“I suppose the mom resented that?”
He shook his head. “She seemed relieved. Said she always felt bad that John had no father figure in his life.”
“This is nuts. Not one woman has a grudge against Kodaly, even though he’s supposedly a wolf. Does that ring true? Or are all the women conspiring to pretend they didn’t hate him?”
He shot me a quick glance. “That sounds paranoid.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I looked at the dusky scenery. “Hey, you know what?”
“What?”
“This is our first fancy date.”
His green eyes looked me up and down, then met mine. “Te gyönyörű vagy,” he said.
“Oh, wow, did you practice that? Your attempts at Hungarian are getting better than mine. What did you just say?”
He smiled. “I’ll tell you later.”
* * *
In a room that glittered with battery-powered candlelight and glimmering black and orange backdrops, I found Sofia pouring herself a glass of punch. I waved and greeted her. “I’m Maggie’s daughter,” I said.
“Yes, yes, I know you, Hana.” Sofia looked like a poem in a form-fitting orange dress that accentuated her dark hair. Her eyes were melancholy, but they always looked that way. My grandmother claimed that Sofia had the “eyes of the Old Country,” and that they were imbued with the sadness of generations. Somehow her mournful eyes made her lovelier.
“Will you be the one doing a tribute to Will Kodaly tonight?”
Sofia touched her hair with a slightly shaking hand. “Yes, with some artists who worked with him. I am very nervous. Look at this crowd!”
“Yeah, the dance seems quite a success.”
Erik drifted over, looking like a moody movie star, and I introduced him. “Erik, this is Sofia. She knew William Kodaly.”
Based on the weird way that Detective Wolf’s hands hung at his side, as though someone was about to challenge him to a gunfight, I assumed he was tempted to go for his notebook.
He said, “Are you from Hungary, Sofia?”
“No—my parents. But I’ve visited. A beautiful country, beautiful. And I speak the language. I have done since I was a child.” I felt a pang of jealousy; my grandmother now wished that I was bilingual.
“You dated Mr. Kodaly?” he asked, aiming for a casual smile.
“Yes. We have a history, I would say. But we always somehow missed each other. I was dating, or he was, then I was married, then he was dating someone else. But I have very special memories of our time together. Treasured memories.” She put her hand over her heart; some tiny beads on her dress clicked together.
“And when did you date him?”
Her lids came down and she studied the toes of her black shoes. “Uh—about two, three years ago. Since then he has dated other women in this town.”
“Cassandra Stone?” I asked.
“Yes. But then Cassandra decided that he was unreliable. She went back to an old flame.”
“And what about Ms. Derrien? Amber Derrien?”
She nodded. “I saw her here tonight. She’s wearing blue.” She scanned the room over our heads. “I don’t see her now. She might be getting a drink at the bar. Cassandra is here, too. She looks like a Greek goddess.”
“Any other women you can connect directly to Kodaly? Anyone else he dated?”
A look of consternation crossed her face; then she shrugged. “I suppose some artists. They all hung around together. In any case, that is all I know. I must go join Zane. I’ll introduce you later—”
“Sofia,” I said. She looked at me with her sad eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
The tears came so quickly that they surprised all three of us—silent, plentiful tears that streamed down her face and made the pain in her eyes, now magnified by the light reflected in her teardrops, one of the most heartbreaking things I’d ever seen.
“My goodness. My makeup,” she said. “I’m sorry. Perhaps I’ll see you later.”
She rushed past us, leaving the scent of a floral perfume and a palpable, lingering sadness.
* * *
Domo appeared at my shoulder, looking dashing in a black suit and a royal blue shirt. He wore no tie, but he got away with this cheat because it made him look like a disheveled playboy. “Hey! Pretty cool party. Marguerite is having a great time.”
“She looks like Grace Kelly tonight,” I said.
“Who’s Grace Kelly?” said Domo.
“Remember the movie we watched, Rear Window? With Jimmy Stewart as the photographer who breaks his leg? And he has that amazingly beautiful girlfriend who walks around in what look like Dior dresses?”
