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making his way across the room toward us. 
I jumped at the sound of a loud crash to my right.  To my overwrought nerves, it sounded like a shot, but it barely registered as a sound at all amid the buzz of voices in the room.  Behind the bar, a waiter was holding a broken champagne bottle by the neck, wielding it like a weapon against the bartender, who looked positively livid. 
When Scott reached me, I saw Tegan move off toward the bar, presumably to intervene and save someone’s jugular from being shredded.  Scott, as well as most of the other attendees, remained blissfully oblivious to the altercation.  His focus, however, was on me.  “Are you alright?  What happened?” He looked concerned.
“I feel much better now.  I think I just got too hot.  Plus, my stomach’s empty.”  As if on cue, a waiter with a silver tray of bacon-wrapped scallops stopped in front of us.  I took one and popped it gratefully into my mouth.  Not as much because I was hungry as the fact that if my mouth was full, I couldn’t be expected to talk.
Scott led me to the place setting with a little card bearing my name and pulled out the chair.  I plunked down, too disconcerted for much decorum at that point.  “I’ll go round you up some snacks.  Be right back,” Scott said, already on the heels of a man with a silver tray.
I watched Scott walk away, but before I could release the sigh of relief that hovered at the top of my lungs, I caught sight of the mayor heading toward me. 
I’d seen John Scruggs on television multiple times and I’d seen him in person at several functions, though only from a distance.  I’d never actually met him or seen him up close, however, and it was anything but pleasant. 
Of average height, his frame was thin and narrow.  Watching him move was disturbing; he slinked and slithered in a boneless way that reminded me of a ferret.  He had thin, black hair that was slicked back over his bumpy skull and dark, swarthy skin that was stretched tight over his bony face.  I watched as his lips curved into a polite smile, but it never reached his eyes.  They remained cold and empty and black as a lump of coal.  Chills spread down my arms when I looked into them.  I wanted to look away, but I didn’t want to appear rude.
“You must be the lovely Catherine.  Scott’s told me so much about you,” the mayor said as he reached the table.  When I said nothing, only smiled, he continued.  “A pleasure,” he cooed, dipping his head dramatically. 
He took another step closer to me, extending his hand.  The faint hint of smoke drifted to my nostrils and my palms started to sweat.  Again, I didn’t want to be rude, but I really didn’t want to find out what lay inside the mayor’s head.  I really, really didn’t. 
Slowly, hesitantly, I raised my fingers toward his.  Still trapped in his obsidian eyes, I accidentally knocked over my bottle of water in my typical clumsy way.  The mayor reflexively straightened, stepping back to keep from being splashed. 
“I’m so sorry!  I’m such a klutz.”
“Not a problem, Catherine.”  As I mopped up water from the linen tablecloth, I heard someone further into the room calling the mayor’s name. I saw his slimy head jerk in that direction and relief washed over me.  I knew I’d been rescued. 
Obviously very familiar with that voice, the mayor mumbled “excuse me” and was gone in a flash. 
Must’ve been a campaign contributor, I thought snidely. 
I was still trying to shake off the heebie-jeebies when Scott returned.  “What did the mayor have to say?”
“He was just introducing himself when he was called away.”  I left out the “Thank God” that I was feeling.  Instead, I took the napkin onto which Scott had piled a variety of little delicacies.  I was loath to ruin a gourmet five course meal, but as far as I was concerned, the night was already a total loss. 
Once the dinner portion officially began, I worked to keep my