by B. V. Lawson
Sarg turned toward him but instead collided with none other than Reed Upperman, munching on a scallop wrapped in bacon. Drayco and Sarg had agreed they’d divide and conquer, so Sarg grabbed Reed by the elbow. “Show me where you got those scallops. I don’t suppose you saw any Rumaki?” and he guided Reed away.
The first guest Drayco ran into on his own was a surprise. “Evert Bauer?” The man took a few steps back, which allowed Drayco to get a better look. Someone Brock helped during his FBI tenure, a man who resembled a Scottish deerhound, with a floppy gray mane and a long nose. One of the few who didn’t aspire to be alpha as long as he was in on the hunt.
Bauer stared at him and then his face broke out into a broad grin. “Scott Drayco. You haven’t aged much. But ten years ago you were what, twenty-six? Me on the other hand,” he ran his hand through his hair, which was fifty percent white. “See what working with students can do?”
“You teach at Parkhurst now?”
“Three years. Political science. Assigning homework is easy. I send the kids out to watch Congress in session.” He laughed. “We lose more poly-sci majors that way.”
“I can imagine.”
Bauer bounced on the balls of his feet. “I’d heard you were riding solo these days, a consultant like your padre. You here on business or pleasure?”
“When I’m lucky, they’re one and the same.”
“I doubt you’ll find much pleasure here. Gilbow’s parties have good grub, but they’re hardly entertaining. Unless you engage in the sport of gossip.”
Drayco studied the crowd, trying to imagine himself at a Washington Capitals game instead. “Who are the home and away teams tonight?”
“The home team would be Gilbow himself. He’s a fine teacher and does a lot of good in the community. Book, charities, so forth. It’s oil and vinegar with the other faculty. He’s the vinegar, by the way. The rest of us skid along behind him.”
Bauer gestured to a young man passing by with a tray and exchanged his empty glass for a full glass of grapefruit and vodka. From the slight slur in the man’s words, this was Bauer’s third or fourth glass rather than his second. The professor smacked his lips. “Where were we?”
“I think you were going to fill me in on the away team.”
“Oh, ha ha, yes indeed. Have you got a year or two? Extra-marital affairs, DUIs, who cheated who out of a chairmanship. Even some cocaine. And people think college faculty are dull.”
“Any of those affairs involve students?”
“It would make for a juicier tale, eh? But I’m not aware of any. Not that they don’t happen.”
Drayco eyed a tray of food as it passed by. Was that what Rumaki looked like? “There must have been a lot of chatter over Dr. Jaffray’s murdered niece.”
“Chattering like magpies. Or maybe starlings, huddled together en masse in their protected little tree.”
“How do the faculty members feel toward Dr. Jaffray?”
“Well liked. A lot of that may be the sympathy factor. It’s fatal to be related to the man.”
Drayco lunged to the left to avoid being sideswiped by another tray-carrying waiter. “Any of those affairs, DUIs or stolen chairmanships connected to him?”
“You’d expect a religion professor to be a paragon of virtue. Clichéd, but he fits the role.”
“And his murdered niece?”
“Almost went to one of her recitals once. Wish I had. Didn’t have her as a student. The faculty who did said she was an average scholar, polite, quiet. The type who never raised her hand to ask questions.”
“Too quiet and polite to have affairs with any faculty?”
Bauer wagged his finger at Drayco. “That’s a minefield there, son of Brock. I like my legs and feet intact.” He belched, in tune. “Don’t look now, the object of your questions approacheth. I think I need a food chaser for this cocktrail, er, cocktail. If you’ll excuse me.”
Jaffray reached Drayco moments after Bauer left, and Drayco steeled himself for another argument. But after glancing in the other man’s direction, Jaffray said, “Bauer must still be sober. Did he start singing yet?”
“Not unless belching counts.”
“Another glass or two and he will. He seems fond of Black Sabbath.”
Drayco smiled. “The lampshades around here look too big for him.”
“Everything associated with Andrew Gilbow is larger than life. I bet you hate having to work with him.”
