“Yes, Mrs. Templeton.” He pasted on a patient smile. “But it’s my job to conduct this investigation, and I thought I might avail myself of the opportunity to speak to Miss Smith while I’m already here.”
Melanie rolled her eyes again and dropped dramatically and inelegantly into the other bar stool, nearly missing the edge. He was simultaneously glad and bereft that she hadn’t fallen straight onto her ass.
Kim eyed her friend, but not with concern. “I don’t think this is a good time, Deputy,” Kim clipped, her dark-brown eyes staring straight at him. “I need to help my friend to bed.”
Sure she did. “Of course. We’ll be in touch.”
Kim nodded. Melanie would have as well, but she had lain her cheek on the cold marble of the kitchen island. She had the aura of someone who had mixed her medications. He made a note to check with the pharmacy for prescription information.
John took down their phone numbers, and Kim moved toward Melanie in an overly solicitous manner. “I’ll be fine here, Deputy,” she said pointedly. “Safe drive.”
He glanced around surreptitiously as he moved toward the door. Where was the husband? He saw a glass of water, condensation pooling on its sides, on a coaster in the living room between the kitchen and foyer. There was a black wool woman’s coat hanging next to his on the coat rack. He didn’t know much about women’s fashion, but took note of the brand, color, size.
He walked back out to his cruiser, again looking around, trying to be casual. The recent snow had melted with the spring thaw that had closely followed. He didn’t see anything overtly suspicious, but he wasn’t really sure what he was looking for. Just a vibe. He was a man who definitely believed in vibes.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“How long do you think this will take?” Anita frowned at the contractor who was measuring her door. He was a squat, grumpy little man with a significant plumber’s crack that she was determined not to see.
“Could he be more of a cartoon?” Patrick murmured behind her.
She swatted at him. The door repair was taking up far too much valuable time. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
His lips tilted, and that goddamn dimple winked at her. “I’m all yours, Anita.”
The back of her neck prickled at his words.
She turned back to the contractor and placed her hands on her hips. “Mr. Erickson, do you know about how long this will take?”
The little man sighed, dusting off his Phillies cap and then settling it again atop his tangle of grayish-brown hair. “Well, now, Ms. Goodman. Not too long, I should say. I have the piece of glass in my truck. Should be done before tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
She had to leave for Harrisburg in two days to ensure she would be there in time for the youth competition on Friday. If just one goddamn thing could go according to plan—
“Yup, not too long, not too long.” Mr. Erickson adjusted the beltline of his pants.
The strains of Frank Sinatra’s “Witchcraft” suddenly pealed from across the studio. Anita’s stomach dropped, and she wasted no time running for her cell phone.
“Hi, Maria.” It was not wise to keep Maria St. John waiting. A petite and efficient woman, she had run the Keystone competition for the past three years. The open secret in theDancesport world was: What Maria St. John giveth, she can take away. And she had given Anita a lot in the last few weeks.
“Anita!” Maria drawled, her voice sounding tinny. Anita turned away from Patrick, who was following her and clearly determined to drive her even farther into insanity, and sank into her desk chair. “How are you? How’s Patrick? Good Lord, we were all devastated when he quit. I can’t quite believe he’s out of retirement just to dance with you, but thank goodness, right?”
“Yes, well, thank you for making the exception.” Anita wished she had a fresh cup of coffee. Or a large glass of wine. Or maybe earplugs.
“Of course!” Maria’s voice rose three octaves. “ANYthing for you, darling.”
“Is there something I can do for you, Maria?”
“Well, now—” the woman’s voice lowered in a conspiratorial manner and Anita frantically pushed the volume button on her phone “—I’m hoping you and that handsome fellow can help me with a little problem I have.”
Here it comes.Anita tried to prepare herself without breathing into the phone like a serial killer.“Sure, of course. Whatever we can do.” Patrick’s gaze burned into her. Maybe she should just climb underneath her desk and hide like a six-year-old.
“Wonderful! Well, you know we have dear Nikita’s tribute scheduled, and her assistant Chris was supposed to coordinate with Robbie and Talia to do a special showcase dance for it, but now Chris has completely dropped off the face of the earth, Robbie and Talia got booked in Vegas, and I need someone to dance the showcase.”
Anita gripped the phone with white knuckles, willing herself not to drop it, not to start crying, not to scream, “Are you batshit crazy?!?!” All of which she would rather do. Instead, she breathed. 2-3-4-and-1. 2-3-4-and-1.
“Anita? Anita dear? Did you hear me?”
