The Uneven Score by Carla Neggers Read Free Book Online Page B

the male-dominated orchestral bureaucracy and—”
    “Enough! I don’t know what your game is, but, damn it, I’m going to find out. Dr. Paderevsky was mysteriously unavailable this evening, but I spoke to Bradley Fredericks and Yoshifumi Kamii. Do you know who they are?”
    “No.” She was lying, of course.
    “Poor Whitney, always the last to know anything.” He didn’t sound particularly sympathetic. Or credulous. “Bradley is the associate conductor and principal violist of the CFSO. Yoshifumi is the concertmaster. They told me a twenty-nine-year-old female horn player was due to arrive tomorrow to take Harry Stagliatti’s place. Dr. Paderevsky hired her. She’s from Schenectady, New York, and her name is Whitney McCallie.”
    “Me?”
    “You.”
    Whitney sagged. “Betrayed at every turn.”
    Graham ignored her. “This Whitney McCallie, according to Bradley and Yoshifumi both, is hornist with the Empire State Wind Quintet out of New York City and the Capital District Brass Ensemble out of Albany. She also is the conductor of the Mohawk Valley Community Orchestra. Two months ago she was offered a position with the Cleveland Symphony Orchestra, but refused.”
    “Fourth horn,” she said. “I’m not as good in the lower octaves. And I’m not your basic Cleveland type.”
    “But you have penetrated the ‘male-dominated orchestral bureaucracy,’ haven’t you?” He paused to smile with a certain, measured irony. Then, abruptly, he was serious once more. “Yoshifumi intimated  that in another five years you’d be one of the strongest, most innovative hornists in the country—something to do with your tone.”
    “How nice of Yoshifumi.”
    Knowing Yoshifumi as she did, Whitney suspected he had realized she’d already managed to get herself on Graham’s black list and was trying to protect her.
    “My horn teacher says when I play my tone is so round he can see the oranges falling out of my bell,” she went on glumly. There was no point in worsening her position by telling him Harry Stagliatti was her horn teacher.
    Graham looked at her sternly, the shadows dancing on his face. His jeans, she noticed unwillingly, fit snugly over his thighs. The man was in incredible physical shape- probably from stalking burglars and trespassers. “Then you’re admitting you’re Whitney McCallie?” he said icily.
    “Sure, why not? Seems to me my ship is sinking.”
    “Seems to me your ship has sunk.” He smiled suddenly, visibly relaxing now that she had begun, in however small a way, to cooperate. “No more lies, all right? I want to know why you were in my office this afternoon.  I realize we didn’t meet under the best of circumstances, but I still think you ought to tell me.”
    “Or?”‘
    “Or nothing. I just need to know.”
    Whitney sighed. It was an appealing argument—simple and direct. And somehow it was more effective than his guns and dark looks. She was inclined to take the chance and tell him the truth. Possibly he had a perfectly innocent explanation for being in Harry’s hotel room. But the truth wasn’t an option. There was still Paddie to consider, and Harry.
    She popped her mouthpiece back on her horn and grinned up at him. “I’m in love with you,” she said lightly. “I saw your picture in some publicity on the orchestra and those clear sea-green eyes of yours and thought to myself—”
    “All my publicity photos are in black and white.”
    “Yes, but I knew you had sea-green eyes.”
    “Give up, Whitney,” he said, but the use of her first name and the flash of his smile told her she’d penetrated his somber mood. “Or maybe I should give up. You aren’t going to tell me what you were doing in my office, are you?”
    “I’m not at liberty to.”
    “All right, then. I have a fair idea, anyway. Harry Stagliatti, right?”
    Whitney felt her throat go dry, but she managed to lift her shoulders in an idle shrug. “All I know is that Stagliatti walked out on Dr.