by Libby Howard
Chapter 3
Ruby and I ate and chatted a bit before she headed off to the ladies’ room and I made my way back to where I’d last seen Judge Beck. He was no longer there, and I found myself weaving through the crowd searching for someone I’d been introduced to. The room was growing warm, and a good number of the men had removed their jackets, draping them over the scant chairs. I saw Sonny Magoo chatting with the woman in the red dress that Irene had said was Helen Dixon over by the dance floor, and both Judge and Justine Sanchez near the roped-off staircase, but no Judge Beck. In my wanderings, I found myself back by the buffet, dangerously close to those lobster appetizers I was too weak to resist. Hmmm. Maybe I could indulge in one more, then keep looking for Judge Beck.
“Have you had these yet? They’re amazing.”
I turned to see a petite woman enjoying the lobster canapés with just as much enthusiasm as I’d been doing. She was wearing a high-necked gold gown that flared out mid-calf, making her look like a cross between a raven-haired mermaid and a flamenco dancer. On either side of her, making no effort to appear unobtrusive, were two huge, buff guards.
“Here. You’ve got to try one.” The lieutenant governor extended her plate which must have held half a dozen of the appetizers.
“I think I’ve already eaten an entire tray of these,” I confessed, willing myself not to snatch one off her plate.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, you’re not the only one.” She pushed the plate further toward me. “You’ve got to help me here. If I eat all these, I’ll explode out of my dress. Can you imagine the scandal? I’d be internet famous, and not in a good way.”
I laughed and took one of the lobster canapés off her plate, popping it into my mouth. She ate one as well, then forced her two guards to finish off the rest as she extended a hand to me.
“I’m Kathrine Nguyen.”
“Kay Carrera. It’s very nice to meet you, Lieutenant Governor.” I should have been awestruck to be at a party actually chatting with one of our state’s highest public servants, but I wasn’t. Maybe it was the wine or maybe it was the casual and friendly way she’d struck up a conversation with me, but I felt an instant rapport with this woman.
Of course, that’s what made a good politician—the ability to chat in a warm and informal manner with your constituents.
We spoke for a bit about the weather, and the upcoming holiday. Then she tilted her head and regarded me thoughtfully.
“I knew your name sounded familiar. Locust Point. Are you the woman who helped find the evidence to charge and convict the mayor on two counts of murder?”
“Yes, although I didn’t do it alone.” A good bit of my help came from a ghost, but I wasn’t about to confess that bit of information.
“And the Holt Dupree murder.” She laughed. “Goodness, I am glad to meet you!”
She went on to pepper me with questions about the various murders I’d found myself smack in the middle of this past year while I debated bringing up Judge Beck’s nomination and putting forth a plea for her to put a favorable word in with the governor. Ultimately I decided that although the lieutenant governor was probably used to those types of requests, for me to do it felt crass and impolite.
“There you are.”
I turned when I heard Judge Beck’s voice behind me and got to see the quickly hidden expression of surprise when he saw who I was talking to.
“Judge Beck, have you met our lieutenant governor?” I turned back to face Katherine Nguyen, reaching back to tug the judge forward. “Ms. Nguyen, this is Judge Nathaniel Beck of our county circuit court. I’m his guest this evening.”
She reached out to shake his hand. “First, thank you so much for bringing Ms. Carrera tonight. I’ve had a lovely time speaking with her. Secondly, I do believe you’re on the short list of candidates for the appellate court opening?”
The judge’s nod was almost a bow. “I do have that honor, Ms. Nguyen. And I couldn’t imagine bringing anyone tonight besides Kay.”
The informal address…the way he slid his hand around to my lower back…did he realize the implication? Because our lieutenant governor certainly did.
Her eyes twinkled, and she shot me a quick smile before turning again to the judge. “There are very qualified candidates for this opening. I know the governor has a difficult choice ahead of him. I want you to know, Judge Beck, that even if you don’t get this position, we are very aware of the work you’re doing in Milford and that the governor and I see quite a future ahead of you.”
My heart sank as I read between her words and realized Judge Beck would most likely not be getting this opening. His face betrayed nothing, and he carried on short pleasant conversation with Katherine Nguyen before she excused herself, telling the judge how nice it was to meet him in person, and me how much she enjoyed our conversation.
As she walked away flanked by her security guards, I sighed. “I’m sorry. Seems like Trent Elliott is going to end up with the position after all. Which isn’t really fair, if you ask me. He’s not even a judge. Personally I think someone should serve as a judge for at least a few years before they end up on the appellate court.”
He shrugged. “I knew it was a long shot. Honestly, it’s probably for the best. I love what I’m doing now. Plus I can go ahead and book that ski vacation and not worry about it impacting a promotion.”
“There’s another plus.” I grinned and waited for him to look down at me with raised eyebrows. “We can enjoy ourselves tonight and not have to spend the evening buttering up politicians, judges, and lawyers.”
He laughed. “There’s no one else here but politicians, judges, and lawyers—well beside some of their spouses and dates, I guess. Besides, I thought you enjoyed your conversation with our lieutenant governor.”
