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“And in the meantime, bolster our security around here. I actually like the idea of having electronic gizmos. We have security devices on our doors and windows, of course, but I never thought to use them in conjunction with our various exhibits. Of course, the Heritage Society doesn’t put on all that many blockbuster shows that are advertised widely to the public. Mostly we’re a quiet little place. People find their way to us in ones and twos.” Timothy hesitated. “Sad about young Buchanan, though. I never met the fellow, but I knew his grandfather. Fine family.” Timothy shook his head and the overhead spotlights made his bald pate gleam. “Hell of a thing,” he murmured quietly.
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    â€œDelaine,” gushed Theodosia, “have you seen the jewelry yet?” She gestured over her shoulder at the small gallery she’d just emerged from. “It’s absolutely fantastic!”
    Delaine smiled wanly. “Not really. I’ve been gossiping with Hillary Retton and Marianne Petigru. You know, the two ladies who own Popple Hill Interior Design? Did you know they recently worked on the Lady Goodwood Inn? That superb tapestry in the foyer came all the way from France. I think it might have been hand-loomed by cloistered nuns or something.”
    â€œAre you okay, Delaine?” asked Theodosia. Delaine was looking decidedly unhappy and her voice had taken on a shrill tone. She was undoubtedly still upset from the other night. The fact that she’d been discussing the decor at the Lady Goodwood probably didn’t help matters, either.
    â€œI’m perfectly fine, Theodosia. I’ve just been trying to get another drink! ” Delaine held up an empty glass and lifted her chin. “That fellow over there has been no help whatsoever. I’ve asked him twice now to bring me a Kir Royale and do you think I have yet to see my drink? Of course not!”
    â€œDelaine,” said Theodosia, “the man’s a security guard, not a waiter.”
    Delaine furrowed her brow and pulled her face into a petulant expression. “Well, he’s dressed like a waiter.”
    â€œThat’s part of the setup,” Theodosia explained patiently. “Remember, we told you the Heritage Society would have extra security on duty tonight?”
    â€œOh.” Delaine bit her lip as Drayton wandered up to join them, alone this time. “Yes, I guess you did mention that.”
    But from the look on Delaine’s face, Theodosia knew she was still unhappy about not getting her drink. It was amazing that just yesterday morning Delaine had been worked up about possible thievery at tonight’s event and now she was consumed with trying to get a drink. Theodosia sighed. Delaine did tend to be a bit self-centered.
    â€œWhere’s Cooper?” Theodosia asked as Drayton joined them carrying a goblet half-filled with red wine.
    Delaine shrugged helplessly. “Off somewhere. Mingling, I suppose.” She turned to Drayton and eyed the goblet in his hand. “What’s that?” she asked.
    â€œA marvelous Bordeaux, Haute Emillion, ’ninety-two. Take it,” he offered generously. “It’s freshly poured and as yet untouched.”
    â€œNo thanks,” said Delaine. “I’m trying to get a real drink.”
    Drayton, sensing the impending onslaught of World War III, suddenly decided to take matters in hand.
    â€œPardon me,” he said, flagging down a waiter who was hustling by with a tray of drinks in his hand. “Could you fetch us a drink?”
    The young, ginger-haired waiter stopped in his tracks, bobbed his head. “Of course, sir.”
    â€œHere you go, Delaine. This young fellow here . . .” said Drayton.
    â€œGraham, sir,” said the waiter.
    â€œTell Graham what you’d like, Delaine. He’ll take care of you.” Drayton fumbled in his pocket for a few dollars, pressed them into the