Meg O'Brien - The Last Cheerleader

“Yeah. Well, don’t laugh, okay? I’m thinking of getting mine done, too.”

“You’re kidding. Your teeth are already white enough. You’re beautiful, Nia. Don’t you know that?”

“Not in the teeth,” she said. “They’re more a sort of off-white. How can I ever compete in the date market with off-white teeth?”

“True,” I said in a hopeless tone. “I can see it all now. You as an old maid, living a joyless, loveless life with only your cat and your off-white teeth.”

She groaned. “That so possible, it isn’t even funny.”

I slowed down my pace. “So you think Dan Rucker’s hot?”

“Well, I didn’t say he’s hot. I just think he looks like he could be, under that untidy disguise. What do you think?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t like his attitude.”

“Figures. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, and I doubt he’s gay. Why would you like him?”

“Oh, shut up.”

We worked out silently for a while, until Nia said, “Why do I feel like I’m riding a horse? This seat hurts like hell.”

“You want me to get a recumbent?”

“Really? You’d do that?”

“Anything for you, my treasure trove.”

Nia was so good at her work, I had been thinking of making her a partner. I thought that I’d better wait though, to see how things went with Craig’s book and my income from it. Would Whitmore withdraw his offer now, or still publish it?

My guess was that since the book was finished, he’d go ahead and publish it. But could I still legally represent Craig in the sale? I’d never had a situation like this before, but I knew my contract with Craig gave me the right to sign for him if for some reason he wasn’t able to. For instance, if he’d just been impossible to reach and I had a great offer like the one from Whitmore, I could have signed for Craig rather than risk his losing the contract.

But what about when he was dead?

Damn. I wished now that I’d accepted the seven-figure offer from Whitmore that morning.

“By the way,” Nia said, breaking into my thoughts, “he’s coming back.”

“Who?”

“Detective Rucker. He called a little while ago and said he’d be coming back.”

“To see me?”

“What else? He’s already seen me, and I don’t recall any rings or bended knees.”

“What does he want?” I asked, frowning.

“I don’t know. He just said he had a few questions.”

“But how did he know I’d be here, when I didn’t know it myself until I left El Segundo?”

She grinned. “Maybe you’re star-crossed lovers, meant to be together from the beginning of time. Like, he just knew.”

“Oh, right. More likely he was following me. Or having me followed. I’ll bet he called you from the cell phone in his car, not twenty feet behind me.”

“Wow. He must really want to see you again, if that’s the case,” Nia said, laughing.

I couldn’t help laughing, too. “Hardly. The El Segundo police are ready to arrest me, now that I’ve got bodies falling on the ground all around me. Detective Rucker probably wants to be the first to arrive with handcuffs.”

“Handcuffs, eh? Now there’s a picture worth taking.”

“Oh, stop it!” I took the towel off my shoulder and wiped my face and neck with it. Bending over, I reached for my water bottle on the floor. I was standing with my back to the door, my butt in the air, when I heard from behind me, “No cuffs this time. If that’s what you like, though, I’ll make a note of it.”

I whirled around and saw Detective Dan Rucker with his arms folded and the first smile I’d seen on his face. He hadn’t shaved, but he was dressed in clean jeans and a black leather jacket over a white T-shirt. I almost thought I saw what Nia meant when she’d said yum.

“Whoa, Nelly!” she said now, slipping off the exercise bike. Looking at me pointedly, she said, “I’ll betcha I have some work to do in the other room.”

She disappeared into the outer office, pulling the door shut behind her and leaving me red-faced and with no sharp dialogue as backup.

“Have a seat, Detective,” I said, taking refuge behind the Chinese screen. “I need to change.”

Nia’s teasing rang in my ears, along with the idea she’d put in my head—that Dan Rucker might be interested in me as something other than a suspect. I felt awkward, and my hands shook as I pulled off my workout clothes and wriggled back into my suit. Getting stockings on wasn’t even an issue. I left them on the chair, rolled into a small bundle. Slipping into my heels, I was aware that Rucker could hear every movement I was making, and I felt like a little girl in fourth grade. That little boy behind her? He’d just sent her a note saying, I like you—do you like me? Was he looking at her braids, and were they straight or messed up? Was her dress buttoned at the neck in back? What did he really think of her?

The fact that I cared surprised me, and I wanted to disappear. What on earth was I thinking? There was nothing for it but to go out there with my chin up and confidence streaming from my pores.

“Now, then. What can I do for you?” I asked briskly, leading Rucker into my office. I took a seat at my desk and put my best negotiating face on. Detective Rucker didn’t sit in the chair across from me as expected, however. Instead, he came around beside me and plunked his butt onto the edge of my brand-new-to-me antique desk. He was so close I could smell the oranges again, and I gritted my teeth and resisted the impulse to grab my letter opener and stick him in the thigh with it.

“Nice office,” he said, folding his arms and looking around, taking in the view. “You must be doing well.”

“I do okay. And I worked for it. No one handed it to me.”

He nodded. “You don’t have to be defensive about it. I know.”

“You know?”

“Sure. I’ve been checking up on you. I know how you started out and that you just moved here to the high-rent district a couple of years ago. I know you bought a home in Malibu, too, at about the same time. Pretty nice digs.”

I tried not to show how flustered I was. Standing, I moved away from him and crossed to the other side of the room, where I had a sofa and coffee table. I sat on the sofa, crossing my legs and folding my arms—an automatic defensive posture, I realized suddenly. I never would have done this in front of an editor, as it would have weakened my position.

Carefully, I unfolded my assorted limbs, leaning back against the cushions and forcing my spine to relax.

“I do all right,” I said coolly. “Is there some purpose to this, Detective? Is it going somewhere?”

“I’m just kind of curious about your relationship with Tony Price. It seems you and he went out a lot. You even went on trips together.”

“And?”

“And Price’s murder looks as if it might have been a crime of passion.”

I laughed. “You think I killed Tony in a moment of passion?”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“Well, you’re wrong. If anything, Tony’s death will hurt me, especially in terms of financial loss. The best thing for me would have been if he’d lived to be a hundred.”

“And kept writing till then, of course.”

“All right, what are you getting at?” I snapped. Reaching for the cordless phone on the coffee table, I said calmly, “And is this supposed to be a formal interview? Do I need my lawyer here?”

“Nah, relax. This is off the record. I’ll let you know when you need a lawyer.”

He came over and stood above me, hands in his pockets. “The thing is, if Tony Price wasn’t writing well, if he hit a wall and couldn’t get going again, or if he’d decided to drop you as his agent—”

“Sorry to burst your bubble,” I said, putting the phone down. “None of that is true.”