Page 88 of Listen to Me

“Atoast, everyone! To our brilliantpianist!” said Mike Antrim.

Maura managed a game smile as her fellow musicians hoisted their champagne flutes. She’d never been comfortable being the center of attention, but this was not a night she could hide modestly in a corner—not after her flawless performance.

“To our brilliant pianist!” everyone echoed.

Daniel leaned in close and whispered, “You earned the applause. Enjoy the moment.”

She raised her glass to toast the gathering. “And thankyou. We may be amateurs, but I think we all sounded pretty damn good tonight.”

“Hey, I’m ready to hang up my stethoscope,” someone called out. “When do we take this show on the road?”

“First,” said Antrim, “everyone please grab some of that food in the dining room. If you don’t help us finish it, we’ll be eating leftovers for the next month.”

Before the performance, Maura had been too nervous to eat anything and now she was ravenous. She made her way into the dining room where she filled her plate with crab cakes and beef tenderloin and crisp spears of asparagus. She also picked up another glass of wine, this time a rich and hearty red, which she happily sipped as she moved into the Antrims’ spacious living room to mingle with the other guests.

Antrim waved her over to his conversational circle. “Maura, come join us! We’re talking about which music to put on the next program.”

“Thenextprogram? I’m still recovering from this one.”

“I think you should choose something dramatic. Or wildly romantic,” said Julianne. “I was listening to a concerto by Rachmaninoff on the radio. What do you think?”

All the musicians in the circle groaned.

“Julianne, sweetie,” her husband said, “we’re just amateurs.”

“But I think it’d be a real crowd-pleaser.”

One of the violinists turned to Maura. “Rachmaninoff? Up for the challenge?”

“Never in a million years,” she said. “Just the thought of playing it makes my hands sweat.”

Antrim laughed. “I didn’t think anything could make our cool ME break a sweat.”

If only you knew, thought Maura. Icy Dr. Isles, Queen of the Dead, was merely a facade. The woman who was never rattled and always sure of her facts. It was the mask she wore to crime scenes and into courtrooms, and she’d assumed the role for so long that most people believed it was real.

Most people.

She glanced around the room, searching for Daniel, but he was standing on the other side of the room with the Antrims’ daughter, Amy, both of them focused on one of the paintings on the wall.

“Did your friends enjoy the concert?” asked Julianne.

“I didn’t get the chance to talk to them afterward. There were so many people there, it was pretty chaotic.”

“A full house!” said Antrim. “I heard every seat was sold.”

“I noticed Detective Rizzoli left halfway through the performance,” said Julianne. “What a shame she didn’t stay to hear the whole thing.”

“Detectives are probably like us doctors,” said Antrim. “Always getting called away.”

“We all know what that’s like,” said a cellist. “Birthdays interrupted, kids’ recitals missed. At least our star pianist didn’t get yanked away to some crime scene.”

“My calls, at least, are never emergencies,” said Maura.

“Well, I spot an emergency right now,” said Antrim. “Your glass is empty!” He reached for the bottle of red wine, but paused before pouring any. “More?”

“Yes, please. Daniel’s driving tonight.”

Antrim refilled her glass, then glanced across the room at Daniel and Amy, who were still focused on the painting. “I see he’s interested in art.”

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