Antrim waved her over to his conversational circle. “Maura, come join us! We’re talking about which music to put on the next program.”
“The next program? 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.”
“Yes. Sacred art in particular.”
“Then he should take a look at the triptych in my office. I bought it in Greece a few years ago. The dealer swore it’s antique, but Julianne has her doubts.”
“Is Daniel also in the medical field?” Julianne asked.
“No,” said Maura.
There was a conversational pause, during which it would have been natural for her to fill in the blank, to answer Julianne’s unspoken question, a question she always dreaded hearing: What is Daniel’s job? The truth was too complicated and it invariably raised eyebrows, so she deftly pivoted toward the glass-fronted cabinet of violins.
“Tell me the story about these instruments, Mike,” she said. “How did you end up with five violins?”
“The truth?” Antrim laughed. “I keep buying them because I think one of these days I’ll finally find one that makes me sound like Heifetz. Instead I sound equally bad on all of them.”
“At least you can play an instrument,” said Julianne. “I can’t even read music.” She looked around at their guests. “All these talented doctors! I feel like an underachiever in this room.”
Antrim wrapped his arm around his wife’s waist. “Ah, but you cook like an angel.”
“If angels could cook.”
“That’s how we met, did you know that? Julianne managed the little café across from the hospital. I used to drop in there every day, to order lunch and to chat up this pretty gal.”
“Turkey-and-bacon sandwich with a double cappuccino,” said Julianne. “He ordered the same lunch every day.”
“You see?” Antrim laughed. “How could I resist a woman who knows her way to a man’s stomach?”
“Speaking of which, we should refill those trays. I’ve got more crab cakes warming in the oven.”
As the Antrims headed off to the kitchen, Maura looked around for Daniel, and when she didn’t see him, she crossed the room to the painting where he and Amy had last been standing. She could see why he’d been so interested in it. It was a cubist image of Madonna and child, rendered in blocky oranges and reds. A stark departure from the sacred paintings Daniel was so fond of, even if it featured the same beloved icons.