The Uneven Score by Carla Neggers

Paderevsky was a difficult personality, but a brilliant conductor. This, the musicians said, was common knowledge. When they agreed to come to Orlando to found the Central Florida Symphony Orchestra under her direction, they knew what to expect: long hours, fits of temper, unrealistically high expectations, an ulcer or two, but, ultimately, a world-class orchestra. In short, they both despised and respected Paddie.
    During the past week, however, Paddie’s behavior had begun to change. “I don’t know how to explain it,” Yoshifumi said, “but she’s just not ... invincible, I guess.”
    “She looks tired,” Angelina said.
    “My God,” Daniel interrupted, “the woman’s been working night and day for months! What do you expect?”
    “You have to understand,” Bradley went on, “that Dr. Paderevsky is positively religious about getting eight hours of sleep each night. She doesn’t have a social life and would never risk the quality of her work by attending a rehearsal in a state of exhaustion. This week, however, she’s complained about staying up too late and awaking at dawn.”
    “The lady’s not your basic insomniac type,” someone drawled—Lucas Washington, Whitney assumed; he was from Atlanta and getting him was another of Paddie’s impossible coups.
    She could hear Daniel’s irritated sigh through the door, but there was more. During break on Monday, Paddie had spit coffee all over Yoshifumi, but denied that anything was wrong with her or the coffee. Afterward she was so distracted she came out with the wrong score. On Tuesday she was called away in the middle of rehearsal for an important phone call—what in Paddie’s life could be more important than a rehearsal?—and returned almost immediately, looking haggard and drawn. The janitor had been outside her office and said Paddie had listened all of three seconds before she told the caller to leave her alone and hung up.
    “This has all been happening since Harry Stagliatti decided to miss a few rehearsals, hasn’t it?” Whitney was sure she recognized Thomas Walker’s cultured drawl. “Well, perhaps she’s just worried others will follow his lead and is trying to show you, in her own way, that she is human. I’ve been expecting something like this myself. As Daniel says, she’s been going flat out. She’s never had total responsibility for a major orchestra before. She’s young, inexperienced, and—”
    “We know your prejudices, Father,” a male voice—Matthew Walker’s—said with strained pleasantry.
    “Yes, Matthew,” Thomas said, “and we all know you’re supposed to be general manager of this orchestra. Doesn’t that woman listen to you?”
    “Frankly,” Rebecca Graham interrupted, picking up the threads of the conversation, “I wouldn’t think Mr. Stagliatti’s departure would have this kind of effect on Dr. Paderevsky. He said he’d be back, didn’t he?”
    “Yes,” Yoshifumi said, “but he left abruptly, and apparently without reason. Dr. Paderevsky has a right to be angry, but we’re concerned that more than anger is involved.”
    “They weren’t close, were they?” Rebecca asked, surprised.
    The musicians all answered no. Whitney tried not to laugh. If only Harry were here!
    “Matthew,” Daniel said, “what do you think?”
    “Losing Harry one week before opening night has been a terrible blow,” he said, pausing to clear his throat, “especially with the premiere program featuring the horn section.”
    “Oh, come on, son,” Thomas Walker put in. “Dr. Paderevsky must know horn players are a dime a dozen.”
    Whitney decided she didn’t like Thomas Walker. Resisting an urge to kick down the doors and choke him, she gritted her teeth and rubbed the ache in her back. What did that idiot know about horn players?
    “Truly fine hornists are not a dime a dozen,” Yoshifumi said. “However, I believe that Dr. Paderevsky’s problem goes deeper than a simple reaction to the walkout of one of her