Ella Barrick - Quickstep to Murder

“You didn’t-”

“Oh, dear God.” She must have paled because age spots suddenly seemed more noticeable at her temples and the bridge of her nose.

She was taking this mix-up much harder than it seemed to warrant and I wondered what was really on the thumb drive.

“You’ll have to go back,” she announced.

“No way,” I said. “I’m sorry, Sherry, but-”

“Then give me the key and I’ll find someone else.” She held out a peremptory hand, palm up.

“I can’t do that.”

“You mean you won’t.”

I didn’t answer.

The anger in her eyes turned to calculation after only a few seconds. “Okay, what’ll it take?”

“Sorry?” She’d lost me.

“How much? How much to go back to Rafe’s and find my thumb drive? Tonight?” Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a checkbook and waited expectantly.

“You can’t pay me to do it!”

“Certainly I can,” she said calmly. “There’s very little that money won’t buy.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. She studied my face for a moment, and I got a flash of what she must be like in a congressional committee meeting or at the poker table. Favors and back-scratching and bartering were coin of the realm in political circles. She and Uncle Nico would probably get along like Bonnie and Clyde. Come to think of it, she did kind of look like Faye Dunaway.

“Okay, then.” She put the checkbook back. “If the carrot doesn’t do the trick, it’ll have to be the stick.”

I didn’t like where this was going.

“What if I told you there were documents on that thumb drive that would destroy Rafe’s reputation?”

I shifted uneasily. “Like what?”

“Photos. I don’t need to draw you a picture, do I? Sleeping with students isn’t exactly the height of professionalism. And-”

“It happens all the time,” I said, ignoring the pang I felt at this confirmation of Rafe’s routine unfaithfulness, and trying not to envision what those photos looked like. Ew . “You and Rafe are both over twenty-one. Way over,” I added cattily. “I’d think photos like that would do you more damage than Rafe.”

“And,” she continued as if I hadn’t spoken, “evidence of payoffs to ballroom dance judges. That might reflect badly not only on Rafe but on Graysin Motion, don’t you think?”

I did, indeed. “Rafe wouldn’t do that.”

“He was desperate to make this studio successful,” she countered. “And he needed the money.”

“What for?” I knew, of course, that Rafe was looking for money, and it lent a tiny bit of credence to her accusation.

She shrugged. “How would I know? He asked me to float him a loan, but I told him I had a firm rule about not doing business with friends. It’s a surefire way to lose both your friends and your money. I leased him a car instead, so he could sell his Camry.”

Staring at her, I wondered suddenly where Rafe’s new Lexus was. Had the police found it? Maybe not if it was leased under Sherry’s name. I was about to suggest that she locate the Lexus and search it for the flash drive when something stopped me. Maybe my dislike of being blackmailed. I gnawed on my lower lip as Sherry rose.

“Think about it,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll realize that we both have a vested interest in making sure the documents and photos on that thumb drive stay private.” Flicking a minute speck of dust or lint from one of her cuffs, she walked out, her stiletto heels pock-pock ing on the wood floor.

I sat trancelike for ten minutes after she left, my mind whirring with what she’d told me. I was ninety-eight percent sure she was lying about the bribes, but could I risk it? Sliding my desk drawer open, I fingered the key I’d dropped in there. Another visit to Rafe’s condo was probably no big deal. The police undoubtedly had been through the place by now and wouldn’t have a need to return. And whoever was there when I’d dropped in yesterday was long gone, surely. The cold, jagged edges of the key bit into my hand as I closed my fist around it.

The area around Rafe’s condo was busier in the early evening than it had been at midday. People returning from work, I presumed, watching the sporadic trail of cars disappearing into the garage. That would work in my favor, I decided, crossing the street from where I’d parked my Beetle. I’d be one in the crowd. Anonymous. The condominium complex housed young professionals-singles and couples-and people pretty much kept to themselves. I let myself into the building with the key, holding the door open for a fit-looking woman wheeling a bicycle out, then took the elevator to the fourth floor.

As the elevator door closed behind me, I scanned the hallway. No one in sight. Good. I paced rapidly toward Rafe’s door and leaned my ear close, listening for a moment. A shower ran in the next door unit and a phone rang somewhere down the hall, but I didn’t hear anything from within Rafe’s place. Dings from the elevator warned me it was coming up and might spit out someone on this floor. Jabbing the key into the lock, I pushed open the door and quickly closed it behind me, leaning against it. I surveyed the room without moving, noting immediately that the laptop was gone. The cops had taken it, I’d bet. That didn’t bode well for my search for the thumb drive.

I pushed away from the door, intending to start my search around the coffee table where the computer had been, when the slap of bare feet on wood made me whirl to my left.A man stood in the dim hallway, towel wrapped around his waist, water dripping from his hair, knife held confidently in one hand and pointed at my stomach.

I gasped and the key fell from my nerveless hand, clinking on the floor. The man took a step forward, moving into the light, and I recognized him: Tav Acosta.

“What are you doing here?” we said simultaneously.

Tav lowered the knife so it dangled at his side. I thought it was from the knife block in Rafe’s kitchen, but I was too distracted by Tav’s bare torso, glistening with water, to care much. A sprinkling of black hairs covered strong pecs and tapered across defined abs to disappear beneath the towel. His skin was smooth and unblemished, the color of caramel. He looked so much like Rafe that my mouth went dry. My gaze flew to his face, catching the flicker of heat in his eyes before a more wary look came over his face.

Seeming suddenly conscious of his lack of apparel, Tav gripped the towel with one hand-not the one holding the knife-and told me, “Wait here. Do not leave.” He disappeared back down the hall and closed the door to Rafe’s bedroom with a thunk .

I remained by the door for a moment, trying to remember how to breathe, then eased into the living room and retrieved the key from the floor. I wasn’t about to compound my difficulties by getting caught searching the room, so I sank onto the sofa and picked up the dance magazine that had been on the floor. My fingers trembled as I tried to turn the pages and I set the magazine down, clenching my hands into fists. Who knew getting caught sneaking into one’s dead former fiancé’s condo was so unnerving?

Tav was back within four minutes, wet hair combed back, wearing chino shorts and a red-striped golf shirt. His feet were still bare. His expression was stern and the hint of suspicion in his eyes gave me a pang after our enjoyable lunch and conversation. “Talk,” he said.

“It’s not what it looks like,” I said, as he sank onto the chair opposite me. “I-” Trying to come up with a reasonable excuse for being here, I bit my lower lip. I finally decided on the truth; hell, I didn’t owe Sherry Indrebo anything. I spilled out the story of Sherry’s request-demand-and watched Tav’s face. It didn’t reveal much. “So I’m here to find the thumb drive,” I finished.