“How wonderful! But then, at your age, you’d hardly be her father.” He emptied his glass. “I didn’t realize she had any children.”

Rudy hated these introductory conversations. He never knew what to say. “Yup. She does.”

“Yup?” repeated John, making his face into a question mark.

Rudy glared at him.

“Well, I’m off to forage for nourishment,” announced Louie. “You know, I’ve never eaten cheese puffers before. But I’m turning over a new leaf.” He held up the empty glass of champagne in a kind of salute.

“Terrific,” said Rudy, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“You boys have a good time.” Waving over his shoulder, he drifted off into the living room.

“Quite a character,” said John, watching him put his arm around Ivy Micklenberg and give her a peck on the cheek.

“Let’s find the cheese puffers before he eats them all,” said Rudy, rubbing his hands together hungrily.

“Actually, they’re not really called cheese
puffers.
It’s cheese puffs.”

“Mmm.” Rudy nodded.

“You’ve never tried them, either?”

“Dad wouldn’t let us eat junk food.”

“No? Figures.” He put his hand on Rudy’s shoulder and gave him a knowing look. “Come with me, then. And prepare yourself for a sublime culinary experience.”

Ben left Rhea sitting on the couch in one of the sun rooms, talking to a man named Louie Sigerson. He seemed quite interested in modern dance. At least, while he was gone, she was in good — as well as safe — company.