Page 7 of Murder on the Upper East Side

‘Basic bitch,’ Elle muttered, loud enough to be heard above the welcome address. But if Elle’s comment reached Gemma, she let it roll off her shoulders.

The speech went on and on, Bash and Madison trading off memories and jokes, and Hannah’s mind wandered. Her time at Prescott had been filled with events like this – boredom interlaced with jaw-dropping wealth, and lots of alcohol. Finally, at seven-forty, the co-hosts wrapped up to warm applause.

Bash leaned from his place at the lectern to speak to a man in a neat white apron. Then he lifted his mic again. ‘I know we’re running a bit behind, but I’ve just had word from Chef Bernard that the first course will be served momentarily. I know we’re all getting hungry.’

‘But first!’ Madison cut in, leaning playfully into Bash’s mic. ‘While we let the servers work their magic, please stop by the bar for another Belvedere cocktail.’ She raised her own still-full martini glass and was met with more applause. Smiling, she took a dainty sip.

Bash rolled his eyes and stepped down from the stand, then made his way across the room to Theo. The two clasped hands, and Theo drew him in for a tight hug. Clearly, the two friends had remained close. Elle took his place on the stand and gave Madison a congratulatory smile.

As the crowd filtered from the library, back into the lounge, Hannah drew in a deep breath. Somefished chequebooks from their jacket pockets and shiny clutches. Others turned to the bar.

She was trapped here for several more hours, and avoiding Madison the entire time would be nearly impossible.

‘There’s something I need to do,’ she said to Ami. ‘Catch you in a bit?’

Ami followed Hannah’s gaze to the lectern, where Madison and Elle stood side by side. ‘You’re offering yourself up like a sacrificial lamb to Elle Harrington and Madison DuPont?’

Hannah sighed. ‘Hopefully not. But I need to clear the air.’

‘Good luck.’ With a shrug, Ami retreated into the lounge. Hannah tactically made her way to the front of the library, then waited. When Madison had finished her conversation with one of their former classmates, Hannah stepped reluctantly forward.

‘Madison—’ she began, but Madison and Elle turned to give her twin death glares. This was going well already.

‘About the article,’ Hannah began again. ‘The timing was unfortunate, but I had—’

‘Do you hear someone talking?’ Elle asked. ‘I swear, there’s the most awful drone in my ears.’

Madison turned to Elle, placing her back squarely to Hannah. She’d been dismissed.

‘I’m headed to the ladies’,’ Madison murmured. ‘Haven’t had a moment to myself since Henry’s fundraiser. I need to freshen up.’

‘Want me to come with?’ Elle asked.

‘No, I’ll just be a minute.’ She took a sip of her drink. ‘Meet you back at the bar? After I finish this one, I’m going to need another.’

Without a second glance towards Hannah, Madison exited the library and walked down the corridor in the direction of the restrooms, martini glass in hand.

Well, that couldn’t have gone better.Refusing to let the slight get under her skin, Hannah gave Elle a broad smile then wandered into the dining room, where servers in single-breasted jackets, crisp cotton shirts and pressed trousers were arranging thin slivers of shaved truffle on tiny amuse bouche plates and rearranging name cards to account for no-shows or last-minute joiners. It smelled of clean linen and white peonies, which had been arranged tastefully on the larger tables and the room’s two oak sideboards. She began circling tables, searching for her name card, prepared to surreptitiously move it if she’d been seated with Elle, or, worse, Henry.

The lights in the dining room flickered, and Hannah halted before the cards for Mr Albert Thornton and Mrs Blythe Thornton, class of 1957. She looked to the grand gold and Murano-glass chandelier above. It blinked again, and then the entire club was plunged into darkness. A few surprised yelps came from the lounge, and beside Hannah, a woman stumbled into a table and sent a water glass careening to the hardwood floor with a smash. It was ten to eight in June, and still broad daylight outside, but heavy curtainswere permanently drawn across the Lenox Club’s front windows, in keeping with the club’s motto,Privacy, preserved.It was private all right – and pitch black. Hannah grasped for the back of a chair, thrown off-balance. Somewhere to her left, another chair crashed to the floor.

‘What the hell is going on?’ someone muttered.

‘Is it a blackout?’ came another voice.

‘Try the curtains,’ someone suggested. ‘Are the lights out on the rest of the block?’

For what must have only been ninety seconds, two minutes at most, the club descended into chaos. Guests tripping, drinks spilling. Bash called for everyone to calm down, but no one paid him any mind. Just as someone – a staff member, Hannah assumed, not that she could see who was talking – made an announcement about an emergency generator somewhere in the basement, the lights returned.

Hannah blinked. ‘That was… entertaining,’ she observed to no one in particular.

The woman who had spilled the water glass gave Hannah an unamused glance, then resumed brushing off her gown. All around, the Lenox Club staff sprang into action, mopping spilled drinks and righting tipped chairs. In the lounge, a vase of flowers had careened to the floor, and a bartender rushed to replace it.

Suddenly, a sharp scream pierced the club. Hannah stiffened.

A second scream followed, then a series of gasps.

‘What the hell?’ Hannah muttered.