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Clara is quiet as I take her arm and tuck it under my elbow. I feel the slight tremor in her and rest my hand over hers.
“You don’t need to do any of the talking,” I reassure her as I lead her inside. “Just smile and shake the hand of whoever I introduce you to.”
“I thought I was helping you make alliances,” she whispers.
“You are.”
We take a lift up to the third floor, where one of the event organizers greets us with a flabbergasted expression. “We’re here for Derrick Lindman’s banquet,” I say, when it seems like he’ll give us directions to another private event.
“Oh- um- right through here then,” he says, gesturing to an open door at the end of a short hall.
Inside, we find a decent crowd milling around a room lit by golden chandeliers. Round tables fill one end of the tiled floor, while the other is left open for dancing and easy mingling. Sure enough, there are men in cheap suits and women in tea dresses. Their heads start turning as Clara and I walk into their midst.
“I’m really overdressed,” Clara murmurs. I hand her a glass of sparkling wine from a passing waiter, and she clutches it in both hands like a lifeline.
“That’s the idea,” I say, a blandly polite smile on my face for anyone looking our way.
It takes a moment to sift through the crowd, but eventually I find Mr. Lindman himself, not by sight, but by his warm laugh ringing out over the others in the room. He’s standing with a group of guests over by the refreshment tables. I steer Clara toward him.
At thirty-nine, Derrick Lindman is still young to be a sheriff. To his credit, he’s managed to strike the perfect balance between idealistic young cop and savvy politician. When he flashes his crowd-winning smile, he always lets the dimple in his left cheek show. When he shakes hands, his grip is firm and confident. If it were physically possible to control when and where his eyes would twinkle, I’m sure he’d use that to his advantage too.
Whereas I don’t let anything I think or feel show on my face, Lindman has made an art out of emoting to hide his true purposes. So it’s no surprise that when he spots me in the crowd, I see no hint of fear or uncertainty.
“Mr. Warwick!” he greets me warmly, “so glad you could make it.”
I release my grip on Clara and shake his hand. “A pleasure, Mr. Lindman. Congratulations again on your election. You’ve earned it.”
The corner of Derrick’s mouth turns just the slightest bit wry at that pointed phrase. “Well, I couldn’t have done it without everyone in this room standing behind me,” he demures. “That’s why we have to celebrate! I only wish this suite didn't have a ‘no pets’ policy, or I'd have brought my boys to join the party.”
One of the women near us sighs dreamily- and quite audibly. Derrick flashes her his megawatt smile, then turns back to me. “But I’m being rude, talking all business and no pleasure,” he says, his eyes moving to Clara. “Who is your beautiful date, Warwick?”
I put a hand possessively around Clara’s waist, making it clear to everyone in view that we are together and together. “This is Clara Speare,” I say. “The niece of Morgan Speare.” Derrick’s eyebrows go up, and his smile becomes bemused at the well known name of my rival. Clara stiffens under my hand. “And Clara, this is the man of the hour himself, Sheriff Derrick Lindman.”
“Nice to meet you, Sheriff,” Clara says, holding out a hand, which Derrick makes a show of kissing instead of shaking.
“A modern day princess. Please, ma’am, call me Derrick,” he says, ever the charmer.
It takes more concentration than it should to keep my expression polite when he raises his head. I meant to pull him into a corner so we can talk business, but I decide to switch tracks. It’s too early in the night to monopolize his time. Better to wait until he’s drunk a little more sparkling wine, made some speeches, and generally worn himself out.
“We won’t keep you,” I say, more shortly than I mean to. “Let’s catch up some more later.”
“I look forward to it,” Derrick replies smoothly, and turns back to his other guests.
I take Clara on a slow lap of the room, seeking out local politicians and businessmen I have dealings with and making a list of who to introduce her to first. We start with the District Attorney. He’s here with his wife, dressed in a vanilla suit dress that makes her look like a plebian beside Clara. Clara’s spine hasn’t relaxed yet. She doesn’t like that I connected her to her uncle, but that’s why she’s here.
That’s the source of her value, in this room.
Every time I introduce her, I tell my audience that this is Morgan Speare’s niece. And that she’s here with me.
Clara smiles and shakes hands when it is required of her, but her mood is souring by the minute, and she’s struggling to hide it.
Finally, when I point out one of the women on the city council, she places a hand on my arm.
“Can I talk to you?” she asks tightly.
I dip my head in a nod and lead her to one corner. There are two hallways leading off the main ballroom that branch off into small alcoves. These are usually furnished with a table and two chairs, meant for more private talks. For now, they’re empty and closed with heavy velvet curtains. I’ll bring Lindman to one of them later tonight to discuss my plans, but I’m quickly deciding they’re going to serve a dual purpose. I pull back the curtain of the one at the end of the hall and flick on the light, then motion for Clara to enter.
As soon as the curtain swings shut behind me, she whirls on me.
