The Body in the Bouillon by Katherine Hall Page Page B

the black crepe Armani dress over there.”
    â€œPretty, but not my type. Too fashionable,” Tom commented.
    â€œAnd I’m not?”
    â€œThat doesn’t deserve an answer. Let’s just say I like to run my fingers through some hair, not an inch of stubble. If I want that, I can stop shaving for a couple of days.”
    What was it with men and long hair? If Tom and his ilk had their way, we’d all be Rapunzels, Faith reflected.
    â€œI wonder who that is she’s dancing with. I haven’t seen him at Hubbard House. Maybe someone she’s seeing.”
    Denise’s partner was handsome in a Richard Gere sort of way, and his tuxedo was a bit more current—and snuggly fitting—than those of the men who were waltzing
around him. They mostly sported the timeless boxy numbers from Brooks dug out from the backs of their closets year after year for occasions like this.
    Faith looked over at Tom. He looked good in black—fortunately for his calling—but she had to admit she preferred the well-cut tux from Barney’s she had given him their first Christmas together to his robes.
    He caught her stare. “Want to dance, honey? It is a ball, remember.”
    â€œLove to,” she replied, and jumped up. “I don’t think my card is filled.”
    â€œLucky, lucky me,” Tom whispered in her ear as he pulled her close.
    â€œDance me over to Denise—I want to say hello,” Faith instructed him, and veered toward the other couple.
    â€œI was under the impression that the dance floor was the one place where I got to lead, darling, but it looks like I’m wrong there too. Just shove me wherever you want.”
    â€œMartyr,” Faith said, and steered toward Denise.
    As they got closer, Faith became aware that Denise was involved in a heated conversation with her partner. Her cheeks were red and she seemed close to tears. When they drew up next to them, Faith heard her say, “Please, please. You know I wouldn’t ask you unless—” She broke off abruptly at the sight of Faith and composed her face in a welcoming smile.
    â€œHow lovely to see you, Faith. And you must be the Reverend Fairchild. I’m so glad you could come and I was able to get you at my table.”
    â€œYes, we saw. You can tell us everyone’s names.” Faith hoped the hint wasn’t too blatant, and to cover up asked hastily, “Is Mrs. P. here?”
    Surprisingly, Denise’s partner answered.
    â€œMrs. Pendergast! In this crowd! Do you think she got an invite, Denny?” he asked mockingly.
    â€œOf course she did,” Denise answered in a slightly angry tone. “She told me she’d rather put her feet up. I
think her sister-in-law was coming over and they were going to watch their tapes of ‘The Golden Girls’ and have a glass or two of Kahlùa. A big night,” she finished on a lighter note.
    The music stopped and Dr. Hubbard walked up to the band leader and took the microphone.
    â€œWould you take your seats now, friends? They’re going to be serving dinner and you’re also going to have to hear from me.”
    The crowd moved immediately to the round tables, neither prospect being an unpleasant one, it appeared.
    Faith and Tom followed Denise. She still had not introduced them to the man with whom she was dancing, nor did he seem to be seated at her table.
    Someone who obviously knew Hubbard House, Faith noted. Could it be Donald Hubbard? But Donald was in his mid to late thirties, and this man was much younger. Besides, there was something about him that suggested a profession other than medicine. She realized what it was. He was tan—and this was the wrong time of year for those doctors who frequented the course or courts to have one. Then she remembered Charmaine had recently come back from a cruise. Perhaps her husband had gone with her.
    Faith sat down, and a waiter brought a steaming bowl of what she