That was a little odd. George had said how nice Jane was in the office. Maybe something had happened on their way here—a fight or something. Emma knew they were old friends, but nothing else about these two.
“Your costume is amazing,” Finn whispered to her as they passed to come inside. He gave her a backward glance before he and Jane turned to enter the dining room—a look that could only be described asinterested.
Finn was certainly handsome, but as an unknown entity who was only visiting from out of town, there was no way Emma would take his flirting seriously. Still, it was a little flattering. This night was full of all sorts of interesting surprises.
***
George reminded himself that his main objective in coming was to make sure Betty had a good time, and he couldn’t do that if he continued to brood. Betty needed all the help she could get. He’d never seen her at a loss for words before, but somehow acting was her kryptonite. Every time someone would talk to her, she’d bury her face in her script and hesitatingly read off the same line about herself—“I live next door, and if I had it my way, this whole place would be shut down.”
He caught Emma rolling her eyes the fourth time Betty said it, and he could have sworn steam came out of his ears. If he didn’t love Emma so much he’d absolutely hate her right now.
Her hosting skills took a dive the moment she’d introduced Elton and Harriet to each other and only got worse when Finn and Jane arrived. When she wasn’t blatantly staring at Elton and Harriet, trying to listen in on their conversation, Emma was blushing under Finn’s attention to her. And why was he paying her so much attention?
Finn had arrived with slicked-back hair he continued to tame with a comb from his shirt pocket, fully throwing himself into the part of Dr. Archibald, the town doctor with questionable credentials. He was friendly with everyone, snapping his red suspenders and winking back at Jane while he talked to Emma’s old college friends, Nicole and Cara. Jane ignored him.
Whatever Finn’s reasons for punishing her, it wasn’t right. There was no excuse to leave Jane out and rub his flirting in her face, whether they were ‘just friends’ or not. George began to rethink everything he’d initially assumed about those two.
He glanced at his script. Until the murder occurred, there was nothing to do but finish eating and try not to watch Emma. Finn was sitting to her right, and all through dinner he’d been leaning into her, whispering things and making her laugh. How could she not care that Jane was right there, on his other side?
Emma did look amazing in her flapper dress. There was no denying it. The tassels swinging back and forth were meant to draw the eye, but that didn’t give Finn the right to look on in appreciation every time she moved around the table to check on things. He was too obvious about it.
“George, the script says I should mention my son, Mugsy. I guess he’s a gangster or something. Who should I tell?” Betty looked around and then back down at her paper.
“Why don’t you practice on me,” George offered. He needed to be more like Jane, indifferent to everything, though if he got the chance tonight, he’d subtly hint to Jane that maybe she should send Finn back to Sacramento and forget about him. There was such a thing as being too indifferent.
“Have I told you about my son, Mugsy?” Betty asked.
“Mugsy? Never heard of him. Look, lady. The less I know about you the better. Aren’t you planning to rat me out for being at a fine establishment like this?”
Betty’s eyes widened. “Well, maybe not you, Mr. Peabody.”
“Good job,” George whispered. “You’ve got this.”
Betty blushed. “I think I am starting to get the hang of this.” She turned to her right and initiated a hesitant conversation with Austin, who looked about as excited to be there as Jane. He’d been under the assumption this party would include a lot of alcohol. Unlike George, he’d already had it out with Emma for deceiving him into coming. Their college friendship had been based on Austin’s interest in dating Emma’s friends. Why they were still friends, George wasn’t sure.
At least Austin was being nice to Betty. They went back and forth with the script, taking turns revealing things about their characters.
Emma stood and tapped a spoon against her glass and everyone quieted. George recognized this as his cue to go shut off the lights so Mr. Woodhouse could be murdered. A stubborn part of George wanted to stay seated, but Mr. Woodhouse was already looking tired and ready to go off to bed, and the uncertain pleading in Emma’s expression had George pushing back his chair and moving to the wall to comply.
“A toast,” Emma said. “To good times, and good friends.”
George shut off the lights, and there were several gasps and one scream he recognized as Emma’s. Two more seconds and he flipped the lights back on.
Mr. Woodhouse gave an Oscar-worthy performance of a dead guy slumped in his chair. A silver dagger was tucked in his armpit.
Emma gasped. “Tommy Two Fingers is dead, and someone here killed him!”
There was a rustle of papers as everyone consulted their scripts for what to do next.
Finn stood up and rounded the table. “I’m the doctor. Let me have a look-see. Maybe he’s not dead.”
He lifted Mr. Woodhouse’s arm, the one not cradling a knife, and let it drop back down. “He’s dead all right.”
It was Betty’s turn, and George gave her a slight nudge and pointed to the script.
“Oh.” Betty adjusted her glasses and squinted at the page. “Dr. Archibald. Get your hands off that body. You’re tamping with evidence.”
“I’m tampering,” Finn corrected. He and Emma glanced at each other, hiding little amused smiles.