“I did, but that was because we didn’t discuss politics and I didn’t try to ask her to do anything for me. Or you.”
He looked into the crowd where Ms. Nguyen had vanished. “She did hot foot it out of here once she realized I was a candidate for that opening.”
True. I guess I wasn’t the only one who was getting worn out with the networking and the game of social chess.
“I have to confess that I feel like I’ve been a bad date, leaving you on your own while I chat up lawyers and other judges.” The judge arched an eyebrow at me. “You’re right. This should be fun. And now it can be since I’m clearly as much out of the running as Horace Barnes and Rhett Reynolds.”
I smiled. “I didn’t mind the work. That’s why you’re here, and why you invited me. Besides I’ve been busy networking for my own career, and trying to figure out the lay of the land when it comes to the hierarchy of lawyers and judges in the state.”
He grimaced. “None of that sounds like a fun evening, and in spite of the need to combine business and pleasure, I’d hoped there would be more pleasure than business tonight.”
“It’s okay. Really.” I waved my wine glass at him. “The food is good. The booze is free. And just in case you’re concerned, this is my second glass of wine, unlike Irene O’Donnell who I think has gone through an entire case by now.”
Judge Beck looked at my empty glass then over at the bar. “Well at least let me provide you with a fresh glass of wine to carry around and occasionally sip while we find people to have non-business conversations with.”
He took the glass from my hand but before he could head for the bar, a pianist joined the quartet and they began a song that filled me with joy. They’d been interspersing holiday tunes with classical music, but this selection was my absolute favorite.
The judge stopped and looked back at me. “’Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini’?”
“Rachmaninov,” I said.
He shoved my empty wine glass at a random passerby, and took my hand. “Will you do me the honor of this dance, Ms. Carrera?”
I managed to execute an old-fashioned curtsy in my slim dress. “The honor would be mine, Judge Beck.”
I let him le
ad me out to the floor, looping the strap of my clutch around my wrist as he turned and pulled me into his arms. My one hand was on his shoulder, the other clasped in his. His free hand snaked around my waist and drew me close enough that I could feel the heat from his body, but not so close that I was actually pressed against him. We moved to the music in a sort of waltz step, him guiding me with the pressure of his hands as we slowly spun around the dance floor.
The sweet cadence of the violins swam through my blood, intoxicating me more than the two glasses of wine I’d consumed. I took a wrong step, then recovered, my thigh brushing against the judge’s. He tightened his grip on my waist and I relaxed into him, closing the distance and resting my head against his shoulder.
The dance steps slowed, becoming more of a gentle sway. We both stopped and hesitated for a moment as the music came to an end, the pair of us stepping away as the quartet began to play “It Came Upon A Midnight Clear”.
“Thank you,” I murmured, suddenly embarrassed and not sure how to process the feelings swimming through me.
“It’s one of my favorite songs.” His voice was soft, his hand still on my waist as he turned to lead me off the dance floor.
“Mine too.” A friend had introduced me to the song in college. I’d never been much into classical music, but this one had lodged itself inside my heart. I couldn’t help but stop what I was doing and lose myself in the melody every time I heard it. For me, the song meant romance. It meant love.
And it wasn’t lost on me that the whole time I was dancing with Judge Beck and listening to the seductive strains, I never once thought of Eli.
It was like cold water dashed on my happiness. Eli. All those decades of marriage and love. An entire life we’d built together. How could I not think of him? He hadn’t even been gone a year and here I was in another man’s arms, feeling emotions I had no right to be feeling.
“I…I really should find the ladies’ room.” It wasn’t a lie. I really did need to go after two glasses of wine, and the break would give me a chance to try to figure out what the heck was going on with me, with him, with us.
“To the left, past the Christmas tree.” The judge pointed, then slid his hand from my waist. “I’ll get another wine for you in the meantime.”
I’ll admit that I fled. Well, I tried not to make it obvious, but my heart pounded up in my throat and I forced my steps to look casual as I moved away, speeding up as I approached the line for the bathroom.
I still stood in line, trying to catch my breath and get control of my emotions. When we hadn’t moved in ten minutes, I started to fidget. This was crazy. I was beginning to feel as if I were waiting to use the facilities at a huge outdoor concert venue.
“What the heck is everyone doing in there?” I muttered half to myself, half to the woman behind me.
She shrugged, seeming to be unfazed by the slow-moving line. “Fixing their make-up? Gossiping? Doing lines?”
I glanced across at the men’s bathroom, which never seemed to have the same amount of wait time as the women’s. Back in college, I would have said ‘screw it’ and just used the men’s, but I didn’t think that would fly at a posh event like this, or at my age.
After a few more minutes I gave up, deciding I didn’t have to go bad enough to spend half the evening in a bathroom line. Hopefully in an hour or so, when my situation became more urgent, either the line wouldn’t be quite as long, or everyone would be drunk enough that no one would notice a sixty-year-old woman in a silk dress barging into the men’s.
I stood by the Christmas tree for a moment, trying to see if Judge Beck was still over near the bar when a familiar voice greeted me.
“Almost makes you want to go outside and pee behind a bush, doesn’t it?” Justine Sanchez gestured toward the line.
