Death in a Major Read Free Page B

be ineffective. It’s also something I’d advise against.”
    Major sneered at Beaufort. “Something tells me you’ll change your tune if the symphony and your career suffer because of your inability to listen to reason. Why don’t we find out?”
    â€œDo your worst,” Beaufort snarled. “I have nothing to hide.”
    â€œIs that so?” Major’s watery eyes glinted with malice. “I wonder what the police would find if I called them tonight.”
    A dark flush crept up Beaufort’s tanned neck. “If you do that, you’re the one who will end up looking foolish.”
    A cold smile pulled at Mr. Major’s dry lips. “I doubt that.”
    Beaufort said something in return, but he’d lowered his voice further and I couldn’t hear his next words. I was glad of that. I didn’t want to spend any more of my evening listening in on other ­people’s unpleasant conversations. What was wrong with everyone, anyway? The reception was supposed to be a pleasant, happy occasion. Maybe it was for the majority of attendees, but Mr. Major seemed to have a special knack for spreading animosity and negativity.
    I resolved to steer clear of him for the rest of the evening. I didn’t want anything more to do with his bad vibes or his sleaziness. Plus forcing myself to be polite around him might not be so easy now that I’d had a few glimpses of his true personality. The guy might be rich and he might be the symphony’s most generous benefactor, but that didn’t mean he should get away with treating other ­people like dirt. The problem was, it seemed like he did get away with it, and I knew all of us musicians would be expected to treat him with respect. After the last hour, I didn’t want to be in that position, so I figured it was best to keep well away from him.
    I watched out of the corner of my eye as Dr. Beaufort stalked away from Major, his expression clouded with dark anger. As I turned away from both men, I nearly collided with Mrs. Duffy.
    â€œOh, hello, Midori,” she said as she brushed a strand of her brown hair off her face and tucked it behind her ear. She’d regained her composure and showed no signs of her earlier distress. “The concert was lovely.”
    â€œI’m glad you enjoyed it.”
    The frizzy-­haired woman I’d seen hovering near Mr. Major earlier in the evening bustled up to us and put a hand on Mrs. Duffy’s arm. “Sorry to interrupt, Andrea, but I think it might be time for your father to switch over to coffee.” She glanced at me before leaning closer to Mrs. Duffy and whispering, “He’s starting to slur his words.”
    Mrs. Duffy attempted to smile—­at least I thought that was the expression she was going for—­but it ended up looking more like a pained grimace. “Thank you, Marjorie. I’ll be right there.” She nodded at me. “Excuse me.”
    â€œOf course.” I remained where I stood and watched as she accompanied Marjorie back to her father.
    She snatched a half-­empty champagne flute from her father’s hand and passed it to Marjorie, who placed it on a table out of his reach. Mrs. Duffy grabbed a clean cup from the nearby table and headed for the coffee urn.
    Gareth Hollingsworth, the chair of the PGP’s executive committee, stepped in to meet her in front of the urn and took the cup from her, filling it with hot coffee as he spoke to her in a whisper. I had no chance of catching his words or reading his lips—­not that I wanted to—­because he had his back to me. Mrs. Duffy nodded at whatever he’d said, and he gave her the cup.
    She returned to her father’s side and handed him the coffee. He made a face of disgust but, to my surprise, didn’t argue with her.
    I realized why a second later. As soon as Mrs. Duffy and Marjorie had turned their backs to him, he slipped a silver flask