Thiago picked up the replacement baton again, studying it carefully.
“Whoever did this wanted Dominic to feel it.”
“Then they were successful,” Dominic said.
Thiago set the baton down. “Would you feel the difference during a performance?”
“Within the first phrase,” Dominic confirmed. “Possibly the first measure.”
A sharp knock sounded at the front door. Not tentative. Three quick strikes.
Dominic sighed. “Celeste.”
I went to answer it.
Celeste Boudreaux Hargrove swept past me before I had fully stepped aside, trailing the stifling August air and expensive perfume into the parlor. Her animated movements suggested a woman at least ten years younger than her seventy-one years.
She wore a cream linen suit and held a large leather portfolio under one arm. She’d pushed a pair of sunglasses up in her hair like a crown.
“Dominic,” she announced as she walked into the salon, “if I had known your house would be the subject of target practice this week, I would have given you a helmet.”
Dominic didn’t look up from the baton case. “Good morning to you too, Celeste.”
She immediately focused on Thiago. I watched her chin move as she appraised him from head to foot.
“Ah, you must be the man Seattle sent.”
“Thiago Reyes.”
She took his hand in both of hers, shaking it with decisive enthusiasm.
“Celeste Boudreaux Hargrove. Patron, fundraiser, occasional tyrant, and as of today, your benefactor. You are to make sure Dominic gets to the stage alive in eleven days.”
Thiago inclined his head. “Understood.”
“You look competent,” she said. “That’s encouraging. I had a dreadful image of someone arriving with an earpiece and a clipboard.”
“I left the clipboard in the car.”
I couldn’t suppress a small smile.
“Good answer,” Celeste said briskly.
She turned back to Dominic.
“The board is in a panic. Half of them think you should postpone the concert. The other half are terrified that postponing it will look like weakness.”
Dominic picked up the replacement baton and turned it slowly between his fingers.
“It would be a sign of weakness.”
“Yes, of course it would,” Celeste said. “But panic rarely produces rational thinking.” She looked at the baton. “What is that?”
“Not mine,” Dominic said.
She glanced at me and then at Thiago.
“Someone explain.”
