I looked behind me to make sure we were alone. “Warren Straitham is having an affair.”
“Which is no business of yours,” Steve said, walking away from me.
“You knew?” I yelled at his backside as he rounded the corner. “Son of a bitch!”
* * *
Marietta filled the three wine glasses on Gram’s dining room table with the Chablis we bought on the way home—her contribution to dinner. Then she sat back and aimed a frown at me as I walked in with flatware and napkins.
“He already knew?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“You’re absolutely sure. That lie-dar of yours isn’t just having an off day?”
“No, Mother.” There wasn’t the slightest glimmer of surprise. Steve definitely knew and he wasn’t the least bit pleased that I knew.
She sniffed her wine glass. “Well, that Shannon can’t keep her mouth shut.”
I doubted that Steve’s sources had been the same as my mother’s, but I had no intention of debating the point with her.
All I wanted to know was why he kept trying to call off the dogs every time I mentioned Dr. Straitham.
Not that I’d refer to myself as a dog here, but I intended to keep sniffing around Warren Straitham like a bloodhound until Steve gave me a good reason not to.
I pointed at her with a butter knife. “But we will keep our mouths shut. No sharing this with Gram or Aunt Alice, Barry Ferris, or anyone.”
“Charmaine, you want me to keep secrets from my own mother?”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Gram said, standing in the dining room doorway. “What’s going on?”
Marietta shrugged. “I guess I’m sworn to secrecy.”
Gram planted her hands on her hips. “You know I’ll find out sooner or later. You might as well tell me.”
Not a chance. “When’s dinner?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Not for a few minutes.” Her mouth puckered. “So that’s it. You’re really not going to tell me?”
“Sorry, Gram. It’s official deputy coroner business.” Sort of.
My grandmother heaved a sigh, sounding as deflated as my first chocolate soufflé. “You’re no fun.”
“Sure I am. In fact, I’m so much fun I’m taking you out tonight.”
She blinked. “Huh? Where?”
“Gram, it’s Tango Tuesday. Need I say more? Now, I need to change.” I kissed her on the cheek and made a break for the stairs while the getting was good.
“Change into what?” she called after me.
A dog who was going to have her day.
Chapter Thirteen
Twenty minutes after Marietta drove off on a date with Barry Ferris, I handed my grandmother a battle-scarred tube of lipstick that I probably played dress-up with back in the second grade.
She wrinkled her nose. “Too pink.” She handed it back to me. “What do you think of Barry?”
“I don’t.” And if I ever wanted to sleep for more than three hours straight, the less I thought of him showing up on our doorstep like my mother’s prom date, the better.
I searched the contents of Gram’s bathroom drawer for a shade a bit more sophisticated than bubble gum pink.
“He’s a very nice man,” Gram said.
“Too nice.”
She sighed. “I hope your mother knows what she’s doing.”
So did I.
I found a silver tube labeled Cherry Bliss. “Try this one.”
“Oooh, no. Too red. Your grandfather said it made me look like I should be standing on a street corner in fishnet stockings and platform shoes.”
Cherry Bliss sounded like she’d know how to strut her stuff, but my eighty-year-old grandmother was more of the support hose type.
She pushed back a curl of peachy spun sugar from her forehead and hit it with a shot of Aqua Net. “What do I have to get all dolled up for anyway? It’s Tango Tuesday, not ballroom dancing at the Waldorf.”
“You never know who might ask you to dance.”
Especially since this dance class seemed to be where several of the senior set had been making their love connections.
She stared at my reflection in the mirror. “The women will outnumber the men at least five to one. If I dance with anyone, it will be with you.”
“I don’t know how to tango.”
“Then you’re damned well going to learn. I’m not being dragged to this wingding for nothing.”
“Fine.” As a bonus I’d burn a few calories.
I dug through the sample case my mother had left in the bathroom and inspected two likely lipstick prospects. “Bronze Goddess or Tempestuous Tan?”
