Nickel City Storm Warning (Gideon Rimes Book 3) by Gary Ross (i can read books TXT) 📕

Zachritz and his wife Arlene were both about fifty. A thin, bespectacled man with well-manicured hands, graying hair swept back, and sharp eyes, he had been county comptroller before being elected county executive. A few inches shorter than I, he wore a lightweight gray suit and was the only one wearing a tie—apart from the black-jacketed string quartet—two women, two men—tuning their instruments on the dining room stage. His wife was an inch or two shorter than he was, with a compact tennis body and brown hair with honey highlights. Her dress was off-white, her smile wide, her bracelets faintly musical. Both of them fussed over Drea, praising her book and peppering her with questions about what she had seen so far of Western New York.

“I spent the day at Canalside.” Drea sighed dreamily. “A magnificent place.”

Ophelia Green was still smiling at Drea’s comment when we cycled over to her and Judge Chancellor, she in a navy dress and he in a beige blazer. “An honor to meet you,” the mayor said, after I made introductions. “I’m happy you’re enjoying your visit.” After a few moments of small talk, she gave Drea a light embrace, and the judge shook hands with both of us. Next were Rory Gramm and his wife Edie. Both were dressed as unpretentiously as one would expect of a social work professor and public school teacher. Rory’s sports jacket was old but of good quality, and his glasses were suspended from a neck chain. Edie’s sleeveless yellow dress was simple, but she kept a white sweater folded over one arm—for when the air conditioner got too cold, she explained, or when we all went out to the terrace.

Marlo directed us to our seats. James Torrance and she took the center on one side of the table, directly across from Drea and me. Mayor Green and Judge Chancellor sat beside Torrance and the county executive and his wife beside Marlo. Carpenter and Randall were on my right, across from the mayor. The Gramms sat on Drea’s left, across from the Zachritzes. From above we must have looked like a chessboard set up without pawns or rooks.

Dinner was a four-course meal served by kitchen staff, one course at a time: stuffed mushrooms, pear salad, filet mignon with asparagus and red potatoes, and cherry cheesecake. Wine flowed freely throughout, though I limited myself to a few sips because I was working. Speaking only when spoken to, I listened to generally innocuous conversation. Talk bounced from less controversial national news stories to local concerns to anecdotes and personal experiences—opinions on new restaurants, books read and films seen, the Buffalo theater season opening in September, the accomplishments of grown children, travels and travel plans.

The county executive’s daughter had completed an internal medicine residency in Cleveland and was joining a practice there. A Harvard Law graduate, Ophelia’s son Drake had been named associate director of a legal clinic in Harlem. Judge Chancellor had coaxed the mayor into spending the last two weeks of July with him in Maine. Each a graduate of Columbia Law and licensed to practice in several states along the Eastern Seaboard, Randall and Carpenter had reconnected at a legal conference a few years ago and began what evolved into a long-distance relationship—still in development, she said.

Fuck buddies, I thought. She’s going to break his heart.

Because Edie Gramm’s father would turn ninety in a few weeks, they had booked Templeton Landing at the marina for a party to be attended by friends and relatives from as far away as Colorado and Florida. Despite occasional references to the conference that would begin day after tomorrow, no one mentioned Drea’s book or the events that led to its writing. The string quartet provided a soothing background for the entire meal. I recognized only four of the dozen pieces performed: Pachelbel’s Canon, parts of Mozart’s “Spring,” and the Beatles’ “Yesterday” and “Eleanor Rigby.”

It was still light outside when the musicians began to pack away their instruments and undo their ties. The rest of us moved out to the terrace for coffee.

There were cushioned lounge chairs and padded folding chairs around glass-topped tables, as well as a pebbled glass bar with no one tending it. As Marlo urged everyone toward a seat and conversations began among the diners, a staffer rolled out an expensive-looking serving cart and began to offer coffee or tea in gilt-edged cups and saucers. Edie Gramm pulled on her sweater and scooted back on a lounge chair to lean against her husband before both accepted tea. The Zachritzes sat at one table, Randall and Carpenter at another. Judge Chancellor straddled a lounge, and Ophelia leaned back against his chest, closing her eyes. Holding a chair for Drea, I realized Ophelia was the happiest I had seen her since Danny’s death. I imagined my old comrade in arms would be pleased his wife had found new joy.

As I took the chair beside Drea, Marlo and James sat across from each other at a table more or less in the middle of things. Marlo had come out with a few things in hand and now put them on the table: a large ashtray holding a red phone, a lighter, two unlit cigarettes, and a gray cylinder the diameter of a cereal bowl. She lit one of the cigarettes and took a long pull on it. When she pushed a button on the cylinder, a small blue light on the side glowed. She put the phone beside what I realized was a blue tooth speaker. Then she invited Drea to join them at the table. Drea looked at me and I nodded.

“I have an audio I’d like to play,” Marlo said after Drea sat between her and James. “I’d like you all to listen, and I’d like our guest of honor to comment on it. Then James will make an announcement.”

A touch and a swipe made Marlo’s phone screen brighten. She tapped it twice more, and an electronically masked voice crackled out