“I should have worn an adult diaper, although I don’t think it would do anything for my silhouette in this dress.” I ran a hand along my hip, feeling the snug fit of the gown.
“No it wouldn’t.” Justine shot me an impish grin. “Want to know a secret? Just between you and me, there’s a bathroom up on the second floor right off the atrium. It used to be an executive washroom, but they converted it into an office restroom a few years back. I sneak up there when I don’t want to spend half an hour doing the pee dance while waiting my turn.”
I looked at the roped-off stairs and bored guards with uncertainty. Would they care if I told them where I was going and why? Would they insist on accompanying me? Besides the guards, anyone facing that direction would see me heading up the wide steps into the clearly off-limits area. Although I would welcome a trip to the facilities, my bladder wasn’t in such a state that I wanted to risk the embarrassment of being caught going somewhere I shouldn’t.
“There’s an elevator back behind the staircase,” Justine added. “Second floor. Take a left out of the elevator, the first right, then two doors down on the right. You’ll see the sign.”
I hesitated, inexplicably wanting to ask if she’d come with me. I don’t know why. I was perfectly capable of taking an elevator up one flight on my own, and if I was stopped I could simply say that one of the guests told me to use the facilities up there. Yes, women did tend to head to the powder room in pairs, but it wasn’t like Justine and I needed to exchange opinions on our dates or borrow feminine hygiene products from each other. Still, I couldn’t hold back the odd shiver at the thought of going to that second-floor bathroom alone.
I saw Judge Sanchez beckon to his wife, and that made my fears seem all the more irrational. “Thanks. I’ll be down in a few. If you see Judge Beck, let him know I’ll be right back.”
She smiled and headed toward her husband while I turned in the opposite direction. I made my way around a packed dance floor, trying not to get in the way of couples swaying to Silent Night. Skirting the edge of where the string quartet was playing, I circled around behind the stairs, and did indeed see an elevator too small to be used for moving furniture and other bulky items, but sufficient for possibly three people to use simultaneously. I hit the up button, thinking that there must be a service elevator somewhere in the rear of the building, away from all this marble and gold. Clearly SMS&C preferred their employees and clients take the sweeping staircase at least to the second floor because I got the impression this elevator had been installed as a grudging acquiescence to state and federal disability accessibility laws.
The door opened with a swoosh and I entered, punching the button for the second floor. Within seconds, the doors opened again and I was treated to a breathtaking view of the atrium below from the catwalk that circled the entry area. The acoustics up here were even better than downstairs and I took a second to look down at all the bald and silver heads atop suited bodies. So many men. And it seemed that a large percentage of the women present were here as spouses or plus-ones—even though those I’d spoken with were professional women and often lawyers themselves.
It made me think back to my youth, to when we women were fighting for equal opportunity in careers, and the amount of amused head-patting we’d received from those who felt our demands were just temporary tantrums of the young—tantrums that would fade once we were married and happily ensconced in motherhood. It made me burn with anger to think that things hadn’t changed all that much since the seventies.
I did a quick sweep to make sure no one, especially the guards, was looking up and my way, then quickly made my way along the catwalk hallway and down the corridor. Justine’s directions were spot on, and I found the restroom well marked. It was a door out of place in the symmetrical nature of the office placements. I was willing to bet that if I’d taken a tape measure, I would have found each door an exact distance from each other, the ones across the hall staggered so they didn’t open across from each other. The offices were clearly large, not the tiny ones I’d seen in our local law firms, or the bullpens of cubicles I’d imagined in a firm of this size. Although I’m sure the bullpen of the lowest-level employees was somewhere else in the bu
ilding. Probably down next to the boiler room or something.
The room was marked as mixed gender, so I knocked and hesitated a second before turning the handle and opening the door. I wasn’t sure if the furnishings were typically opulent, or a remnant of this bathroom’s former status as an executive washroom, but one thing was clear. The dove gray walls were not meant to include a heavy splattering of red.
And the cream marble floor tiles were not supposed to have a body lying on them.
Chapter 4
I sucked in a breath, nearly jumping out of my skin as the door closed behind me with an audible click. A man. In a tux. Blood everywhere—splashed on the back wall and the full-length mirror. Speckled on the sink, and the louvered door for the toilet area. A pool of red circled around the man, sluggishly oozing outward.
And over his body hovered the faint shadow of a ghost.
I held back on my initial urge to flee, then held back on my secondary urge to go assist the man. Assuming that was his spirit hovering above him, would that mean he was already dead? The slowly expanding pool of blood made me think his heart might still be beating, but as little as I knew about the human body, I was pretty sure that with so much blood loss, the man’s heart wouldn’t be beating for long. And a wound, or wounds, that produced that sort of injury would be far beyond my ability to help. “Apply pressure” would definitely not do any good.
The only good I could think to do was make a phone call. I fumbled to pull my cell phone from my purse, and dialed.
“Kay? Where are you? Why are you calling me? Did you skip out and take an Uber home or something?”
The warm amusement in Judge Beck’s voice instantly snapped me out of my shock. I hadn’t realized I’d been in shock, but that was the only explanation I could think of for calling the judge instead of 911.