Spirit Walk_ Old Wounds (Book 1) - Christie Golden [72]
“Very well, Ken,” she acquiesced. “I understand it was you who sent me the white roses. Thank you so much, they’re beautiful.”
“You’re very welcome, my dear. Come, let me introduce you around.” Libby threw a wry glance at her director, Philippe Batiste, who shrugged in a very Gallic way. He’d just been trumped by Montgomery—as had so many others—but as his gesture said, what could one do?
They made the rounds, Montgomery introducing Libby to a truly impressive variety of important personages. Libby had done her research and was able to speak intelligently with each of them. She loved this part of her job; she was naturally a people person and truly enjoyed meeting and talking with others. They always sensed her sincerity, and most of them opened up quickly. More than once Libby had been told that she would have made an excellent diplomat. She had always smiled and expressed thanks for the compliment, claiming devotion to her music.
“And this is Admiral Leah Jorgensen,” Montgomery was saying. Libby smiled warmly at the wiry, attractive woman who extended both a hand and a grin. She wore her straight gray-streaked hair short and didn’t use a great deal of cosmetics. Her nails were filed short, and while well-manicured, were not polished. This, Libby thought, was what tomboys looked like when they grew up. Their eyes met, and she liked Leah at once. Her instincts were usually pretty good; Libby hoped that she wasn’t a mole.
But there was something familiar…“Have we met?” Libby asked.
“We’ve never been formally introduced, but I’m quite a fan of your music,” Jorgensen said. “I’ve attended as many of your concerts as my schedule permits. You may have seen me in the crowd.” Her eyes danced. “I’m a little old to be begging for autographs, so I never approached you.”
Libby laughed. She knew she’d seen this woman before. Thinking quickly, she said, “I’m sure your schedule doesn’t allow for much concert-going, Admiral. For instance, I’m sure you were expected to be at the Kavlian Peace Conference.”
She’d seen Jorgensen’s name as an attendee on one of the many documents she’d perused. The admiral sighed. “Yes, I was there. Have you ever met a Kavlian, Miss Webber?”
“Libby, please. Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”
Jorgensen wrinkled her pert nose. “Can’t say it is a pleasure. Difficult people to negotiate with. They could have a Royal Protocol document all to themselves.”
Montgomery grimaced as well. “I was at that conference. By the end of it, I was about ready to trade being an admiral for being an ensign, if it meant getting to leave a day early.”
Libby was enjoying the conversation, but she had now cleared Jorgensen from her list. The woman was where Libby’s research had placed her, and Montgomery had just corroborated her story. Now she was anxious to see the other suspect, one Captain Skhaa.
She coughed a little and said, “A little frog in my throat. I think I need something to drink. A pleasure to meet you, Admiral. Excuse me for just a moment—”
Libby scurried off in the direction of a waiter carrying a tray of beverages and snagged a mineral water. No alcohol when she was working. She sipped the beverage and looked around quickly. Skhaa wouldn’t be hard to find, he was probably the only avian here—
And there he was, talking with two Vulcans. She recognized one of them as an ambassador she knew, which gave her an opening.
“Ambassador Sular,” she said politely; one didn’t gush to a Vulcan. “I didn’t know you were here tonight.”
The tall, elderly Vulcan turned toward her, his elegant robes rustling with the movement. He inclined his head. “Miss Webber.