The Expats by Chris Pavone

Author:Chris Pavone [Pavone, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crown
Published: 2012-03-06T05:00:00+00:00

NO ONE REALLY ate. People picked and nibbled, but there was never a sit-down, never a required-dining moment, so for the most part the forks went untouched. All solid sustenance was delivered with the fingers. But mostly what the partygoers consumed was liquid.

Kate wasn’t sure whether she’d had five glasses of wine, or six. The easy-jazz piano had been replaced by a light-FM assortment of classic rock, low volume. Then someone raised the volume on the easy-listening. Hotel California; you can never leave.

She stood in the center of the small sitting room, swaying slightly. A certain measure of clarity was cutting through the alcoholic fog, bringing into focus what might very well be an alternate reality, in which none of these people were who they claimed to be. Just as Kate knew that she herself had not been, for a very long time, who she claimed to be.

It was looking increasingly likely that Dexter was not who he claimed to be. What the hell was all that material in his office? What was he up to?

Kate looked around, and found Julia cornered by one of the fathers from school who everyone agreed was closeted-gay. She couldn’t see Bill anywhere. Nor Plain Jane, for that matter.

Kate grabbed a fresh superfluous flute from a tight grouping on the bar, inverted bowling pins. She wandered with purposeful aimlessness back through the small sitting room, letting her forefinger play against the tops of the tactile knickknacks, various varieties of cold and smooth, glass and brass and sterling silver. As she came around the corner to the hall, she pulled her phone out of her purse and pressed a button to ignite the screen. “Yes,” she said to a private Snuffleupagus, “is everything okay?” The dark-suited functionary guarding the door glanced at her, and she threw him an apologetic smile. “No, darling,” she fake-protested into the phone. “It’s not a bother, tell me what the problem is.” She wanted the guard to feel he was intruding, standing there where he was supposed to, listening to her listen to a problem, an intimate problem being explained by Darling. The guard pursed his lips, turned, and took a few steps out of the center hall, toward the kitchen, or office, or some type of service room, giving a woman some privacy. Social engineering indeed.

“Of course,” Kate said, her voice dripping with concern and sympathy; Darling was ill. She started walking up the stairs, out of sight and soundless on the plush red carpet. The upstairs hall extended in both directions, dim in one, dark in the other. She took the dark path. The doors were all open, but no lights were on, no slivers of illumination angling into the hall. Kate walked slowly, cautiously, into the first room. A small, nearly empty bedroom. The curtains were closed, the darkness nearly total. She left.

A door at the far end of the dim hall swung open, bright light spilling out. She saw a leg emerging, stockings and heels; Kate jumped backward into the bedroom.

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