Page 175 of Homeport

He moved away, making his way toward her. She looked lost, he thought, in a sea of people. And so lovely with her shining hair. Her red dress glowed like a flame, throwing off heat and life among all the sober and conservative black.

“I’m so glad you came.” He caught her hands like lifelines.

“I don’t know why I did. I already feel ridiculous.” The dress was too short, she thought. It was too red. It was too everything. Her department store earrings looked like cheap chandeliers—and what had possessed her to buy shoes with rhinestone buckles? She must look like a slutty Pilgrim.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said again, and ignoring the raised eyebrows, kissed her.

“Why don’t I just grab a tray, pass drinks? I’d fit in better that way.”

“You fit in fine. Come over and talk to Miranda.” But when he turned, his eyes locked with Elise’s. She stood exactly where he’d left her. He saw Miranda touch her arm, murmur something, but Elise only shook her head, then hurried away.

“Your wife looked upset,” Annie commented as acid churned in her stomach.

“Ex-wife,” Andrew reminded her, grateful to see Miranda making her way toward them.

“Annie, it’s so good to see you. Now I know who Andrew’s been looking for all evening.”

“I wasn’t going to come.”

“I’m glad you changed your mind.” It was rare for Miranda to follow impulse, but she did so now, bending down to press her cheek to Annie’s. “He needs you,” she whispered, then straightened with a smile. “I see some people I think you’d enjoy meeting. Andrew, why don’t you introduce Annie to Mr. and Mrs. Boldari.”

He followed the direction of her nod and grinned. “Yeah, thanks. Come on, Annie, you’re going to love these people.”

It lifted Miranda’s heart, that warm glow she’d seen in Andrew’s eyes. Her spirits rose, so much so that she allowed Ryan to pull her into a dance.

When she caught a glimpse of Richard, his nose all but pressed to a painting of the Holy Family, his eyes intent behind his glasses, she simply turned away.

She’d take Ryan’s advice—this time—and live in the moment.

She was considering another glass of champagne and another dance, when Elizabeth found her. “Miranda, you’re neglecting your duties. I’ve spoken with several people who said they’ve yet to have a word with you. The exhibition isn’t enough, you have to follow through.”

“Of course, you’re right.” She handed the champagne she hadn’t yet sipped to her mother and their gazes held for one long moment. “I’ll do my duty. I’ll do what has to be done, for the Institute.” She stepped back.

No, she realized, she was also going to do what needed to be done, for herself. “You might have said—just once tonight you might have said to me that I’d done a good job. But I suppose it would have stuck in your throat.”

She turned, walked up the stairs to mingle with the guests on the second level.

“Is there a problem, Elizabeth?”

She flicked a glance over at her husband as he came to her side, then looked back up at Miranda. “I don’t know. I suppose I’ll have to find out.”

“Senator Lamb would like to see you. He’s a big supporter of the NEA.”

“Yes, I know who he is.” Her voice was a shade too sharp. Deliberately she smoothed it out. “I’ll be happy to speak with him.”

And then, she thought, she was going to deal with Miranda.

She lost track of Ryan, assumed that Andrew was making Annie comfortable with the Boldaris. For an hour, Miranda concentrated on her role as hostess. When she finally slipped off into the ladies’ room, she was desperately relieved to find it empty.

Too many people, she thought, leaning against the counter a moment. She just wasn’t good with so many people. Conversations, small talk, weak jokes. Her face was stiff from holding a smile in place.

Then she shook herself. She had nothing to whine about. Everything was perfect. The exhibit, the gala, the press, the response. It would all go a long way to repairing the recent chinks in her reputation.

She should be grateful for it. She would be grateful for it if she knew what to do next.

Decisions were for tomorrow, she reminded herself. Tomorrow, after she’d confronted her mother. That was the only answer, she decided. The only logical step. It was time the two of them faced off.

And if her mother was guilty? Part of a conspiracy of theft and murder?

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