Jaffray was drinking a plain soda, exactly what you’d expect from a paragon of virtue. He raised his glass to look at the effervescent bubbles. “Sometimes I wish I could get drunk like Evert. Would make it easier for me to apologize.”
“I’m sorry?”
“No, that’s what I’m supposed to say to you. For my attitude when you were in my office earlier today. You meant well.”
“Truce, then.” He held out a hand which Jaffray shook. “Evert Bauer was saying he wished he’d made it to one of Cailan’s recitals.”
“Her recitals always did pack the auditorium.”
Jaffray clutched his soda glass in both hands and didn’t seem to notice the condensation rivulets flowing down his wrists. “Her death was most inconvenient for Parkhurst. The college took a financial hit from bad investments. They need to nab more rich kids to boost the coffers. Cailan ungratefully put a crimp in their plans with her murder.”
“Professor, is it possible the deaths of Cailan’s parents weren’t accidental? Someone hated your brother or his wife—enough to want to hurt their daughter?”
A booming voice over Drayco’s shoulder heralded the arrival of their host, as Gilbow butted in. “I asked him that, didn’t I, Troy? Something similar came up in a court case where I was an expert witness. You and I should sit down and compare notes, Drayco. Wouldn’t want you wasting your time on ground I’ve covered.”
Drayco looked at Jaffray, not Gilbow. “What was your response to that question, professor?”
“That we don’t always know our family as well as we should. But I think it unlikely. My family was perfectly ordinary.” Jaffray’s pale face looked yellow in the glare of the chandelier. “And now I think I’ll try some of your always-delicious buffet, Andrew.”
Gilbow waited until Jaffray was out of earshot. “It’s amazing he turned out as he did. His brother and sister-in-law may have been ordinary, but his parents were drug addicts. His father died a couple of decades ago. His mother was placed in an institution.”
“Is he clean?”
“Troy? I’ve never seen him drunk or high. I have no idea what he does in the privacy of his own bathroom. Nor is it any of my business as long as it doesn’t affect his teaching.”
Gilbow pointed at Drayco’s empty hands. “Is none of our food or drink offerings to your liking?”
Before Drayco could reply, Gilbow added, “Perhaps the piano in our study over there is more your taste. You’ll have to play something later. Anything except those goddamn waltzes Adele loves. Onweller told me your music background. Impressive. Sorry some young punk ended it all. A carjacking, wasn’t it? That would make a good lecture sometime—failed dreams intersecting with crime and the psychology of revenge. I should have you in as a guest lecturer.”
A woman called Gilbow’s name and off he went, ready to perform in front of a new audience. But it was another woman who’d caught Drayco’s eye. Tall and willowy, she had on lacy gloves, a throwback to another era. She also wore a maroon dress—stylish enough to show she’d kept her youthful figure, but conservative enough to suit a senator’s wife.
After Sarg had informed him of Melanie Bankton and her televangelist performing background, he’d looked her up. He was positive this was the same woman. He took advantage of the departure of a group of people she’d been chatting with to approach her.
“Mrs. Bankton?”
She turned to him with the polite smile of one who’d mastered the art of robotic rituals that are part of a political wife’s circuit board. But then she g
ot a big smile on her face. “Don’t I know you?”
“My name is Scott Drayco, and I—.”
“THE Scott Drayco?”
Drayco was so startled, it took him a moment to recover. “I’m a Scott Drayco.”
“The pianist?”
“Not professionally these days. But once, yes.”
“Should have recognized you sooner. I have all four of your recordings. I remember thinking we’d be hearing a lot from you. Then you vanished.”
Drayco had his own programmed reactions, too, when it came to questions about his piano past. For a moment, he almost broke that programming, sensing she’d be someone who’d understand. But he remembered where he was and why he was there. “It’s a long story. I understand you played the piano, too?”
She half-smiled, shifting her glass of wine from one gloved hand to the other. “You were an artist, I was a dabbler. The difference between Picasso and a kindergartner’s finger painting. But I really did enjoy it. When you’re playing, it’s so easy to forget anything else exists, isn’t it?”