“Oh, her,” he said. Then, making the connection, he said, “She does look like Grace Kelly.” He wore a sort of dazed expression.
Erik said, “Hana tells me you’ve kept in touch with an English teacher you both had at Riverwood High. Ms. Derrien?”
Surprised, Domo nodded. “Yeah, sure. We send each other links and stuff. We’re both big Dostoevsky fans. Why is that pertinent at all?”
Erik’s face remained impassive. “I’ve been told she’s here tonight. If you see her, could you introduce us?”
“Uh—okay. What’s this about?”
I sent him a no-nonsense look. “Erik is investigating a murder. The man who was shot in his own home.”
Domo’s dark brows rose. “I saw that on the news. And then Grandma told me while she fed me dinner. About how he was Hungarian and an artist and stuff, right?”
“Yes. He also had—kind of a reputation with the ladies.” I spoke softly, although the music and loud chatter effectively cloaked our conversation. “And he dated Ms. Derrien.”
“Really? Wow. She was pretty hot back when we were in school. But that’s not why she was popular,” he added, shooting a glance at Erik.
“In any case, I’d like an excuse to speak to her at more length. So any help you can give me in that regard would be appreciated,” Erik said.
Margie appeared at Domo’s side, looking small and golden and lovely. Domo’s arm slid around her, intimate without being overtly possessive. “I’m having fun,” Margie said, offering a sweet smile. “Hello, Detective Wolf.”
“Hello, Margie. It’s nice to see you again.”
Erik had spent an evening in Margie’s apartment, back when he and I were investigating another crime. Margie had found him fascinating and handsome. I wondered what she thought of him tonight, in his beautiful suit.
“I’m ready to start dancing!” she enthused. “Domo didn’t realize how much I love to dance. I was thrilled when he invited me to this. Let’s go sit down—they’re starting with hors d’oeuvres!” There was a slightly manic gleam in her eye as she tugged on Domo’s arm. A natural introvert, Margie was probably going to need two full days of silence after tonight’s event.
Domo rolled his eyes good-naturedly and went off with Margie. Erik Wolf’s eyes were scanning the crowd. I was torn between feeling neglected and feeling excited by the chance to watch him at work. He had a certain focused intensity while working a case—admirable but also sexy.
Cassandra Stone floated past in a gold and white dress. “Cassandra!” I called. She turned, then smiled and walked up to me. “Cassandra, I wanted to introduce you to my boyfriend, Erik Wolf.”
She smiled up at him as he shook her hand; she looked less like a Greek goddess (as Sofia had contended) than she did like a Renaissance painting. Her long reddish hair hung down in natural waves, and her green-blue eyes were striking in her pale face. “Nice to meet you, Erik. Are you both having a good time?”
“We just got here,” Erik said, distracted by something he saw across the room. Then, realizing how that sounded, he said, “But, yes. The place is quite elegant.”
She nodded, pleased. “Yes, they always put on such a lovely event.
I’ll have to introduce you to Richard, my fiancé. He went to get us some wine, but then he disappeared.” She laughed at this, and Wolf managed a smile. He became sort of a robot while he thought his way through a case. “Oh, here he comes,” Cassandra said. “Richard!”
A brown-haired man, graying at the temples, approached us, carrying two glasses of white wine. He handed one to Cassandra, and she sipped it, then said, “Richard Crenshaw, this is Hana Keller—Maggie Keller’s daughter. And this is her date, Erik Wolf.”
Crenshaw stuck out a hand. He was a full head shorter than Wolf, and slightly thick in the middle, but he had a surprising, palpable charisma. “Erik, Hana, nice to meet you. Are you enjoying the dance?”
“Yes,” I said. “Although so far it’s just kind of networking, right?” I asked.
“Yeah. But in many ways, the best part of the evening. Later there’s not as much of a chance to talk, and I like to say hi to friends, meet new people. By the time the dancing starts, I’ll be focused on romancing my lady.”
