Free Engaged to Die by Carolyn Hart Page B

night, a welcome contrast to the patches of fog that hovered like dimly seen ghosts.
    Annie wriggled in anticipation. “Oh, Max, it looks like a great party. Mr. Mackey will be pleased.” Shedoubted the artist would be surprised at the success of the exhibition. Mackey had an air of confidence.
    Max eased his crimson Maserati around a parked SUV that bulged into the narrow road. Some people thought they could park any damn place they wanted. Max prided himself upon his live-and-let-live, equable manner—except for hogs who didn’t care whether their tasteless monstrosities of vehicles posed a hazard to others. He winced as his right fender cleared the back bumper of the SUV by perhaps a thousandth of an inch.
    Without a word, Annie patted the tensed back of his hand soothingly.
    He took a deep breath as the car eased past. “I’ll drop you off and go back and park.”
    â€œGolly, everybody on the island must have come if the big lot over that way”—she gestured to her left—
    â€œis already full. Let’s go back to the main road. There was a side entrance just before we got to the circular driveway.” Annie peered out into the fog.
    Max regained the main road and retraced their path.
    Annie held up a hand. “Slow down a little. Okay, turn here.”
    Max swung to the left behind a grove of pines. The serpentine lane angled away from the massive trees. Abruptly, they left behind the sound and glow of the party. He drove slowly. “Are you sure?” The road meandered, curving back in the direction of the gallery.
    â€œThis comes out near the kitchen of the gallery. The Friends of the Library had a luncheon here over Christmas, and I helped set up the tables.” She pointed ahead.
    â€œThere. We can park by the catering van.” There were only a few cars parked in the lot, and they probably belonged to the caterer’s wait staff.
    Annie popped out of the car and pointed at a flag-stone path. “That goes along the side of the house to the sidewalk in front.” She led the way. Max carried the book bag with the titles for Henny. They passed windows blazing with light, and once again there were the sounds of a party, voices and music. They reached the front yard and turned to their right, hurried up the moist wooden steps of the front porch, and stepped inside to noise and movement and color. A huge Christmas tree still glittered in the center of the spacious hallway. Great ropes of evergreen with huge red bows scalloped the cornices. Light cascaded from two magnificent chandeliers, one in the entry hall, one beyond a keystone arch that separated the entryway from the stair hall. A string quartet on the landing of the mahogany staircase played Pachelbel’s Canon in D. Rush matting was laid to protect the heart pine floors. Paintings hung in the hallway and in the rooms that opened to either side.
    Carl Neville stood just inside the door. Smiling, he welcomed guests with a quick handshake and an expansive wave toward the exhibition rooms and the stairway leading upstairs. He wasn’t as imposing a man as his late father. Nathaniel Neville, hawk-faced and pencil thin, had dominated almost all gatherings. Slightly built Carl, his features pleasant but indeterminate, his manner diffident, scarcely made an impact on the guests sweeping inside. “Annie, Max. Good to see you. Great turnout tonight. Boston’s paintings are displayed down here and upstairs, too. And there’s a buffet….” He looked over Annie’s shoulder. “Hello, Vince. Great to see you….”
    Max turned to shake hands with Vince Ellis, editor and publisher of The Island Gazette .
    Annie gave a happy sigh. “I’ll take the books, Max,and see if I can find Henny.” She grabbed the book bag and plunged into the crowd. Everywhere, there was color—the women’s dresses, the paintings, the richness of crimson draperies. Annie caught a