you could, tell you the truth. You can win, Mary. We can win.” He reached across the table and touched his fingertips to the back of her hand; the contact was electric. “I want to win up there, Mary. Before I commit myself to it completely, I gotta know you feel the same way.”
Something in Mary’s breast expanded; hope and confidence combining to form a helium swell of exhilaration, of supreme confidence. “I’ve felt that way for weeks, Mel.” She clutched his hand, barely realizing she’d swept her arm across the table.
He withdrew his hand, but he said, “This isn’t an act to get you all enthused. Not a standard studio con job to milk more money out of you. I need to know you believe me.”
“Con job. Milk more money. Would the studio actually do something like that?”
“Sure. You should be a fly on the wall during one of our staff meetings. It’s a rough business, Mary.”
She stared at him over her kinked straw. “You’ll find out I can be a determined competitor, Mel. Maybe not in other areas of my life, but in this I can fight and win.”
The wind blew and peppered the window with rain. “Well, ballroom dancing’s not exactly fighting,” Mel said, rotating his cup in its circle of dampness.
“Depends on who’s doing the dancing.”
Mel looked at her in a way she’d never seen; his studio mask had been removed to reveal who he really was. And now he was seeing who she was.
“I do think you mean it, Mary.”
Mary said, “Believe it.”
29
Slumping down in the booth, Mary watched Mel stride out the door to return to the studio. She could see him out the window, a graceful figure viewed through a plane dividing inside from outside. It seemed to Mary that always there was a pane of glass between her and the people she tried to love, to really talk to, invisible but solid, keeping her on the outside. But tonight she’d been inside, with Mel. As he hunched his shoulders against the rain and jogged out of sight, lightning illuminated the parking lot like a cosmic flashbulb.
In a daze, Mary slowly sipped the rest of her Pepsi, trying to assess the significance of her conversation with Mel. Her world had changed in a way subtle but profound, a shifting on its axis that altered time and climate.
She continued to think about this as she drove home over rain-slick, iridescent streets, cozy in the car’s scaled-down confines, mesmerized by the thwump! thwump! thwump! of the windshield wipers. The talk with Mel had pleased her immensely, even inspired her.
And scared her. So much was expected of her now.
She was still replaying the conversation in her mind when she worked her key into her apartment door and heard her phone ringing.
After flinging the door open, she tossed her dance shoes into the wing chair and ran to the phone. She lifted the receiver and breathed a hello.
“Mary?” Rene’s faint but rich Southern accent, turning her name to honey.
“Yeah, me.”
“It’s Rene. You outa breath?”
“A little. Phone was ringing when I walked in the door.”
“I drove into Baton Rouge today and got the envelope,” he said. “I wanted to thank you.” He didn’t sound as if he was speaking all the way from New Orleans; he might have been right there in the room with her, his mouth near her ear.
“Is the stuff I sent a help?”
“I think it will be. And the schedule of upcoming competitions is a bonus. There are some names on the dance registration lists I can recall Danielle mentioning from time to time. Friends from the competitions.”
“Maybe if you look up those people, talk to them, you can learn something. You know, one of them might know some little piece of information and not realize it’s important.” She felt slightly foolish, like a character in a crime melodrama urging someone to search for the missing piece of the puzzle. As if in real life it always existed.
But he said, “Could be. Though I’m more interested in finding out if any of these women’s names cross-check with the names of murder victims in various cities, especially dance competition cities.” He was quiet for a moment. “I’m not sure I want to see any of the same names on both lists,” he said. “It’d mean there’s a modern-day Jack the Ripper operating in different cities, and the police haven’t picked up a pattern. That prospect’s beneficial to me in my predicament, but it’s still kinda ghastly to think about.”
“Have you considered giving the police the names of the dancers Danielle mentioned? Maybe they’d get busy and figure out something. They’re supposed to be the experts.”
He snorted. “Some experts! I tell you, Mary, the more I have to do with the police the less I trust them. Just the opposite of us; each time we talk I trust you more. There’s some humanity there, some real concern.”
Flattered, she said, “I feel like we know one another, even though we never laid eyes on each other. I mean, sometimes you get a sense about people, a certainty in your heart. Like a kinda instinct that’s never wrong.”
She thought he might reply that he had the same feeling about her, but he said, “You still planning on entering the Ohio competition in November?”
“Still am. I’m getting in all the practice possible. It’s hard work, but I love it and it’s worth it.”
“Dancing meant so much to Danielle.” His voice was a wistful sigh. “It means a lot to you, too, doesn’t it, Mary?”
“Yes. It didn’t start out that way, but now I’m… I don’t know, it’s like I’m only truly me when I’m dancing. You understand something like that?”
He laughed sadly. “Yeah, I’ve more or less heard it before. Sometimes, Mary, when we talk I feel I’m on the phone with Danielle.”
Not knowing what to think of that, she said nothing. For an eerie instant she saw herself as some kind of medium: Danielle using Mary and phone lines to communicate from the grave.
“Mary? I meant that as a compliment.”
“Well, we can talk anytime you want.”
Again the sigh, weighted with a sad resignation. “No, I’m afraid we shouldn’t do that.”
Mary wondered what he meant. Did he fear getting involved so soon after the death of his wife? Did Mary frighten him in some deep and tragic manner? But she was being ridiculous; my God, they’d never even met. What would Jake think? She felt a thrust of fear, like a spear deep and cold in her midsection. Jake. He was still in her thoughts, a potent figure lurking in the corridors of her mind.
“I can’t let someone innocent like you get involved in this mess,” Rene said. “I haven’t exactly made it a secret I’m determined to find whoever killed Danielle. The police are watching me, and it’d only be a matter of time before they knew I was contacting you. We’ve run enough of a risk already.”
“I’m not afraid of the police. I haven’t done anything wrong, and neither have you.”
He laughed, as if admiring her pluckiness. “It’s not a question of being unafraid. Or being innocent, for that matter. People don’t really know how the police work until something like this happens. A nightmare that spins a web. I know you understand, Mary.”
Do I? “Sure. I guess, if you say so, it makes sense.”
“You really are empathetic.” His gentleman’s voice dripped appreciation, admiration, making her think of magnolias and mint juleps, though she had no idea how a mint julep tasted. “You’re so very compliant.”
“Is that good?” The little girl in her, begging for approval.
“In some women, yes.”
Had Danielle been compliant? “If you need help again, you will call me, won’t you?”
“Of course. I can trust you, Mary.”
“You can, Rene.” It was the first time she’d called him by his first name, been that familiar. “Honestly, you can trust me.”
“When this is over, Mary…”