I got another nose wrinkle. “Tempestuous Tan? Is your mother coming up with these names?”
I doubted that the brain trust at Glorious Organics wanted to hear anything from Marietta unless she was hawking their cosmetic line in front of a camera. “That job probably belongs to some twenty-year-old in the marketing department.” I held the two tubes of lipstick in front of my grandmother. “So, what’ll it be because I want my date to have some hot looking lips.”
“Bronze Goddess,” she said with a sigh of resignation.
A minute later, Gram turned to me and smacked her bronze glossy lips. “So, am I hot enough for you?”
“Yep. Let’s roll.”
* * *
If the senior center parking lot was any indication, Tango Tuesday was a more popular draw than Friday night bingo. Since there wasn’t a parking spot larger than a postage stamp, I dropped Gram off at the door, then parked her Honda Pilot half a block away.
The breeze wafting in from Merritt Bay took the edge off the heat radiating from the asphalt under my feet. Wind gusts played havoc with my calf-length, blue gauze skirt, blowing it skyward a la Marilyn Monroe cooling her jets in The Seven Year Itch. Only I was no Marilyn and the male ogling me was a twelve-year-old on a ten-speed who probably thought he was going to get to see something from Victoria’s Secret.
“Think again, kid,” I muttered, gathering a fistful of the sheer material. My tighty whities were from the local Walmart.
I scanned the side street behind the senior center parking lot and spotted Steve’s sterling gray F150 parked in the shade of a sprawling hemlock. He either hadn’t arrived early enough to claim a good parking space, or he’d wanted to park where his pickup wouldn’t be obvious from the main road. I suspected the latter.
I pulled the senior center door open and entered the activity room where I was immediately glad-handed by Arlene Koker.
“Charmaine, honey,” the activity director said with a broad smile as she enfolded my hand in hers, “I’m so happy that you could join us.”
Arlene looked happy, too. Warm, sincere—no pings in the fake smile department, but I was a little put off by how happy she was to see me. If I’d come to celebrate her daughter’s wedding, this measure of sheer joy would be appropriate. For a dance at the senior center? Not so much.
And she didn’t let go of my hand.
I didn’t know what was up with her, but Arlene was setting off my radar.
“I wouldn’t have missed it.” Truly. “Not after hearing about all the fun.”
She turned to Gladys, one of my grandmother’s friends, standing on the opposite side of the receiving line. “Look who’s here!”
Gladys squinted at me through thick glasses that magnified her moss green eyes and shook my hand with her paper dry one. “Hello, dear.”
I wasn’t sure that she recognized me. “It’s Charmaine.”
Gladys’ squint sharpened. “I’m old, not blind. I know who you are.”
Okay. Another blip registered on my weirdometer. I’d either come to the right place or this was going to be a very long, strange night.
“We’re very glad you’re here,” Arlene chirped, whisking me to the other side of the large activity room where half the crowd was sitting in metal folding chairs. “Punch and cookies are over there.”
So
were Steve and my grandmother, chatting with Nell Neary by the punch bowl. Of the three of them, only Steve glanced my way. Even from thirty feet away I could tell I wasn’t going to get anything resembling an Arlene-level reception.
“We’re going to get started soon,” Arlene said. “Have fun!”
My gaze locked with Steve’s. “I intend to.”
The gentle sway of my gauze skirt lent a carefree edge to my steps as I crossed the room. At least that’s what I hoped, because the man I was approaching looked like a gunslinger itching for a fight, and I needed all the edge I could get.
I cranked up the wattage of my smile. “Fancy meeting you here!”
Steve turned to Gram. “Excuse me for a minute.”
She narrowed her gaze at me. No doubt her own internal radar had sensed Steve’s tension.
I was going to have to come up with some pretty fancy footwork if she demanded some answers later. But since I had six feet of pissed off male approaching me, that wasn’t my immediate concern.
