The Uneven Score (12 page)

Daniel shook his head. “You might as well post a notice that you and Paddie are in cahoots.”

“Not necessarily. Victoria could have talked me out of reporting the incident for the sake of the orchestra.”

Paddie nodded, satisfied. “There, you see? That is what I would have done, too.”

“I don’t like it,” Daniel pronounced.

“You don’t have to like it, Daniel,” Whitney said with a light smile, glad he was on their side, “but it’s the best deal you’re going to get. Victoria isn’t going to corroborate anything you say to the police, and neither am I.”

“You’re crazy—both of you.”

“I’m sure our mysterious someone would be happy to know it,” Paddie commented with a grim smile.

Daniel set his mug on the floor. “I want you both to keep a low profile,” he directed. “Don’t do anything suspicious—and no more break-ins, searches, nothing. Damn it, do you realize what I could have done if I
had
been your man? And I want to know everything that happens to either of you that is the slightest bit out of the ordinary—or out of
your
ordinary, I should say. God-knows you people don’t live and think like the rest of us. Paddie, if you want me to put a man out at the cottage with you, I will.”

“That would only be a nuisance,” she replied crisply. “I am not in any physical danger, Daniel, and I assure you one of your men isn’t going to help me cope with this ridiculous psychological abuse.”

“I don’t know,” Daniel said with a sudden, sly grin. “I know a couple of guys who could distract you—”

“Please,” Paddie said, pursing her lips, but Whitney thought she was holding back a smile. “What about Whitney?”

“Don’t worry about me, Victoria.”

Daniel leaned back in his chair and stretched out his long, thick legs. “That’s right. I’ll be seeing to Whitney.”

“I thought as much,” Paddie muttered.

“Excuse me, Mr. Graham,” Whitney said, “but Whitney will be seeing to Whitney.”

“Wrong again, sweetheart.” He gave her a magnanimous and unrepentant grin that effectively silenced her. Then, all at once, he was deadly serious. “I have a feeling whoever’s been playing these mind games with Paddie is about to get into some old-fashioned country hardball. In fact, I’d say he started this afternoon. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let anything happen to either of you. Now finish up your tea, ladies, and don’t argue. Paddie, I’ll get someone to take you back to your car. What’s the matter, Whitney? If you want to get the next plane back to Schenectady, I’ll arrange it.”

“No, you won’t,” Paddie said.

“Victoria’s right,” Whitney said, suppressing a sudden shiver of sheer terror. Paddie could be in serious trouble—and Harry. And me, she thought. She smiled valiantly. “I’ve always wanted to do the opening to
Till Eulenspiegel
.”

“Musicians,” Daniel muttered, and reached for a sandwich.

Chapter Seven

An hour later Whitney still felt like eating. Daniel had given Paddie a ride back to the auditorium to pick up her car and said he had to make an appearance at his office while he was in town. Whitney was to make herself at home. She was not, however, to talk to strangers, answer the phone, wander around in the grove, or try to take “matters” in her own hands. So she decided to cook. What she wanted was a true Stagliatti spaghetti sauce. “Cures what ails you,” Harry had always said.

She was browning a pound of frozen hamburger and discovering the glories of a food processor in Daniel’s kitchen when Bradley Fredericks and Yoshifumi Kamii came to the back door. Should she let them in, she wondered, or were they the Big Bad Wolf who was going to gobble her up? She shrugged and opened the door. All the fairy tales she had read had happy endings.

“Well, if it isn’t Paddie’s one true friends” Yoshifumi said, grinning. “How are you, kid? Ready to fill Stagliatti’s shoes?”

“Just planning to do my best,” she replied.

Yoshifumi introduced Bradley, who greeted her formally but without animosity. Explaining Daniel wasn’t around, she led them into the kitchen. They sat at the table, and she attacked the frozen meat with a spatula. Her head hurt. She had taken some of the enzyme, but eschewed the painkiller, opting instead for aspirin. Yoshifumi said she looked beat. She agreed.

“Miss McCallie,” Bradley said, “when do you expect Mr. Graham to return?”

“I don’t know. Soon, I guess. He didn’t say.” The hamburger was sticking to the pan. It was the extra-lean variety, which Stagliatti scrupulously avoided. She added a little olive oil. “Why, what’s up?”

