Page 48 of Over Her Dead Body

Across the room, Owen sees us and looks delighted in the least supportive way possible.

He waits until Todd wanders two steps away to inspect a sculpture.

“Pilates Todd is taller than I expected,” Owen says. “Less centered.”

“Be nice.”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

I take a glass of champagne from a passing tray.

I don’t drink at work events. I just carry something around so no one feels obligated to ask why I’m not drinking.

Owen looks past me toward the door.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

It is not nothing. Owen has a very specific nothing face. It is the face of a man filing something away so he can annoy me with it later.

“So how are things with Sarah?”

Before he can answer, Genevieve Loring appears near the silver, wearing the kind of red that knows exactly what it is worth.

“There you are,” she says. “And you brought him.”

Todd appears beside me as if summoned by poor judgment.

“This is Todd,” I say.

“This is where a last name would be helpful,” Owen says. “Given the others.”

I do not look at him.

Todd laughs. “There are others?”

“Not tonight,” I say.

“I’m so glad you could make it.” Genevieve offers him her hand. “Very brave of you.”

Todd, to his credit, only looks confused for half a second. “Thank you?”

“I adore men who enter rooms without knowing the rules.”

“That’s most rooms for me,” he says.

Genevieve laughs like he has performed a trick.

I hate that I am relieved.

A woman in pearls asks whether the coffee pot is Georgian, and for five minutes I get to be useful.

Thank God.

I explain the repair, the later hinge, the engraving, the difference between age and importance. I explain why a piece can be valuable and still dishonest. The woman listens. Todd watches. Owen pretends not to. Genevieve does not pretend at all.