Emily stood in the closet, then realized that something was different. She had not come in here only to find out whether she had guessed wrong. She had opened the gun safe because the man who had come into her bedroom in the middle of the night wearing a ski mask had caused a profound change in her. Before he had appeared, she had lots of doubts about prudence and paranoia, what was selfdefense and what was murder. She had no doubts at all now.
She reached farther into the gun safe and found a box of 9mm bullets. She put the Glock pistol and the ammunition into her purse and slipped the big .45 into her suitcase. Then she stepped to the railing above the staircase and called, “Can you give me a hand with the suitcases? I’m all set.”
17
Ted Forrest had been raised well. His parents had instilled in him the values of the old California upper class. Although he seldom went to chamber concerts, he was one of the orchestra’s most generous patrons. He had been to the art gallery in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco exactly twice-once when he was in elementary school and once for a charitable party held there-but there were plaques in the entrance wall and in one of the galleries acknowledging the support of the Theodore and Caroline Forrest Foundation. He also signed checks each year to museums in San Jose, Santa Cruz, and Napa, and two zoos. He helped sponsor annual pageants celebrating the founding of four towns in the central valley that were near family holdings. He occasionally went to those celebrations, partly because he liked the unjustified gaiety. There was always good food, a liberal pouring of local wines, and some kind of fiesta that involved the crowning of a queen. He liked getting a look at the young lady and her court, who were always the most impressive examples of the local livestock, raised on sunshine, exercise, clean air, and fresh vegetables.
Tonight he was forced to spend his charm on the chamber-music lovers. A few of them were bony retired female professors, librarians, and others completely alien to him, but there were also a number of people who were like Ted Forrest. They were men and women of his class who cared little about spending evenings listening to violinists, but felt that not to have an orchestra would leave their reputations for gentility diminished. Collier and Rowland were here with their nearly identical blond wives, who were cousins. Powers and his wife weren’t going to make it this time, supposedly because they had a prior engagement. Ted Forrest suspected that it was because Janice Powers couldn’t bear the thought of spending an evening so utterly in the power of Caroline Forrest. He had noticed years ago that Jan was usually willing to go places were she and Caroline were on an equal footing and there were enough people so they could avoid each other, but these evenings of Caroline’s required Jan to spend too many hours with her face set in a fixed, muscle-cramping smile.
Ted Forrest felt the same way about Caroline’s events. He also felt a certain relief that Caroline took such an interest in civic and philanthropic causes, because he knew it reflected well on him and preserved the Forrest family’s visibility in the region. Since the family’s livelihood depended entirely on the continued favor-or at least tacit approval-of politicians, it was essential to keep projecting the impression of money, influence, and conditional benevolence.
He stood at the head of the giant table in the grand dining room, looked down it at the forty-two faces, and held up his wineglass. “As always, I drink first to our superb musicians, gathered to us from all over the world, to our brilliant and renowned music director, Aaron Mills, and to our tireless, dedicated staff.” He sipped the wine to a smattering of applause, but he did not sit down. “No, you’re applauding between movements, because I’m not finished. Tonight I also offer a toast to our many volunteers, led by our able president Dr. David Feiniger, and to the generous donors who have supported the orchestra throughout the year. May your enthusiasm never wane.” He drank again and the clapping was much louder and more prolonged, as he had known it would be, because they were applauding themselves.
As usual, Ted Forrest had brought glory to himself, with little effort. It was like giving a shake to a tree exploding with blossoms. The petals simply fell around him. The orchestra crowd was easy because they were self-trained never to allow critical thoughts about any praise connected with the institution. They were satisfied with the chamber orchestra because it was an expensive entertainment that gave its patrons the reputation for being high-minded, intelligent, and public-spirited.
White-coated waiters from the catering company that Caroline had selected scuttled around behind the guests at the long table, serving and pouring and then deftly shooting a hand in to withdraw an empty plate here and there. Ted Forrest had an elderly lady from Germany on his left. For the first part of the dinner he addressed to her a great many pleasant observations, but because he hadn’t attended any concerts this year, they were vague. He commented mainly about the new chamber-concert facility made by a remodeling of an historic stone mansion a few miles from here, and his approval of music in general. He repeated a couple of comments about the season that he had overheard Caroline make to friends and that for no known reason had stuck in his memory.
It was far too late to ask the lady’s name, and he couldn’t manage to get her to volunteer it, what her reason for being here could be, or how she felt about anything other than the food, which she ate with enthusiasm. Forrest judged that she was probably an appendage of somebody high in the organization, just as he was, and that she preferred to keep still.
For the second half of the dinner, he turned to his right to speak with the first violinist, Maria Chun. She was very pretty, with long straight black hair that swung when she moved, as though it were heavy. It might have been Forrest’s imagination, but he felt sure that she had read his mind, realized what he was thinking, and begun to despise him within the first few seconds of her arrival. Women did tend to make irrevocable judgments of that sort without letting much time elapse or wasting much thought reconsidering. He supposed it was possible that she had spent an entire life dividing her time between playing the violin and evading men over fifty. But Ted Forrest was the host, and he didn’t have the luxury of rejecting anyone or refusing to speak with them.
He said, “I’ve often wondered what you do in the off-season, when there are no concerts.”
“Oh, different things,” Maria Chun said. “Francisco, the other first violin, serves as a guest concertmaster for the symphony orchestra in Buenos Aires. Some of the others teach master classes in universities. Some go on tour.”
“I meant you, specifically. What do you do-give the Stradivarius a rest?”
“It’s a Guarnerius.” She didn’t take him seriously enough to be offended or surprised. “Rest isn’t good for it, or for me. I study, practice, and spend time with my husband and kids.”
“Oh?’ he said. “Tell me about them. How old are your children?”
“Ten and thirteen.”
“Are they musicians?”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of? You mean we can’t expect a next generation of virtuosos?”
“My daughter Simone plays the cello. My son Anthony plays the electric guitar.”
“But you’re not satisfied. Parents can be pretty tough.” Ted Forrest was mystified by his own transgression, as he often was. She had mentioned the husband and kids to keep him from pursuing her. Why did these attempts to fend him off titillate him? He kept trying to learn more, to make his way into her personal life like a voyeur. He had a wife, and he had a girlfriend. He had no time for Maria Chun. What was he after?