He pushed me by the elbow to an unoccupied corner. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m here with my grandmother, who actually is a registered member of the senior center and enjoys coming to these dance classes.” I shrugged out of his grasp and folded my arms across my midsection. “Which senior are you here with?”
“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“That goes both ways, pal.”
“Dammit, Char. What are you doing?”
I smiled sweetly. “I’m just here with my grandmother for Tango Tuesday.”
He glowered at me.
Just as I was about to suggest we call a truce and get some punch, a screech of feedback pierced my ears. Then, Suzy Harte tapped on the microphone at a raised platform at the opposite end of the floor.
I knew Suzy taught aerobics here at the center, but I hadn’t expected to see her at a dance class. Despite what Arlene had said, I hadn’t really expected to see Steve here either. It made me wonder what other surprises this night had in store.
“Okay, everyone. Let’s get started.” Suzy pointed to one of the Gray Ladies sitting next to a CD player, cueing the music. “Take your partners.”
I looked for my grandmother where I’d left her by the punchbowl. I saw Nell but no Gram.
Steve grabbed my hand. “Come on,” he said with as much enthusiasm as Little Dog when Steve blackmailed him into asking me to dance in the ninth grade.
“But—”
The sensuous rhythm washing over us through the speakers mounted in the corners of the activity room left little doubt about the type of dance featured tonight.
“I don’t know how to tango,” I said, as he pulled me toward the platform. “I’m just here because—”
“Your grandmother wanted to come. Yeah, tell that story walking.”
“For everyone who wasn’t here last time,” Suzy announced at the microphone, “Jake and I are going to show you the moves, so pay close attention.”
The only move I wanted to make was to the nearest exit.
Standing in the small crowd, several feet away from Jayne and Ernie, Steve pulled my hand down to his side, turning me to face him. “Are you paying close attention?” he asked, his eyes like pools of molten chocolate.
I was now.
“Men, or ladies,” Suzy said, deferring to the female majority of the twenty couples standing in the center of the room, “as you take your partner, remember, the tango is all about the game of seduction.”
That elicited some titters from most of the females on the dance floor.
Suzy grinned impishly. “Some of you will just have to use your imagination.”
She turned her attention to Jake, the brown-haired, blue-eyed, stud muffin assistant activity director, who taught several exercise classes at the center. From everything Gram had told me about him, attendance had doubled since he joined the staff.
Suzy locked gazes with him, touching his shoulder with the tips of her fingers. Stepping to the strains of the violins carrying the melody, they moved in a circle. “The seduction game begins in the eyes. You want your torso upright and relaxed.”
Relaxed, right.
“We don’t have to do this,” I said, inching away from Steve.
He tightened his grip on my hand. “Trust me, you’re doing it.”
Suzy stepped so close to Jake they were almost nose to nose. “The man’s right hand is placed at the middle of his partner’s back.” Suzy paused for Jake to demonstrate, then turned to the rest of us. “So, face your partner and men, place your hand at the middle of her back.”
Fixed on my gaze, Steve seared the center of my back with his palm.
“Now take her right hand with your left.”
I lifted my right hand and he pressed his palm to mine.
It felt firm, slightly rough, like a working man’s hand. A heady rush reminded me that everything else I felt was strictly off-limits.
“Ladies,” Suzy said, “place your left hand on his right shoulder.”
My fingertips touched a rope of sinewy muscle in residence under the white cotton of his polo shirt.
“This, ladies and gentlemen, is where the two bodies become one.”
Holy cannoli! No wonder Clark’s Pharmacy couldn’t keep the Viagra in stock.
I swallowed and shifted my gaze to his top button.
“What are you so nervous for?” Steve asked.
“Who said I’m nervous?”
“Your hand is sweaty.”
I wiped it on my skirt. “It’s hot in here.”
“I hadn’t noticed.” He reclaimed my hand and pulled me closer.
And it was getting hotter.
