“The studio?” Mark asked.
“He inherited Rafe’s share.”
“What!” Seeming to realize he’d practically shouted the word, he asked more quietly, “I thought the studio must be all yours now?”
“Nope.” I shrugged like it didn’t matter to me.
“So what will happen?”
“That’s what we need to discuss.”
“Do you think he’ll sell? I’ve got some money saved and I’ve been thinking it might be a good time to go pro.” He screwed and unscrewed the cap on his water bottle as he talked, his words rushed. “I’d have to keep my day job for a while, to make ends meet, but if I bought into the studio-”
“Oh, no,” I said involuntarily. Mark was a good amateur, but he was never going to be a top-flight pro. He didn’t have the pizzazz, the sizzle, the certain sort of something, as my mom would say. And although I liked him okay, I couldn’t see being business partners with him.
“No?” His water bottle crinkled in protest where he gripped it.
“I mean, no, I don’t think Tav is planning to sell,” I improvised. “He said something about wanting to expand his business interests to the States.” I wasn’t exactly lying, just being disingenuous. I crossed my fingers behind my back for good measure.
Mark’s shoulders lost some of their tenseness. “Oh, well, maybe he’ll change his mind if he gets the right offer.”
“Maybe.” I made a mental note to find out from my lawyer or from Tav if there was some way I could have approval over a buyer if Tav decided to sell his share of Graysin Motion. I hadn’t thought about it previously, but I realized now that the wrong partner would make me want to give up the studio entirely. One more thing to worry about. I sighed and strode to the middle of the floor. “Let’s try the waltz again from the reverse corte.”
After Mark left, I spent the afternoon trying to sort out the studio’s finances. I’d already had calls from three students-all well-off women-who said they wouldn’t be returning now that Rafe was dead. “You know, it wasn’t ballroom dance I liked so much as Rafe,” one of them admitted. “I hope they catch the witch who shot him,” she added.
“You think it was a woman?” I asked, curious.
“Bound to be,” the caller said with a short laugh. “A woman or a jealous husband. Husbands always know more than we think they do, don’t they? Oh, I’m sorry-you used to be engaged, didn’t you?”
She knew full well we’d been planning to marry. I managed a civil good-bye and hung up, thinking about her comment. Unfortunately, I didn’t get very far. Literally dozens of women filed through the studio on a weekly basis and who knew how many other women he met on his own time. Danielle had always contended that Rafe was cheating on me long before I caught him with Solange, and I began to realize she was right. Monogamy was not a concept Rafe had ever gotten his head around.
Shutting down my computer, I wandered into the ballroom to turn off the lights and sound system. We didn’t have a class tonight and I was looking forward to a quiet evening at home-take-out sushi for dinner, followed by a DVD. Four Weddings and a Funeral, maybe, or My Best Friend’s Wedding. Something to make me laugh. I was headed toward the outer door to lock it, when it opened and Sherry Indrebo stepped in, svelte in a royal blue suit with satin lapels and turned-back rhinestone-crusted cuffs. A ruffled blouse mostly disguised the crepey skin on her neck. Swanky. I had to admit the woman dressed well.
“There you are,” she said as if I were an hour late for an appointment. “Where’s the thumb drive? And I want to hear all about the new pro. He’d better be in Rafe’s league, and not some second-stringer who’s available because no one else wants him.” She shot me a “you can’t put one over on me” look and walked into my office uninvited.
Reminding myself that I couldn’t afford to lose any more students, then counting to twenty, I followed her. She sat in the chair in front of my desk, legs crossed at the ankles, as comfortable and in charge as if it were her House office. I told her about Vitaly and she was finally impressed.
“Vitaly Voloshin? That’s excellent. I thought he lived in Ukraine or in Russia.”
“He recently moved here,” I said. “Your practice times will be the same as they were with Rafe. I know your schedule is tight.”
“It certainly is,” she said with a thin smile. “Being a public servant is a twenty-four-seven occupation. Some might say prison term. Speaking of which…” She glanced meaningfully at the platinum watch on her bony wrist. “If you could just give me the thumb drive, I’ve got a function to attend tonight. Ruben-my husband-is waiting in the car.”
That explained the suit. “I don’t think I’ve ever met your husband, Sherry. Does he dance?”
She looked pensive. “You know, he did when we were younger. I first got interested in ballroom dance because of him. He was so smooth. But he broke his ankle skiing eight years ago and it didn’t heal right. So now he just works. This dinner tonight is an opportunity to network with some movers and shakers who can help his company land an important military avionics contract. I really can’t complain,” she said with a forced laugh, “because I’m a workaholic, too.”
Anxious to be rid of her and get on with my sushi and movie plans, I reached into my desk drawer and extracted the thumb drive. “Here.” I slid it across the desk to her.
I knew better than to expect profuse thanks, but I wasn’t expecting the rage that tightened the skin around her eyes and drew down the corners of her mouth. “Are you kidding? Is this a joke? This isn’t my thumb drive! Mine is red. I distinctly remember telling you it was red.”
“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.”