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and he found to be none of my business. But it went deeper than that. We were teetering on the brink of being lovers, and life on the brink was uncomfortable. At least it was for me; I kept hesitating and analyzing and wondering if we were right for each other. Aaron’s view was that we could analyze just as easily lying down.

Aaron was at the party, of course. All of the Sentinel’s reporters were there, gleefully adding to the pandemonium. I could see a laughing, breathless bunch of them now, escorting Paul and Elizabeth up the tunnel from the Underwater Dome room, where the dancing was. As they headed for the martini bar, Aaron put his arm around Corinne Campbell, the paper’s society writer. A handsome couple: he was quite dashing in a Zorro mask and cape, and she made a blonde, bosomy Venus in a filmy white gown crisscrossed with silver cords.

I knew Corinne professionally—she often wrote about my brides—and I’d been seeing more of her now that she was one of Elizabeth’s bridesmaids. She wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she could be pleasant enough, in an overeager kind of way. Especially to men. I bet she found the scent of cigarettes manly and exciting.

“I said, I’m having a fine time.” Lily’s voice broke through this sour speculation. “You’re not listening, are you? You’re mooning after Aaron.”

“I am not! I’m keeping an eye on all the guests. He just happens to be one of them.”

“Whatever you say.” Her glittery makeup caught the light as she gazed around and let loose the deep, provocative laugh that often startled the library’s patrons. “This is a fabulous place for a party!”

“You bet your asp it is,” I said, scanning the crowd over her shoulder. “But it’s tough to supervise, with all these corridors and cul-de-sacs. I’ve got a couple of off-duty cops here as security and I haven’t talked to either one in hours except on the two-way radio. Makes me nervous.”

I was especially nervous about Northwest Shores, a narrow grotto behind the martini bar. I’d already had to shoo some Visigoths off the handrail of the shorebird exhibit down at the end. The water in the little beach scene was only a foot deep, but if anybody tumbled over backwards it would terrify the long-billed curlews and they’d never let me rent this place again. The management, I mean, not the curlews.

“Well, everyone but you is having a blast,” said Lily. “Even Roger Talbot, in a quiet sort of way. I’m surprised he came.”

Talbot, publisher of the Sentinel and a prominent Seattle Democrat, was making a brief appearance to toast the happy pair. It was generous of him; he’d recently lost his wife to cancer, and could hardly be in a party mood. We watched him join the little crowd of newspaper people, shaking hands with Zorro, giving Venus a quick hug, raising his glass to lead a toast to Xena and Indy In his black tuxedo and carrying a black topcoat, Talbot looked grave and distinguished among all the gaudy costumes.

“He’s really fond of Paul,” I told Lily. “And he’s on his way home from a medical fund-raiser. I guess if you’re going to have a public career, you’ve got to put your private life aside.”

Not long before his wife’s death, Talbot had announced his candidacy for mayor of Seattle. He had a fighting chance, too, despite the incumbent’s popularity. He looked like a statesman, for starters, with the height and grace of a former college basketball star. More than that, he had a scholar’s grasp of detail and a reporter’s knack for crystallizing ideas. The word around town was that if Talbot did make it to the mayor’s office, he’d soon be packing a suitcase for the other Washington, the one back East.

“Carnegie, there you are!” Talbot raised a hand to me above the crowd and came over. Even with his air of strain and fatigue he was a handsome man, with a bold Roman nose and dark eyes and brows below thick, prematurely silver hair. “I understand you created this wonderful event. You do good work.”

“Thank you, Roger. Thanks very much.” I’m leery of politicians, as a rule, but still I found myself glowing at the praise. There was something about Roger Talbot’s gaze that made you feel special, singled out. I introduced him to Lily, and watched the magic take effect on her. That kind of charm must be money in the bank