Murder at the Opera - Margaret Truman [15]
“Grotesque,” Annabel commented.
“It sounds as though it was well planned,” Mac said. “Premeditated
“A reasonable assumption,” said Pawkins, taking a spoonful of soup between thoughts.
Annabel’s cell phone rang. She quickly answered, glancing about to see whether it had disturbed anyone. The adjacent tables were empty.
“Hello?” she said. “No, I’m here at the Watergate bar with my husband. Now? A half hour? Of course. I’ll be there
She clicked the phone closed and returned it to her purse.
“What’s up?” Mac asked.
“That was Camile Worthington.” To Pawkins: “She’s chairman of the Opera board’s executive committee
“I’ve met her
“They’re holding an emergency meeting in a half hour
“They work fast,” Mac said.
“I hate to run, but I have to,” she said, standing and extending her hand. “It was good meeting you. Mac often talks about how good a detective you were
Pawkins stood and accepted her hand. “Knowing I might be cross-examined by your husband kept me on my toes. Good night
Pawkins’ second course arrived and he offered Mac a shrimp.
“Thanks,” Mac said, dipping it into the sauce. “So, tell me, Raymond, what you’ve been up to since retirement. I assume being a super in an occasional opera doesn’t take up all your time
“I wish it could,” he said. “I love it. When I’m not in costume, which is most of the time, I keep quite busy. I’ve been collecting recordings of great opera performances for years now. I must have five hundred or so, all neatly cataloged. I’ve been doing some writing about opera for minor magazines. I still have my four feline friends, although I don’t think one of them has much longer to go. And I haven’t given up working completely. I have my PI license for D.C. and catch an occasional case, usually involving something musical—stolen instruments or valuable scores—or art. Amazing how hot the stolen art market is, Mac, and how stupid those who steal it can be.” He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, and sat back. “You now have my life story,” he said. “What’s yours since we last met?”
“Two major changes,” Mac said. “Marrying Annabel was the big event. Scrapping my criminal law practice and becoming a law professor was another
“I was sorry about your first wife and your son,” Pawkins said. “The drunk driver got off easy, as I recall
“That’s right
“You must have wanted to kill
“I got over it
Mac motioned for the check. “I’m glad we had a chance to catch up,” he said, “although it would have been nice if the rehearsal hadn’t ended the way it did
Pawkins reached for his wallet, but Mac waved him off. “We’ll do this again, your treat
They paused beneath the circular canopy that covered the hotel’s entrance. The humidity was now visible, enshrouding them in a low-hanging mist. Pawkins handed Mac his business card. “In case you ever need an opera-loving PI
“You never know,” Mac said. “See you at the next rehearsal—if there is one
“Oh, there will be. Nothing will keep Tosca from singing her ‘Vissi d’arte’ in Act II before she stabs the wicked Scarpia to death. Nothing. Not even a real murder. Sorry your wife had to run. She’s beautiful
“In every way,” Mac said, and they parted.
Annabel arrived home at eleven. Mac had already changed for bed and was listening to a recording of Mascagni’s Cavalleria Rusticana while reading a description of what was happening in the opera, which had been included with the CD. The music was familiar to him. Portions had been used as the musical backdrop for The Godfather, Part III. He turned down the volume when she entered.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, kissing him and heading straight for the bedroom. She emerged fifteen minutes later in her pajamas and robe.
“So,” he said, “tell me about the meeting
“Well,” she said, “you can imagine the turmoil. A murder at the Washington National Opera, not onstage but behind the scenes, with a real victim and killer. It’s never happened before. Naturally, there’s great concern for what this will do to the season
Mac winced. “More important,” he said, “what it did to that poor girl
“Don’t misunderstand,