“Another pianist I knew called it ‘soul teleportation.’”
She nodded. “I like that. So, what brings you to this … delightful occasion, Scott Drayco?”
“A murder, to be frank.”
Mrs. Bankton’s eyes widened, but she quickly recovered. “I hope you don’t mean you’re going to commit murder before the evening’s over. Sometimes I feel like that myself at one of these things.”
“Trying to solve a murder.”
The dawn of realization spread across her face. “You must mean Andy’s goddaughter. Kate? No, Kay Lynn? I’m not very good with names. I do recall her recital I attended.”
“Cailan. And I don’t recall anyone else calling Dr. Gilbow Andy.”
She laughed. “I suppose not. He hates it. We’ve known each other for years. I was a wild child, he was the straight-laced type. I did my best to corrupt him.”
She glanced around as if looking for the man in question, and almost lost the grip on her wine glass. When she noticed Drayco looking at her hand, she raised her glass to take a sip of wine. “Despite my current social status, I think parties are as much fun as a colonoscopy.”
“You know more people here than I do.”
“I saw you talking to Troy earlier. He’s such an interesting man, isn’t he? Hasn’t looked the same since the death of Cailan.” She pronounced the name slowly, this time. “I would love to have you over to play the piano for us sometime.”
A trio of women in satin, sequins and sapphires swooped in and herded Mrs. Bankton toward the marble fireplace and a group of more satin, sequins and sapphires. She looked over her shoulder and mouthed the words “I’m sorry,” as she was led like a lamb to the slaughter.
The string quartet started playing. The round russet circles of the Beatles’ “Eleanor Rigby” mingled with dozens of purple, brown and red voices in branching patterns and the pewter spirals of glasses clinking. This was another reason he hated parties, the overwhelming dissonance of competing sounds and their colors.
Making a beeline for the open door leading to the pool and garden, he drank in the cool night air with relief. When he felt a presence behind him, he turned to see Adele Gilbow looking up at the sky. “The light pollution is hideous, but you can still see a few stars.”
Drayco followed her gaze and noted Cassiopeia rising over the treetops. One of his favorite constellations, with its W-shaped line of blue-diamond pinpoint stars.
At the sound of a string quartet in the house switching to a waltz, Adele tapped his shoulder and curtsied. “May I have this dance?”
She placed one hand on his shoulder and used the other to clasp his hand, and off they went. “So you do know how to waltz, Mr. Drayco. I was half-afraid I might end up with sore feet from being stepped on.”
“Blame my cousin. Used me as a guinea pig when she was learning to dance for her prom.”
“They still waltz at proms? Thought it was all jiggling around these days.”
“They waltzed at hers. I think the theme had something to do with the Dark Ages.”
Adele laughed. “Andrew loves waltzes. The music, I mean. He can’t dance to save his life. Don’t tell him I said so. He hates to admit weakness as I suspect you’ve discovered.”
Drayco steered Adele away from the pool to stave off a sudden bath for them both. She saw him looking toward the pool, with fountain sprays jetting in from both sides. “I know this looks a bit much, Mr. Drayco. Quite different from my childhood and Bohemian parents, living in a wigwam with my six siblings. One extreme to another.”
“Like fire and water?” Drayco indicated the lights and electric tiki torches switching on around the pool.
“In a way. I did keep the vegan part of my upbringing. Couldn’t kill a fly, let alone eat one.”
“You’re not serving insects on that buffet of yours, are you?”
“Insects are a sustainable and readily accessible form of protein. Make good brain food.”
Drayco glanced over at the house, thinking he should have looked closer at that buffet. His expression must have given him away because she laughed. “No, we don’t have any insects tonight. At least in the food.”
The waltz music ended, and she released his hand. “Andrew says I’m easily bored, flitting from one experience to another. But I wouldn’t mind if they struck up another waltz right now.”
“Ah, but I’m sure your dance card is full.”