“How long have you two been together?” I asked.
Cassandra and Richard exchanged a look. “About a year,” he said. “Cass jokingly calls us a ‘recycled relationship.’ Frankly, there are a lot of those in this town.”
Wolf leaned in. “I’m sorry? What does that mean?”
Cassandra played with a tendril of her beautiful hair. “Richard and I were both with other people, and now we’re together and those other people are with people we know. There’s a lot of interconnectedness in the Riverwood dating scene.”
My fingers tingled slightly. I leaned forward. “Was Will Kodaly a part of that interconnectedness?”
Richard laughed. “Will Kodaly was probably the hub. The guy had some mysterious chemistry that just drew women. Right, Cass?” He touched her shoulder and left his hand there.
“Oh yes. Will was very attractive. He said all the right things, and I think he meant them in the moment. But eventually he would get restless. He was a wanderer at heart.” Her sad expression made her look fragile.
Wolf’s blond brows furrowed. “I’m not following. Just because you both dated other people, what makes that ‘interconnected’?”
Cassandra sighed and took another sip of wine: a dramatic moment that made her look beautiful. It seemed calculated to get her lover’s attention, which it did. “Let’s see,” she said. “Here’s a quick example. Three years ago, I dated Will Kodaly. We were pretty serious for a while. Richard here was married to Sofia Kálmar.”
Richard winced. “She never did take to being Sofia Crenshaw. She said the name sounded like a crustacean.”
Cassandra moved closer to him, perhaps in sympathy. She said, “Sofia told Rich she needed time away. When she came back, she had divorce papers.”
“Ah,” Erik said.
Cassandra nodded. “Will was in Hungary during that time. I’m pretty sure he cheated on me there. We had a fight, and he left. A couple months later he was dating Sofia.”
“Okay,” Erik said. He was clearly dying for his notebook. If I knew him, he would soon be escaping to a quiet corner to write down his notes. “So did Kodaly marry Sofia?”
She shook her head. “No. Something happened between them, and they broke up. Meanwhile, Amber Derrien had separated from her husband, Brad, and ended up having a fling with Will Kodaly. That lasted a few months; they didn’t even hide the relationship, even though Amber was still officially married. Brad, whether out of revenge or I don’t know what, started dating Sofia.”
“Wow!” I said. “This is better than a soap opera.”
Cassandra shrugged. “Richard and I found each other because we wanted someone who could commiserate. We agreed that we did not enjoy the drama. That we just wanted a quiet home, a simple life, someone to love.”
She reached out her free hand, and he snatched it up. His eyes told me he was smitten with Cassandra. It looked like this relationship would last.
“That’s quite a ring you have there,” Wolf said.
Crenshaw and Cassandra both looked at the ring. He said, “I found it at an antique shop. It’s Victorian-era. The color was perfect with her hair—that apricot-colored topaz—I knew I had to have it. And those are all-natural half pearls around the center stone.”
The ring gleamed in the light, and my soul responded joyfully, as it did to all beautiful things. “It’s stunning,” I said.
I looked up to find Erik’s eyes on me. I smiled, but he didn’t. Something was wrong . . .
“Anyway, you can see why the Riverwood dating scene has a certain odd feel. Almost incestuous, somehow,” Crenshaw said, still smiling at Cassandra’s ring.
I patted Cassandra’s hand. “I think your name sounds perfect with the name Crenshaw,” I said.
She beamed. “So do I!”
They said farewell and wandered into the crowd. Erik said, “Would you like a drink?”
I shrugged. “I suppose.”
“Why don’t you go to the table, and I’ll bring you one?”
“Okay.”
He kissed the top of my head, and I moved toward table number twelve. I bumped into someone who turned out to be Eduardo. He looked dashing in a crimson suit. His dark brown hair was swooped back from his face with some kind of product, and he looked dangerously handsome.
“Eduardo! I was wondering where you guys were. Where’s Katie?”
“She went to the ladies’ room.”
