“That’s not it, and you know it, Anita.”
Anita straightened her back. What did he know? She ached all over. She had barely slept for weeks now. As if she would have any rest knowing Patrick was sleeping just across a thin partition.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Nigel leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I’ve known you since you were twelve. You would see a challenge, work hard, do well, repeat. I’m so proud of everything you’ve done. You’re one of the best students I’ve ever had.” Anita felt tears well up, but no. No, she would not cry in front of him. Not Nigel. “But I never understood how you chose your partners. None of them were good enough for you. I knew they would always let you down, and part of me sensed that you knew it, too.”
That seemed unnecessarily harsh. Her father had been right. She would never make it as a dancer.
Nigel wrapped a warm arm around her shoulders, and despite everything, she leaned into it. “Then I see you with Patrick. And now I know what it was, now I know why you were so bloody stubborn.” He smiled at her and put a comforting, paternal hand on her shoulder. “It frightens you. You worry he is going to leave or maybe that you don’t deserve him, which is bollocks. But when you find a partner like him, you need to commit and trust in him completely. Patrick will never break a promise, never let you down. Let your inhibitions go, and the two of you can be champions.”
Anita barked a laugh to cover her sob.
The junior couple had left finally, and she was immensely grateful for the privacy. “He won’t stay.” Anita examined a rent in the carpet. “This was temporary. He’s just doing me a favor.”
Nigel laughed, so long and so loud that she worried she had broken him. He wiped a stream of tears from his cheek. She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. “You’re a smart woman, love. Don’t be daft. Now tell me, what’s your get up for the show dance?”
“I’m not sure. I gave back the original one. I have a gray one I thought I might wear.”
Nigel winked at her. “Keep it. I have just the thing.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
John Flaherty parked his car again in front of Melanie Templeton’s enormous house. The grounds were quiet, only one white SUV in the driveway today. High-end. Looked like dark-gray leather seats, too. John inspected the tires, the mud packed in the treads. She must have driven somewhere after the recent snowmelt.
He looked up at the house, squinting in the sunlight. The snow had all melted now, except for a deep patch by the woodpile. The house seemed ominously empty, the black shutters on the windows gaping like dead eyes.
A big house for one person.
Katie wanted him home early tonight. She was making her famous lasagna. He wanted nothing more than to sit at their neat little dinette with an open bottle of wine and his fiancée’s home-cooked dinner.
But nope. Instead, here he was.
She didn’t answer at the first knock, nor the second. For his third attempt, he rang the doorbell and heard a terse “I’m coming!” in response.
Melanie looked slightly more composed today than at her last visit, though it would have been obvious to anyone with a pulse that she had been crying. She was, as last time, impeccably dressed in narrow, black ankle-length pants and a silky blue top that hung loosely over her too-thin body.
“Can I help you?”
“Deputy John Flaherty, Mrs. Templeton.” He smiled, and she nodded, clearly irritated.
“I remember who you are.” She over-enunciated each word.
“May I come in?”
She did not answer, simply stepped away and led him this time into the sitting room. She perched in the corner of the dark-gray designer sofa, tucking her legs underneath her. Next to her was a thin glass-topped side table holding her phone and an empty wine glass. “Have a seat.” She gestured him to the beige club chair opposite her seat.
John felt the kiss of the luxurious fabric even through his uniform. “Mrs. Templeton, thank you for speaking with me again. I just have a few more questions for you.”
“I’m really not in the mood, Deputy.” She ran her fingernails through her long hair and sighed dramatically.
“I notice you’re alone today.” She huffed and tapped her phone, looking to see if she had any notifications, no doubt. “Where’s your friend?”
“My friend?”
“Kim Smith, the woman who was here with you last time.”
Melanie sneered. “She’s not my friend.”
