I crinkled my brow. “You mean we find the real murderer?”
“In the best of all possible worlds. Failing that, we make sure they see the value in focusing on someone else. Who would you like to see go down for it?”
His tone was casual, but the look in his eyes gave me pause. Was it possible he was talking about framing someone else for the murder? Surely not. Some of the rumors and family whispers I’d heard about Uncle Nico popped into my head and I decided to play it cautiously. Even though part of me longed to give him Solange’s name, I said, “The only person I want to have arrested is the real murderer.”
Chuckling, Drake poured the last of the champagne into his glass and downed it. “Mr. Papadakis told me you were a sweet girl-‘not a vicious bone in her body,’ he said. Don’t worry, Stacy. When Mr. Papadakis wants something fixed, it gets fixed.” He settled back against the seat, arms spread across the top of it, an inscrutable smile on his face. If Mona Lisa had been a bear, this is what she’d have looked like.
Calls to Maurice and Mom thanked them for their part in springing me from Lissy’s clutches and let them know I was home again. A shower washed the imaginary stink of the police department off me, and two aspirin put a dent in the champagne headache. In my steamy little bathroom, I flipped my head over to blow-dry my long, blond hair and thought about Rafe’s murder, Tav’s appearance, and Phineas Drake’s jovial assurances. Even though all I wanted to do was concentrate on my dancing, the students, and the upcoming Capitol Festival, I reluctantly accepted the fact that I was going to have to see if I could figure out who killed Rafe. If I didn’t, either I was going to end up in prison (not an acceptable outcome), or some random bystander set up by Uncle Nico and his legal eagle was going to take the fall (also unacceptable, especially if it was someone I liked, such as Maurice or one of my students).
I stood, flinging my hair back, and watched in the foggy mirror as it settled in a golden cloud on my shoulders. I decided to leave it loose and quickly donned a pair of striped capris and a slim-fitting teal shirt that made the most of my assets. I’d never been much of one for mystery novels or TV cop shows, but it seemed to me like I should start my investigation by talking to a few people: Taryn Hall and/or her dad, Tav Acosta, and Solange for starters. As I was mentally flipping a coin to decide who to start with, the phone rang.
“Have you got it?” Sherry Indrebo asked when I said hello.
I started guiltily. So much had happened, I’d completely forgotten about returning the thumb drive to Sherry.
“Sorry I didn’t get back to you,” I said. “Yes, I’ve got it.”
Her sigh of relief wafted through the phone. “Thank goodness. Look, I’m tied up today, but I’ll stop by this evening to get it from you.” Her tone grew sharper. “We also need to talk about my partner situation. I already gave Rafe a check for the Capitol Festival and I expect you to find me an equally accomplished partner to compete with. And no excuses about it being too last minute.”
“I already lined someone up,” I said, thinking that her gratitude hadn’t lasted long.
When she hung up, I started to dial Taryn Hall’s number, hoping to catch the girl while her parents were still at work, but put the phone down before it connected. I’d probably learn more from her in person. I dug her address out of our computer files, Mapquested it, and was on the road within ten minutes.
The Halls’ house wasn’t far-a few miles south on Route 1 on the other side of I-495. Probably built in the 1950s or ’60s, the house had pale blue aluminum siding, small windows, and a beautifully landscaped yard brimming with salmon-, white- and fuchsia-colored azaleas and spring bulbs by the dozen. Leaving my car at the curb, I strode up the pebbled walkway and knocked on the front door.
Taryn answered so quickly she must have been standing in the front hall. “I’ve been waiting-Oh! Miss Stacy.” She peered over my shoulder. “What-? I mean, I-What are you doing here?”
“I thought we should talk,” I said, noting the purse slung over her shoulder and her flustered manner. Clearly, she was on her way out and I was an inconvenience. “Were you expecting someone?”
“No. No! Well, I mean, yes. Just Sawyer.”
“May I come in?”
“No. That is-My dad doesn’t let me have anyone over when he’s not home,” she said, running her hand through her black hair. It fell silkily to the pale shoulders bared by layered cotton camis in lime and lavender. “This isn’t really a good-”
“Why don’t you come out, then?” I interrupted her. With my nascent detecting skill I had figured out this wasn’t a good time, but it struck me that talking to her while she was a bit off-balance might be a good thing.
“Oh. Okay.” She joined me on the concrete stoop and closed the door.
“You heard about Rafe?”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “Oh, yes. It’s just horrible. And now my dad says I can’t come back to the studio.”
“Because Rafe was murdered there or because of the pregnancy?”
Her brown eyes widened until she looked like a startled fawn. “I’m not-How did you know?”
“Your father came by the studio,” I said. “Didn’t he tell you?”
She shook her head.
“He seemed to think Rafe was the father.” I eyed her sternly. “I find that hard to believe, Taryn.”
“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” the girl said in a trembling voice. “He was so nice to me. I didn’t mean to tell-It just came out and my dad was so mad. And-” Sobs overpowered her words. Not that it made much difference-I couldn’t piece together her half sentences into a sensible narrative.
Questions sparked by her incoherence tumbled in my head. She didn’t mean to have sex? To get pregnant? To tell her parents she was expecting? Rafe was nice to her and so they had sex? She told Rafe something-that she was having a baby?-and he was nice to her? The only part that made sense was her dad’s anger, and I already knew about that. Before I could probe further, a car door slammed, jerking both our heads toward the street.
Sawyer Iverson strode toward us, baggy jeans riding low on his pelvic bones, cheap black T-shirt outlining his thin frame, hair gelled and spiky. Not exactly the look he sported on the dance floor. “Whassup?” he asked as he drew nearer. His gaze was on Taryn, who had jumped to her feet at his approach. “How’re you doing?”
“Okay,” Taryn whispered. Their gazes met and something passed between them.
“Hi, Sawyer,” I said, wondering what was going on.
“Uh, hi, Miss Stacy.” He shuffled his feet, glanced at me for a second, then turned his gaze back to Taryn’s flushed face.
“She knows,” Taryn said, “about-”
“What! You told her?”
“About the
Taryn’s emphasis on the last word shut Sawyer up and I again wondered what I was missing. Somehow, they were carrying on a whole conversation I wasn’t in on, despite standing practically between them.
“My dad told her.”
“When he came to beat up Rafe,” I added helpfully.
Sawyer paled. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry, Taryn.” He reached for her hand and held it tightly. “It’s all because-Does he have a good lawyer?”
Taryn wrinkled her brow; then understanding hit her and she pulled her hand away. “My dad didn’t kill Rafe!”
Sawyer looked from her to me. “I thought you said-”
“Mr. Hall came yesterday morning, after Rafe was already dead. He was looking for Rafe, having somehow gotten the idea that Rafe was the father of Taryn’s baby.” I looked pointedly from Sawyer to Taryn and back again, having my own thoughts about who had fathered the baby.
Neither teen met my eyes. Taryn inched closer to Sawyer, who threw a comforting arm around her shoulders. “We’ve gotta go,” he told me. “C’mon, Taryn, or we’ll be late.”
With an apologetic look at me, Taryn let Sawyer steer her toward his Honda Accord. I watched as he opened the door for her-not too many of the grown men I knew bothered with that courtesy-and clunked it shut once she had pulled her legs in. I had a vague feeling that I should stop them, but I had no right. And no real reason, either. Maybe they were meeting friends at Starbucks or going to a movie. Just because the tension between them was tighter than a piano wire didn’t mean anything ominous. I hoped.
