Page 107 of Festive in Death

“You know, I’m observant and fairly intuitive, too—reporter, writer—but I’d never have put that together. You’re right. He’s letting some color back into his life, and that’s good to see. So. What’s the story on him and DeWinter? Are they a thing?”

“No.”

“Well, you certainly sound sure, and, if I’m not mistaken, determined. Don’t you like... speaking of which, I believe she’s heading over here. And speaking of amazing dresses.”

DeWinter wore hot, slick red in a long sleek column that hugged every curve. A side slit ran nearly to her hip, revealing a long, long, toned leg and jeweled heels that sparkled like the Christmas lights with each stride.

“Dallas. I haven’t had a chance to thank you for the hospitality. It’s a fabulous party. Your home is beyond spectacular.”

“Thanks. Ah, Nadine Furst, Dr. Garnet DeWinter.”

“We’ve met. The Sanctuary case.” Still DeWinter extended a hand. “I very much enjoyed the last broadcast of Now, but I’ve become a serious fan of your work altogether.”

“Thanks. I’m a serious fan of your dress. Valencia?”

“Yes! What an eye you have. It turned out to be a fun choice when I saw Morris had chosen a red tie.” She sipped her own champagne, tossed back her hair—an explosion of caramel-and-gold curls. “I love to hear him play.”

“So... you and Morris are dating?”

Nadine’s cheery smile didn’t dim under Eve’s baleful stare.

“Keeping each other company. Neither of us want, or are ready, I’d say, for dating. I have my daughter to consider. And he has Amaryllis. I think it’s easier for him to talk about her with me as I didn’t know her, or know them together. But he’s certainly made my transition to New York smoother.”

“Oh?” Nadine broadened her smile. “How so?”

“It can be challenging to be the new person, especially the new person in charge. Morris gives me a sounding board, and a good sense of the people I work with. One of the reasons I left D.C. was I felt I’d become complacent, and needed a change. It was a well-run machine—I insist on that—but the structure, and the individual personalities, didn’t allow for much camaraderie or... joy. I’ve found both here.”

She gestured to the ballroom. “The work we do? All three of us. It’s difficult and so often dark. Without this? Without the personal connections, the joy, the interest in each other, it can become more difficult, and darker. I want to be able to put on an amazing red dress now and again, listen to a man I find smart and interesting play the saxophone. I want to eat and drink and talk about nothing particularly important—or about the vitally important—with people I like, respect, and admire. Doing so makes me better at my work. It makes me a better mother.”

She sipped her champagne as she studied Eve. “You don’t like me yet, but you will. I’ll grow on you.”

“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.

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