bypass a crowd loudly discussing evidence found at the crime scene.
She shouldn’t have come. It wasn’t as if Ian had asked, at least not in words, but she knew that he wanted her with him, knew that it was expected that a spouse would make an appearance at these events.
“It’ll be outside,” he’d said when he told her about the party, and she’d heard what he was really saying, that she should be able to handle a crowd outside.
Only she couldn’t. She struggled across the lawn, her heels sinking into the overwatered sod, her drink clutched in one hand, purse in the other, as she searched the crowd for her husband.
A large man hurrying the other way bumped into her and Kate lost her balance, falling forward. Martini and glass flew in a wide arc while her purse dropped like a stone, and in that split second between realizing she was going to fall and trying to brace herself, Kate was suddenly jerked upright.
“Steady there!” a man’s voice said, and Kate recognized Jerry Virgoli. His eyes widened in surprise when he realized whom he’d rescued. “Well, hello!”
“Hi.” Kate stooped down to retrieve her purse, brushing the last of her martini off her slacks. “Thanks for the save.”
“No problem.” Virgoli plucked her glass off the lawn and deposited it on a passing tray. “I was hoping I’d see you here.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, I wondered if you’d given any thought to my proposal.”
Kate’s head ached. What was he talking about? “I’m sorry?”
“For a show. Size to be determined by you, of course, but given the limited space, I thought a small selection of paintings might be best.”
“A show?” Kate repeated dumbly. She felt as if she were back in the assisted-living community where her parents had spent the last years of their lives, only this time she was the one suffering from dementia.
“Didn’t Ian tell you?” An expression of anger flashed across Virgoli’s face, a flicker that passed so fast that Kate thought she must have imagined it. It startled her when he laughed. “I guess he’s just so busy.”
“What didn’t Ian tell me?”
“We’d like you to do a show at the gallery. It’s a small space, but we’ve had some nice shows and I’m sure we’d get a good response—”
For a minute Kate felt the desire, that familiar hum of interest in what she’d choose to hang and where. It was only a moment. Like a flashlight with dying batteries, the light burned bright for a few seconds before fading away to nothing.
“I’m not doing shows right now,” she said.
Jerry Virgoli nodded as if he agreed. “Of course, under the circumstances I completely understand. Ian explained that, but I wanted you to know that the possibility exists, that we do have a nice gallery in Wickfield.”
Kate nodded, forcing a smile, but she wondered what exactly Ian had told this man. It sounded as if he knew about what had happened to her. Did everybody know about it? What had Ian said about her? Did everybody know about the assault? Did he discuss it with other people?
Suddenly, the voices in the conversation next to theirs rose and she heard a man say, “They’re very hush-hush about the sexual-assault aspect, but we all know that’s what happened.”
Were they talking about her? Blood rushed to her face. She felt flushed and her head thumped like a metronome. She looked at Virgoli’s moving lips, but the only thing she could hear was the conversation nearby. “You can understand the need for discretion,” a woman said. “It’s not as if they’ve caught somebody.”
No, no, it wasn’t her. They were discussing Lily Slocum. Sound rushed back and Kate could hear Virgoli say, “In the future, of course, we’d like to have an expanded Fine Arts wing complete with a larger, university-funded gallery space, but that will require a consensus of faculty—”
He prattled on, and she could follow enough to know that he wanted something that Ian somehow had the power to
She shouldn’t have come. It wasn’t as if Ian had asked, at least not in words, but she knew that he wanted her with him, knew that it was expected that a spouse would make an appearance at these events.
“It’ll be outside,” he’d said when he told her about the party, and she’d heard what he was really saying, that she should be able to handle a crowd outside.
Only she couldn’t. She struggled across the lawn, her heels sinking into the overwatered sod, her drink clutched in one hand, purse in the other, as she searched the crowd for her husband.
A large man hurrying the other way bumped into her and Kate lost her balance, falling forward. Martini and glass flew in a wide arc while her purse dropped like a stone, and in that split second between realizing she was going to fall and trying to brace herself, Kate was suddenly jerked upright.
“Steady there!” a man’s voice said, and Kate recognized Jerry Virgoli. His eyes widened in surprise when he realized whom he’d rescued. “Well, hello!”
“Hi.” Kate stooped down to retrieve her purse, brushing the last of her martini off her slacks. “Thanks for the save.”
“No problem.” Virgoli plucked her glass off the lawn and deposited it on a passing tray. “I was hoping I’d see you here.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, I wondered if you’d given any thought to my proposal.”
Kate’s head ached. What was he talking about? “I’m sorry?”
“For a show. Size to be determined by you, of course, but given the limited space, I thought a small selection of paintings might be best.”
“A show?” Kate repeated dumbly. She felt as if she were back in the assisted-living community where her parents had spent the last years of their lives, only this time she was the one suffering from dementia.
“Didn’t Ian tell you?” An expression of anger flashed across Virgoli’s face, a flicker that passed so fast that Kate thought she must have imagined it. It startled her when he laughed. “I guess he’s just so busy.”
“What didn’t Ian tell me?”
“We’d like you to do a show at the gallery. It’s a small space, but we’ve had some nice shows and I’m sure we’d get a good response—”
For a minute Kate felt the desire, that familiar hum of interest in what she’d choose to hang and where. It was only a moment. Like a flashlight with dying batteries, the light burned bright for a few seconds before fading away to nothing.
“I’m not doing shows right now,” she said.
Jerry Virgoli nodded as if he agreed. “Of course, under the circumstances I completely understand. Ian explained that, but I wanted you to know that the possibility exists, that we do have a nice gallery in Wickfield.”
Kate nodded, forcing a smile, but she wondered what exactly Ian had told this man. It sounded as if he knew about what had happened to her. Did everybody know about it? What had Ian said about her? Did everybody know about the assault? Did he discuss it with other people?
Suddenly, the voices in the conversation next to theirs rose and she heard a man say, “They’re very hush-hush about the sexual-assault aspect, but we all know that’s what happened.”
Were they talking about her? Blood rushed to her face. She felt flushed and her head thumped like a metronome. She looked at Virgoli’s moving lips, but the only thing she could hear was the conversation nearby. “You can understand the need for discretion,” a woman said. “It’s not as if they’ve caught somebody.”
No, no, it wasn’t her. They were discussing Lily Slocum. Sound rushed back and Kate could hear Virgoli say, “In the future, of course, we’d like to have an expanded Fine Arts wing complete with a larger, university-funded gallery space, but that will require a consensus of faculty—”
He prattled on, and she could follow enough to know that he wanted something that Ian somehow had the power to