More Bitter Than Death: An Emma Fielding Mystery - By Dana Cameron Page 0,48

to the ever-increasingly desperate needs of over four hundred thirsty archaeologists who were let off the leash, and that included the ones hunting for data, jobs, gossip, references, or connections. Still, I noticed that the usual frenzy was tempered: word about Garrison was getting around. I got my drink and tried to find some of my friends to hang out with. Instead I got rushed by people who wanted a copy of my paper and a couple of students who were asking about my classes in the Caldwell College archaeology program. That was fine, and got finer still when I saw that my tall friend with the bad breath was craning his neck, peering over the crowd, his hands hanging straight down at his sides like a meercat. Dear God, a meercat with halitosis. Looking for me. I kept my head down, leaning into my own conversation more intimately than I was used to.

But the last student had other schools to investigate, and he flitted off sooner than I would have liked. I looked around and instantly made accidental eye contact with Widmark, but he only waved offhandedly and kept peering around. I began to worry that I’d offended him, by trying to duck out on him earlier, and then decided that I was willing to pay the price of that guilt. Someone bumped into me, and if I had been drinking from a glass, it would have spilled all over the place. Drinking beer from a bottle is not merely a matter of machismo.

“Jay, take it easy, huh?” I said. Jay, my recent poker victim, was plastered, well ahead of schedule, and mumbling into his cell phone.

“Sorry, Em,” he mumbled. Stepping away from me, he knocked into Laurel.

“Watch it, asshole,” she barked. Maybe recognizing him stemmed the flow of profanity I expected to follow. “Oh, it’s you, Whitaker. Learn how to walk, would you?”

“Sorry. I guess I’m just tired.”

“Well, put the damn cell phone down, this is a social event.”

He swayed slightly, beet red and not just from the press of the room. “You don’t really think I’m an asshole, do you, Laurel? I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“No.” She flicked at Jay, who was trying to brush at her to wipe the martini off her jacket. “Just…just take it easy.”

“But you still love me, don’t you Laurel?”

“Of course I still love you, but now you’re becoming a lachrymose and fuckwitted nuisance.”

“Lachrymose?” He turned to me, his eyes welling, confused.

“She means you’re getting maudlin,” I answered.

“Oh, okay. I’m all right now,” he said, and lurched away, still clutching his cell phone.

“I very much doubt it,” Laurel mumbled, as she tried to mop up. She turned to me. “Em.”

“Hey, Laurel. Where’d you get the martini? Didn’t think they were getting that fancy in here.”

“They’re not. I brought it from the bar. I refuse to drink the shit they serve at these things. Self-preservation.”

I raised one eyebrow. “Drinking vodka is self-preservation?”

She shrugged. “Well, you know. Besides, it’s good vodka, if that’s not a contradiction in terms. How’s it going?”

“Not too bad, I’m just trying to avoid someone. But I think he’s found another target.”

“Who’s that?”

“Tall guy, skinny, gormless, some kind of archaeologist wannabe. Boring, boring, and if I include his breath, boringer still. As in, it would bore a hole through you.” I looked around apprehensively, trying to find him.

Laurel did the same, much less obviously than I. “Sounds scary. Oh, I got him. Someone needs a visit from the Fab Five, don’t they? He’s looking over here.”

“Just don’t make eye contact. Pretend we’re talking.”

“We are talk—ooph!” Laurel lurched again, and this time lost most of her drink. “Jay! God damn it! Now you are officially an asshole!” she called to Jay’s retreating back. “Walking around with that freaking phone! If you can’t handle your liquor, do it in your room where you won’t spoil it for the rest of us, you useless sot.”

But by the time she’d got to the word phone, Laurel’s anger had dissipated, and she was on autopilot. “I thought he was supposed to be getting his act together,” she said to me. “Business has been picking up after a dry spell, or so I heard.”

“Beats me. I haven’t had a chance to catch up with him about work. But I’m glad to hear it.”

By now Scott had made his way to the front to make a few announcements, but he was accompanied by a couple of uniformed officers. At the same time, my friend Widmark had suddenly found