“Your suit is amazing.”
He shrugged. I realized, in a burst of insight, that he was nervous. “I stole this from my father’s closet. He wore it on special occasions when I was young, and we laughed at him and said he looked like a chocolate salesman.”
This struck me as hilarious. “A chocolate salesman? Is that even a thing?”
His gaze was restless, scanning the room over my head. “I don’t know. We thought so. But we also thought the suit was ugly, and now I think it is powerful. For romance.”
“You’re doing pretty well so far. You got this invitation, right?”
“Yes, yes. But I feel like I’m on eggshells. I don’t want to blow it. I really like Katie. I want her in my life. And tonight—she’s so beautiful, Hana.”
“You’ll do fine.”
His eyes met mine; their gaze was intense. “Did you see the silent auction items, over on the side? There are some ruby earrings. Katie loves rubies.”
I held up a hand. “Don’t even think about it. There are rich people at this thing. They always win the silent auction stuff because they like to show off their wealth during the bidding. That’s what my dad says, anyway.”
Eduardo leaned closer. “I have an IRA from my last job. I can cash it in. I think I could get them for her.”
“Eduardo, I know you want to make a romantic gesture, but those shouldn’t cost you your IRA. You can sweep her off her feet just by whispering in her ear.”
He looked toward the table, where expensive gift items glimmered in the light. “I think rubies would be better,” he murmured.
I saw Katie making her way through the crowd; she wore a filmy pale-pink strapless number that was getting her some appreciative glances. Her chestnut-colored hair, like heavy silk, hung straight onto her shoulders, and her eyes were bright.
I said, “Eduardo, this is none of my business.”
“Okay,” he said.
“Except that you’re making a mistake.”
His eyes widened. “Why?”
“Because this is Katie we’re talking about. She would be furious if she knew you cashed in your future to buy her earrings. She would never wear them, and she’d get angry every time she looked at them.”
His face fell.
“You know I’m right, Eduardo.”
He nodded.
“Just do this: tell her the truth. The truth is the most roma
ntic thing to Katie. Tell her what you are thinking when you look at her in that dress. Tell her—”
“What’s up?” said Katie, appearing next to us. “Hana, you look fantastic.”
“Thanks! You, too.”
Eduardo said, “I found our table.”
“Sorry we’re late,” Katie said. “I had a passionate argument with my hair straightener.”
I laughed. “Well, you obviously won. Your hair looks great. I forgot how silky it was. Eduardo was just reminding me.”
“Really?” Her eyes moved to him, and he nodded.
“I’ll go get some drinks,” he said, and disappeared into the crowd.
Erik appeared with a glass of punch for me, and a Diet Coke for him. I took the frosty glass, and he said, “Hello, Katie.”
“Hey, Erik.” They had met only once before, when we all went out for pizza, and they were still a bit stiff around each other. “You look great,” she said.
“Thanks. That is a lovely color on you.”
She thanked him, and he said, “Well, I’m glad you’re here, because now you can talk to Hana while I run to the lobby and make a few notes.”
“Sure,” I said, waving him on. “I know you’ve been dying to do it. But be back soon. It looks like people are sitting down now.”
“Got it.” He squeezed my arm and darted into the throng. Five minutes later I was seated at the table with Domo and Margie, Katie and Eduardo, and two other couples who were strangers to us. Both seemed to be in their mid-fifties. One of the men, who had introduced himself as Bob, was explaining how things worked at his meat-packing plant while we forked into our predinner salads.
Eduardo caught my eye and pretended, with subtle pantomimes, that he was dying of boredom. I grinned down at my salad. Bob paused for breath, and Domo said, “Hey, this building is pretty great. I never paid attention to it in high school, when we used to have proms here, but I wonder how long it’s been around.”
This distracted Bob, and by the time the main courses came, in large family-style bowls, we had learned that the building was erected in 2000 and was initially called the Millennium Building before they changed it to the Riverwood Pavilion. “That’s interesting,” Margie said with a sweet smile.
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