Yoshifumi scratched his chin thoughtfully. He had the blunt nails and callused fingertips of a professional violinist. “You must have heard,” he said, his Japanese accent almost unnoticeable. “Paddie’s canceled her four o’clock rehearsals.” 

Whitney turned down the heat. “Mmm, I heard.” She grinned over at the two men. “I’ve been waiting for the sky to fall down.”

“Any idea of her motives?”

“I was under the impression she thought the orchestra was beginning to react to all the strain it’s been under.”

Yoshifumi laughed. Bradley looked dour. “We are not the ones reacting to the pressures,” he said. “You’ve seen Dr. Paderevsky, haven’t you? What do you think?”

“I saw her briefly. Seems like the same old Paddie to me.”

“Did you tell her about our little meeting this morning?” Yoshifumi asked.

“No, why would I do that?”

“Did you listen in?”

“Certainly not!”

Yoshifumi grinned. He really was a striking man, she thought. “Then you’re not the same old Whitney I know. How come you sneaked off with Graham’s car?”

“I did not sneak off. I merely borrowed it.”

“That’s what he said, but he was pissed, believe you me.”

“It was just a misunderstanding.”

“I’m sure it’s none of our business,” Bradley said impatiently. “We won’t impose on you any longer, Miss McCallie, but if you would be so kind as to tell Mr. Graham of our visit?”

“Sure.”

“We’ll stop by later.”

“Yeah,” Yoshifumi said. “You might as well warn him—Matthew’s fit to be tied. So’s Bradley, but he doesn’t know how to show it. They think Graham and Paddie have overstepped their authority. They should have discussed the change in schedule with them. Me, I don’t care. I’m just glad to get rid of those four o’clock practices. And we did encourage Graham to do something about Paddie before she drove herself nuts—not to mention us. Hey, that stuff smells good. Want us to stay for supper?”

“Your days as a starving musician are over, Yoshifumi,” Whitney replied with a good-natured wave of her spatula. “Out.”

Yoshifumi laughed. “Guess you want to be alone with Graham, huh?”

“We’d better leave,” Bradley said in his first show of good humor, “before the woman decides to serve you up in a shish kebab.”

“Paddie would never forgive me,” Whitney said, laughing.

They left, and she added the minced garlic and onion to her frying pan. But the sauce wouldn’t be a true Stagliatti creation: Daniel Graham didn’t have any fresh basil.

By the time Daniel returned at six, Whitney had the table on the porch set. She had dragged out a linen cloth, folding it in quarters so it would fit on the little table, Wedgwood china, sterling silver, and crystal wineglasses. She decided candles would be gaudy and perhaps somewhat forward. She didn’t want Daniel to think she was wooing him, although she did wonder if she was. Maybe the enzymes caused hallucinations and delusions, but for whatever reasons, Whitney couldn’t get her mind off Daniel Graham.

In any case, as he pointed out at once, spaghetti was not romantic.

Miffed, Whitney started back to the kitchen. She would have flounced, but it wasn’t worth the effort. “My pasta water is at a rolling boil,” she announced, and yanked open the screen door.

But Daniel caught her by the waist, turned her around, and settled his hands at the base of her spine. He smiled, and immediately she wished he hadn’t. Not here, not now. She didn’t want to be reminded of how much she liked his smile, of what it did to her. She was supposed to be concentrating on other things—Harry and the bump on her head and what was happening to Paddie.

“Don’t go off in a huff, sweetheart,” he said. Suddenly she noticed there was a distinct gleam in his eyes. “You’re lots more romantic than a plate of spaghetti.”

She gave him a dubious look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he said in a low voice, “that I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be than right here with you.”

She figured she ought to think of a smart retort, but couldn’t—not that it mattered. Daniel wasn’t giving her a chance to answer. And, she had to admit, she didn’t want one. Banter was impossible with his eyes smiling into hers. She knew what he was up to. In a way, she had invited it. She smiled, and at last he brought his mouth to hers.

With maddening leisureliness, he traced her lips with his tongue, and then slowly found his way into her mouth. Every movement was deliberately thrilling. Whitney felt her weight sinking into his arms..

“I thought I’d lost you this afternoon,” he breathed into her mouth, kissing her again, “and it was awful, Whitney. I’m getting used to having you around.”

“Pestering you?”

He smiled, teasing her with his tongue. “Mmm, I like the way you pester me.”

“Daniel.”