“Even so, I’d save a slot for you.”
Sarg strode out into the pool area with two glasses in hand. Adele hesitated, then waved and blew them a kiss before heading toward some other guests.
Sarg looked askance at Drayco. “Am I breaking up something between you and Mrs. Gilbow?”
“Thankfully, yes.”
“Thought we’d compare notes, though pickings are slim. Gary is considered a problem student. Due to his powerful lawyer-father, the college overlooks his behavior. Gilbow doesn’t like Reed Upperman all that much. Maybe because Gilbow can’t use Reed to further his career.”
Sarg paused to take a sip of wine. “Reed doesn’t have a lot of friends but hangs out with Gary. Which is odd on its own when you think about it. No one has anything bad to say about Cailan. Maybe no one wants to speak ill of the dead, but I find that hard to believe. This is a catty group of people. And everyone contradicts everyone else.”
Sarg handed the second glass over to Drayco, “Guessed you might need one by now.”
Neither man had to say anything else. They watched the guests around the pool and commiserated silently between sips of wine while watching Cassiopeia slowly rise.
* * *
The three of them sat in the car in front of the fence, looking over at the closed gate that appeared to be floating on pillows of fog. Tara was surprised at the lack of lights, but the park was supposed to be closed, right? The darkness hid their car but also made it hard to see what lay on the other side of the fence. Tara shivered from the lack of heat, now that the car engine was turned off. This was a lousy, miserable, horrible idea.
The young man next to her unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door. His words were slurred, and Tara didn’t catch the first part. She did hear him say “Because we’ll always regret it if we don’t. Besides, it’s just an old garden with very dangerous … birds.” He laughed.
Tara gripped the wheel of the car. They shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be here. Her father would be furious. Hopefully he wouldn’t find out since he had that party at Professor Gilbow’s. She looked at her watch. He’d probably be driving back home right now. Part of her wished she was with him there, not here.
As first dates went, this wasn’t turning out like she’d hoped. Tara had flirted with John for weeks hoping he’d notice, and he’d finally asked her out. Even if it was to a party where they hooked up with Jessica, who’d also had too much to drink.
When they found out who her father was, John and Jessica had g
anged up on Tara to go see where they’d found Cailan’s body. Tara offered to drive them tomorrow when Kenilworth was open, but they’d insisted on coming now and refused to leave the car until she relented.
John slipped out of the car with Jessica close behind and headed over to the gate. Tara groaned, but followed. They examined the chain-link fence, six feet high, seven if you counted the three lines of barbed wire at the top.
Tara felt more hopeful. “Looks like we can’t get in guys, so why don’t we come back tomorrow, ’kay?”
John rattled the fence in frustration. “I can climb it. I’ve done it before on other fences.”
The more Tara got to know drunken—and uninhibited—John, the more she thought her interest in him might be fading. Just as she hoped she’d be able to coax him and Jessica back to the car, John yelped with glee.
He’d been walking along the fence, looking it up and down, and now pointed to a small opening underneath one section. Before she had a chance to say “Wait,” he’d dropped on his back and shimmied half-way under the fence. When his blue-jeaned legs disappeared, Jessica promptly copied his actions and within seconds, she’d joined him on the other side.
Tara was furious. At them, at herself. At anyone and anything around her, which included a fence pole that she kicked. And regretted, when waves of pain traveled up her foot.
She folded her arms and paced with only a slight limp in front of the fence opening. Should she join them or wait until they’d had their fun? When they discovered nothing over there except grass and trees? In the darkness, with the one security light twenty feet away casting shadows, even the grass and trees were hard to see.
Then Jessica screamed. Screamed and screamed nonstop until she started sobbing hysterically.
“Jessica! What’s going on? What’s the matter?” Tara peered through the spaces between the links in the fence, but still couldn’t see anything. She was pretty sure she heard John throwing up.
Tara took a deep breath and ran to the car, where she’d forgotten her cellphone. As she ran, her instincts kicked in. So did her father’s constant reminders of taking a “threat assessment.”