“Now, we’re going to add the steps,” Suzy announced. “Watch as Jake moves back with his right foot and I move forward with my left, then he steps left and I step right.”
Suzy and the stud muffin twice ran through a full step-by-step demo while she rattled off a string of instructions that made as much sense as fat-free butter to my overheated brain.
She smiled our direction. “See how easy that is?”
“Easy!” I pushed away from Steve. This dance lesson had disaster written all over it. “I don’t think so.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me close. “You came here to tango. Let’s tango.”
“Actually, my grandmother came here to tango. I’m more like her date.”
A flicker of a smile betrayed his amusement. “Uh huh.”
“And I promised I’d dance with her.”
“Then you’d better learn how first.”
Damn. He wasn’t giving me an inch toward an escape route.
“Okay, let’s try those first basic steps,” Suzy announced, stepping into the crowd. “Men, back with your right foot. Ladies, forward with your left.”
I stepped on Steve’s instep with the toe of my blue canvas espadrille when I noticed Sylvia Jeppesen and Wally Deford dancing near the platform. “Sorry.”
“Men, step left, and ladies, step right.”
I tried to focus on my feet, but my brain was too busy doing a mental roll call. Ernie, Jayne, Sylvia and Nell—each a surviving family member of a victim on my list—were all present and accounted for. Considering Steve had recently developed an interest in the tango, that couldn’t be a coincidence.
“You’re supposed to be looking at me, not your feet,” Steve muttered.
“Men,” Suzy’s voice was getting closer, “forward with the right foot. Ladies, step back with your left.”
I heard ‘right foot’ and did a face plant in his chest. “If I look at you, I swear I’ll step on your foot again.”
“Men, forward with the left foot, and ladies, back with your right.”
I hesitated, my gray matter on overload.
“Your right,” he said, tapping the toe of my espadrille with his brown leather loafer. “And don’t worry about stepping on my foot. You’re not that heavy.”
My one hundred sixt
y-four pounds begged to differ. “Gee, thanks.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
I met Suzy’s gaze as she wove her way to us. She nodded in recognition.
“Now, feet together and let’s try that again,” she yelled over the music, then placed her hand on my shoulder, beaming like I was her prized pupil. “So glad you can make it. How’s it going with you two?”
“Swell,” I said flatly.
Steve’s lips curled into an easy smile. “She’s new.”
“So were you last week.” Suzy gave me a pat as if to infuse encouragement into me. “Try it again. You’ll catch on.”
She stepped behind me. “Okay, men, right foot back. Ladies, left foot forward.”
I locked on his gaze. “You were here last week?” Of course, I already knew the answer, but I wanted to watch him dance around the question.
“Good eye contact, Charmaine,” Suzy said. “That’s key with every step you take.”
Yes, it was.
“Men, step left. Ladies, step right.”
Steve’s pupils constricted as if he were studying me. “You’re not looking at your feet.”
“And you’re not answering the question.”
“Men, forward with the right foot. Ladies, back with your left.”
His lips compressed for a fraction of a second. “Do you always talk when you dance?”
“Men, forward with the left foot,” Suzy shouted like a drill instructor as she stepped to my left. “Ladies, back with the right.”
“I do when I’m interested in what the other person has to say.”
“Ah.” The creases at the corners of his eyes crinkled as he held my gaze.
Other than the fact that he found my attempt to read him entertaining, he gave away nothing. Dammit.
“And feet together.” Suzy clapped. “You’ve got it.”
Some basic dance steps—not exactly the it I’d been going for.
“Okay,” Suzy announced in a brisk pace back to the platform, “let’s add the rest of the steps.”
Let’s not.
I was doing little more than running in circles, which might have helped burn off a few bites of pie, but wasn’t telling me much that I didn’t already know.
I pushed away and fanned myself with my hand. “It’s really hot in here.”
Wendy Delaney - Working Stiffs 01 - Trudy, Madly, Deeply Page 12
