Chapter 3

Isobel glanced at the judge, who looked utterly horrified. Bethany had put her face in her hands, and even Candy looked appalled. A smattering of applause accompanied Peter's exit, which signaled the start of the salad course. The jazz combo, to Isobel's intense amusement, struck up "How High the Moon."

She stifled a giggle. "Oh, my goodness. I wonder who that poor woman was."

"Some unfortunate out-of-work actress, I imagine," Bethany jeered. She turned her back to Isobel and engaged the judge in fervently hushed tones.

Candy had rearranged her face into a sympathetic expression. "So tell me, what do you do when you're not doing stuff like this?"

"Oh, you know, I'm just a judge's wife." Isobel gestured airily with her water glass. "I'm sure you can imagine what that's like."

Candy laid her index finger aside her nose with a knowing nod. "I get it. You're not allowed to break character." She shot a glance across the table at Judge Harrison, who was gazing across the room, his brows knitted in an expression of severe displeasure. "I don't have to imagine. I spent twelve years married to that one."

"Judge Harrison? And you're here at his lifetime achievement dinner?"

Candy flicked her napkin onto her lap and tucked into her mesclun greens. "It's a big night for him. And we parted on amicable terms, as far as these things go."

"I thought you were here with him." Isobel indicated the patrician man seated on Candy's other side.

"Gordon? Oh, God, no. I hate lawyers."

"As Shakespeare said: 'The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers.'"

Candy let loose a hearty belly laugh, and for once Isobel was grateful that Delphi was forever quoting the Bard.

They continued to make small talk, and when the waiters cleared the salad plates, Peter strode into the center of the room.

"Thought you all would like to know the identity of our victim. Her name is Delia Miller."

Tony Callahan shot up from his seat and waved energetically, revealing sweat-stained armpits.

"I know her! She goes by the name of Dolly Mama. Works the corner of 48th and Eleventh."

Peter turned on him with mock disgust. "Are you saying she's a woman of ill repute?"

Tony snickered. "Nah, I'd say her repute is pretty good."

The drummer interjected a rim shot. Peter, taken by surprise, turned to glare at him before picking up his cue. Isobel caught the drummer's eye, and he winked in response.

"I have to ask," Peter continued to Tony, "do you come by this knowledge firsthand?"

"Let's just say I judge this to be true."

Peter took in the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, a clue, if I'm not mistaken! Something to chew over. And let's hope it's not as tough as your steak."

Candy rolled her eyes. "Please tell me this is going to get better."

"Not much," Isobel said. She jumped guiltily, and Candy gave her a "gotcha" smile.

"When is my speech?" Judge Harrison's voice echoed off the stemware. Isobel imagined he was pretty intimidating on the bench. Hell, he was pretty intimidating at the dinner table.

"After the entrée," Bethany said.

"Right after? Or are there more shenanigans first?"

Bethany winced. "I understand there's one more shenanigan, but then the whole thing wraps up."

The judge plunged his fork into his steak. "Maggie, where did you get this birdbrained idea?"

Maggie flushed and bit her lip.

"From me," Candy answered for her.

The judge paused, his knife poised at an angle that Isobel found vaguely threatening.

"You, of all people, should have known better," he said in steely tones.

Candy turned abruptly and beckoned over a waiter, indicating her wineglass. "It was just a suggestion. Don't you remember that holiday bash of Angie's several years ago?"

The judge's eyes flicked, inexplicably, to Isobel, and Candy's mouth arched upward as if she had just scored a point. Isobel wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but she had a feeling there was more to this exchange than met the ear.

Next to Candy, Gordon chomped on his meal with enthusiasm. "Steak isn't half bad, despite what that phony detective said. Don't you think?" He gestured to the right with his elbow.

For the first time, Isobel noticed the man sitting on Gordon's other side. He was thin and pale, with a wispy comb-over, and Isobel realized he hadn't spoken a word. Even now, he just eyed Gordon warily and bit the head off a piece of broccoli.

The jazz combo finished "Sophisticated Lady" and set down their instruments, which Isobel recognized as her cue. She was struck with sudden jitters, the kind she often felt the moment before she stepped onstage. Across the room, Delphi caught her eye and gave a discreet nod. Isobel took the blood pellet from her bag and, after a brief hesitation, slipped the Brioschi into her other hand. Forget what Peter had said; she wanted her death to be memorable.

"Excuse me, I have to go to the restroom," she said to Candy, who was checking her phone and didn't seem to hear. Isobel coughed daintily, depositing the tablet in her mouth, and took two steps away from the table. Delphi leaped to her feet, brandishing the derringer. Isobel inhaled so forcefully she teetered backward, just managing to catch the Brioschi before she accidentally swallowed it. She could feel every eye in the room on Delphi's gun. Even she was mesmerized by it.

"Hey! Emily Wilson? You're fired!"

Practically before the last word was out of Delphi's mouth, the crack of the gunshot ricocheted off the walls. Isobel smacked her hand to her chest and felt the blood packet burst against her blouse. Someone shrieked behind her as she staggered forward onto the dance floor. The Brioschi burbled up from her throat, foaming out the corners of her mouth and down her face. She spun around, arms flailing, eyes closed. More shrieks erupted around her.

Yup, she thought with satisfaction, definitely memorable.

She finally collapsed on the floor, limbs splayed, and after a few full-body spasms, settled into a position she could hold until Peter lifted her into the fireman's carry.

She strained to hear Andrew's line, "You just shot my wife," but she was distracted by the sound of glass shattering somewhere to her left. Somebody kicked her leg, but she held still, determined to be a convincing corpse. A pungent tang of gunpowder tickled her nose. Funny, it seemed stronger than when they were rehearsing. And...was someone crying?

Suddenly, she felt Peter's stubble scrape her cheek as he hissed in her ear, "Get up. Get up!"

He tried to yank her into a sitting position, but the sharp movement made her choke on the still-fizzing Brioschi. She knelt on all fours, hacking and heaving until her eyes finally stopped tearing.

"You see?" she wheezed. "That's why I wanted to practice..."

Her words died in her throat as she got to her feet. Two Hostelry security guards gripped Delphi's shoulders, pinning her arms behind her back. Delphi's mouth was frozen open in horror. Slowly, Isobel turned and looked behind her.

Judge Harrison lay slumped against the table, fingers of crimson reddening the white tablecloth under him. And, unlike the fake stuff covering her hands, Isobel could tell immediately that this blood was real.