Midnight Betrayal (Midnight #3)(57)
But it wasn’t.
Could Riki’s killer be part of this group mingling in the lobby right now? Holding a flute of champagne and smiling, making polite conversation about the exhibits, leaning close and gossiping about the murdered girl in hushed whispers?
“Welcome.” Louisa greeted the newly arrived couple with a smile and nod, then checked their names off her guest list. The pen and clipboard in her hands saved her from handshakes. She’d worn a white silk poet blouse with a ruffled cuff that extended over her palms. Black dress slacks covered her bandaged knees, and Ferragamo ballet flats were a concession to her overall soreness. Concealer dimmed the bruise on her jaw. The overall effect was acceptable but more casual than she would have preferred for such an event.
On her right, April plucked two name tags from the small table and handed them to the couple.
April leaned close and turned her face away from the crowd. “Are you sure you don’t want me to get you a chair?”
“I’m sure.” Louisa shifted her weight to ease her aching knees. “Now that the initial crush seems to be over, I should move inside anyway.”
“Go ahead.” April took the clipboard. “I got this.”
Louisa followed the plaintive sound of a string quartet to the wide central corridor. Tuxedo-clad waitstaff circled, offering guests glasses of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. Curators and other museum staff mingled with the guests, encouraging conversation and answering questions. Louisa spotted a few university professors and board members, some of whom overlapped. Interns and some borrowed university students manned the long tables that displayed auction items on either side of the space. Louisa saw Isa selling raffle tickets. Technically, the museum wasn’t attached to the school, but the relationship was incestuous.
A dozen guests lined up at the bar in the corner. Louisa’s eyes roamed and nearly bugged out of their sockets when she spotted a clean-shaven, devastatingly handsome Conor mixing drinks behind the bar.
Oh. My. God.
What was he doing here? A fresh haircut sharpened his angular features. His broad shoulders filled out a classic black tuxedo that looked more than a cut above the rest of the waitstaff’s attire. Louisa took a deep breath. No one appeared to be giving him undue attention, except for the admiring second glances from female guests. As Xavier had pointed out Wednesday evening, the image of Conor circulated by the media wasn’t an accurate representation.
He caught her staring and pointedly looked away.
Right. She could hardly talk to him here. Louisa smoothed her features and walked in the opposite direction.
She crossed the gleaming tile floor and went through a wide arch into the Celtic Warrior exhibit room. Three long glass cases sparkled in the center of the space. The middle display was filled with ancient and brittle-looking weapons: spears, swords, and knives. The remaining cases were still empty. On the three long walls behind the cases, murals of life-size warriors engaged in battle depicted their original use in vivid color. The murals and cases were sectioned off with velvet theater roping to protect them from possible spills at tonight’s gathering. Normally, the prohibition on food and drink was strictly enforced.
Patrons wandered in, drinks in hand, and Louisa answered their questions.
She leaned over a row of Iron Age swords. Above the rusted weapons, a new and shiny sword gleamed in the spotlight.
“Is that one of the replicas?” a familiar male voice asked.
Louisa turned. Xavier walked toward her.
“It’s stunning. And looks lethal.” The professor set his empty champagne glass on a nearby tray and stopped just a little too close to her. His slurred speech and pirate-eye told her he’d already had too much to drink.
“If it were sharp, it would be. The artisan tried to mimic the original process as closely as possible.” Louisa resisted the urge to check on Conor. Other than Damian and Louisa, Xavier was the only other person at the fund-raiser who’d met Conor in person. Would Xavier give him away? Thankfully, it appeared he was drinking champagne rather than mixed drinks. She doubted Xavier would want to admit any association with Conor, but she didn’t want to test that theory and hoped Xavier wouldn’t make a trip to the bar, not in this unstable, unpredictable condition.
“The police came to my office today,” Xavier said. “Did you know they found a body? They won’t speculate, of course, but I know they think it’s Zoe.”
“Yes. I know about the body.” Sadness coated Louisa’s throat.
He leaned closer to the display case. “Which one was the model for the stolen replica?”
“I didn’t put it out.” His callous question reminded her that someone at this event could be a killer. But who? The girl had been killed Wednesday evening. Where had Xavier gone after he’d stopped at the café to speak with her and Conor? Was Xavier on the list of suspects?
“Tactful as always.” Xavier’s tone dripped with uncharacteristic resentment. He signaled a circling server and plucked a full flute of champagne from the tray. “I heard about your accident.”
“It was unfortunate, but as you can see, I’m fine.”
“Your beautiful face.” He reached out and touched her chin.
So much for the expensive color-correcting concealer the saleswoman at the cosmetics counter had sold her.
“It looks worse than it is.” Louisa removed his hand with a deliberate motion. She took a slight step back, reclaiming her personal boundary.