But he held her close, pressing her to him, and their kiss deepened, and with it came a sudden, absorbing heightening of her senses. She spread her fingers on his back, felt the tensed muscles beneath them, and opened her mouth wider, flicking her tongue against his teeth, feeling her breasts straining, her body responding to every nuance of his.

He brushed the line of her jaw with one finger, sending tiny shivers coursing through her, and then he skimmed her throat and, opening his hand, stopped just above her breasts.

“I don’t want to rush you, Whitney,” he murmured, pulling his mouth from hers.

She smiled. “But?”

He grinned, and she thought she would melt. What was it about him that drew her so unerringly? She didn’t know. She didn’t care. She only knew that she was there, in his arms, and could think of no place she would rather be.

“But,” he said with a light smack on her behind, “I’d like nothing better than to cart you upstairs and make love to you until you couldn’t see straight.”

“Daniel!”

His grin broadened. “You asked, darlin’.”

“So I did.” She grinned back at him. “Suppose I told you I already can’t see straight?”

“I’d blame the lump on your head.”

“You’d be wrong.”

“Would I?” He twirled a lock of her hair around one finger and let it go. “Then you have quite a time coming to you, sweets. Meanwhile, though, your pasta water’s boiling.”

“Oh. So it is.”

They had just finished up the dishes and retired to the living room with glasses of brandy when Rebecca Graham arrived, sweeping in wearing a fresh turquoise suit and promising to stay but a minute. She was on her way to a meeting. Daniel commented that she was always on her way to a meeting, but Rebecca took the implied criticism in stride and dished out a little of her own. His maid, after all, had turned out to be a virtuoso hornist, which, she said, was just as well. Charles, her husband, would never have approved otherwise. He was at home—apparently where he preferred to be—and sent his love. Whitney had already deduced that the Grahams were a tight-knit and prominent family in Florida, willing to do their civic duty, and strong backers of the arts.

“Charles said I should keep my nose out of your affairs, but of course I can’t resist,” she said, sitting on the very edge of the sofa. “You’re my son.”

Her son, who was a corporate vice president and had strands of gray in his hair, gave her an indulgent look. Whitney sat back in her chair and sipped her brandy. She was enjoying herself.

“Mother,” Daniel said, “you’re here about the orchestra, aren’t you?”

“You’re inciting open revolt.”

“That’s ridiculous.” The indulgent look vanished. Whitney suddenly remembered Yoshifumi’s and Bradley’s visit; she had forgotten to tell Daniel. He was scowling at his mother. “People came to me because they wanted action. Well, they got it. I think they’re just looking for someone to be mad at. If not Paddie, then why not me? I don’t care. Venting a little steam might be good for them?”

Rebecca blinked. “ Paddie?”

Daniel waved his fingers dismissively. “Dr. Paderevsky.”

“You didn’t go through proper channels, Daniel. Even Thomas Walker agrees, and you know he’s the first to endorse expediency.”  

“He’s just upset because I bypassed Matthew.”“My phone’s been ringing all afternoon. What was a quiet matter this morning is hardly quiet now. Daniel, people think Dr. Paderevsky can’t handle the strain of directing a major orchestra. The premiere is just one week away! Canceling the four o’clock rehearsals has only fueled their suspicions. I know what you were trying to do, but if you had consulted with people, they wouldn’t be so shocked now.”

“There wasn’t time to wait for a consensus.”

They argued back and forth for a few minutes. Whitney propped herself up in her chair and tried to look as if she hadn’t been bonked on the head. Daniel and Rebecca didn’t ask for any comments from her, so she didn’t give any. Nor did she feel sorry for Daniel. He wasn’t the type of man to let criticism from his mother get to him, and Whitney was quite amazed that he could keep all the little ins and outs of what had been happening the past few days straight. She would have blurted out something she shouldn’t have long before now.

Finally Rebecca left, apologizing to Whitney for interrupting. Whitney just smiled.

“She seems like a nice woman,” she said to Daniel when Rebecca had gone.

He just growled and got another brandy.

“Think she wants to get rid of Paddie?”

“
She’s
the one who recommended her!” he said irritably and sat on the arm of Whitney’s chair. His hip was touching her upper arm, but she made no move to alter her position. “Saw her conduct in Amsterdam and decided central Florida needed to work on its good-ol’-boy reputation. So she decided hiring a woman for music director of the CFSO would do the trick.”