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“What? Like mold?”
DeWinter threw back her head and laughed, full and throaty. “Possibly, and I suspect you might do the same on me because I don’t like you yet, either. We’ll see. What I do know, absolutely, is you’re his friend. You’re Li’s good, strong friend. I can promise you I’m his friend. So that’s a beginning.”
“I used to flirt with him now and then,” Nadine murmured. “I stopped after Coltraine was killed.”
“You should start again. Normal keeps him steady. Dallas gives him that. Did you come stag?” DeWinter asked Nadine.
“Yeah. I thought about bringing a date, but I really wasn’t in the mood. Dating over the holidays gets so damn sticky—too important, too symbolic.”
“I know! I swear it’s the only time of the year I half wish I was married so people would stop asking if I have a date for Christmas, for New Year’s Eve, for this party, for that event.”
“God, yes! And if you have a date New Year’s Eve, some people are in your face with: So is it serious?”
“Exactly. Last year I was seeing someone, very casually, then because I—against my better judgment—asked him to a holiday event, people were all over me!”
“Tell me about it.”
They’d angled toward each other, Eve noted, drawn by the theme like magnets.
“I had to stop seeing someone because he started pressuring me about Christmas plans back in October,” Nadine said. “It makes you crazy.”
“Domestic violence, suicide, and homicide percentages rise exponentially between Thanksgiving and New Year’s,” Eve commented, and got baffled looks from both DeWinter and Nadine. “Carry on,” she decided, and slipped away.
She considered ducking into the salon—ten minutes’ quiet and solitude—but caught voices, laughter, so veered the other way. She could sneak downstairs to her office, she thought, grab those ten. But if she got caught in there—Summerset—there’d be hell to pay.
Plenty of other rooms up here, she thought, and headed away from the music, the voices, the lights, turned into what she recalled was a smallish sitting room.
Feeney was sprawled in one of the big, overstuffed chairs, his feet up, his tie loose. He looked half asleep, with the muted wall screen showing basketball.
He shot her a sheepish look. “Just wanted to check on the game, take a break.”
“Great. You’re now my excuse.” She dropped into another chair, heaved out a breath. “Jesus, Feeney, why do people like parties?”
“Like this one? Prime booze and eats, great space. And mostly girls—some of the guys, too—get a charge out of sprucing up fancy. Sheila’s having the time of her life. When I ducked out, she was talking to Ana Whitney and some Roarke exec about knitting. The three of them were into it like it was their religion. I needed ten.”
“I just ducked out on Nadine and DeWinter talking about dating. About holiday dating.”
“Maybe you win this one, but knitting’s pretty close. Music’s solid, though. Roarke knows how to rock the house. How’s the case going?”
“I’ve got some strong lines. I’m looking . . .” She trailed off when she sensed movement, glanced over to see Santiago hesitate in the doorway.
“Private party?” he asked.
“No. Just taking a break from the crowd.”
“Then I’m in.” He brought in a brew with him, grabbed a chair. “It’s a hell of a party, LT. Hell of a party. I was talking to this guy Derrick, works for Roarke. He played minor league ball for a couple years—screwed up his arm, switched to programming and design. Anyway, he’s got a local league plays ball. I’m going to check it out, see if I can get in on that.”
“What do you play?” Feeney asked him.
“High school and college? Shortstop. Got a partial ride in college on the sports scholarship. There’s nothing like baseball.”
“You didn’t stick with it?” Eve asked.
“I wanted the badge. Love to play, but it’s play for me. Not the job. I wanted the job.”
They talked baseball, talked shop. Eve told herself to get up, go back, do her duty. Then Reineke strolled in.
“Hey. Anybody else got the weird seeing Whitney tear up the dance floor?”
