Seven Kinds of Death by Kate Wilhelm Read Free Book Online Page A

anything this was a smashing success of a party. There was a crush of people in every room. Now and then Constance glimpsed Janet bopping around explaining the art pieces; apparently that was her role. And Toni appeared looking anxious, casting an eye at the tables, the drinks left on tables, just checking on things; her role was to be responsible.
    Constance found herself standing next to Max once. He was beaming, to all appearances having a remarkably good time. He looked past her and his face changed subtly; the pleasure was still there, but he looked softer, and very proud. Constance glanced in the direction he was looking to see Tootles arm in arm with two men, holding a drink in one hand, laughing. Apparently she was teaching them a dance step. Toni had done her hair in a chignon that was very flattering; she was wearing a long green skirt and a gold top tied at the shoulders, leaving her arms bare. Although she was more muscular than most women, she looked very handsome that night.
    “Isn’t she wonderful,” Max Buell said in a soft voice.
    “Yes,” Constance said. “She really is.”
    He smiled at her then. “I’m glad you came. Have you met Spence Dwyers?”
    A man had joined them. “Hello, Spence,” Constance said.
    “My God! It is you! I thought I recognized you. Constance Leidl, isn’t it?”
    A long time ago, when Tootles’s first husband died suddenly in a car wreck, Spence had rallied about, as he put it. He had married her and they had stayed together for several years before the slow drift apart started, or fast split, or whatever it had been. Constance never had been told, but whatever had happened, it had not changed one important aspect of their relationship. Spence Dwyers owned the gallery where Tootles had shown her work then, and he had arranged the tour they were celebrating now. Throughout the years he had been her most steadfast patron.
    He looked like a boxer, which he had been in his youth, with a thick chest and heavily muscled arms. His nose had been broken and retained a crook, and he wore heavy, thick glasses, almost bottle-glass lenses. When he smiled it was like looking into a gold mine.
    Max left them chatting about the old days; the party shifted this way and that; groups formed, broke up, reformed. Constance looked at her watch often, counting the minutes until seven. Once she saw Toni whispering urgently to Max, and they left together heading toward the porch. Champagne running short, Constance assumed, and smiled at a woman whose name she had not learned. She met Johnny’s fiancée, Debra Saltzman, and was not surprised that she turned out to be a most expensively casual young woman, a bit bland and pretty with long, blond, permed hair that looked windblown, and would always look windblown. She said, wasn’t it exciting that Marion’s work was going on tour; it was so exciting to know a famous artist.
    Constance drifted over to Paul Volte and congratulated him on the success of his latest book. He nodded in an abstracted way, and she realized that he was searching the room. He held a highball glass that was nearly full, twisted it around and around as he studied the shifting patterns the guests made.
    “Have you seen Victoria?” he asked, refocusing his eyes on her. It was obvious that he had heard nothing of what she had been saying.
    She thought a moment and realized that she had not seen Victoria a single time that evening. She had meant to speak with her, in fact, because she had been so attracted to her. She told him no and abruptly he walked away. It was five minutes before seven.
    Then it was over. Tootles was gone, and Johnny and Debra were telling Max goodbye, Johnny speaking in a voice loud enough to carry. They left with another young couple. Right on cue, Constance thought with amusement.
    “Constance,” Ba Ba said at her elbow, wheezing slightly, “have you heard yet? No one can find Victoria Leeds. She isn’t in the house and she never changed her