The Last Cheerleader. Meg O'Brien

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.”

      I stood again and walked over to the windows, giving him my back while studying the traffic below. It was a negotiating technique, one I often used to gain time and balance. I noted that the freeways were jammed with commuters winding their way from one end of the city to the other. It was late June, and I knew it was hot out there. I could picture the drivers without air-conditioning loosening their ties and belts, or the buttons on their blouses. Almost everyone would be swilling down bottled water so they wouldn’t dehydrate on their three-hour commutes home to where the rents were reasonable.

      I’d probably end up as one of them, now that Craig was gone, too. Even if Lost Legacy got published and I received my fifteen percent commission on it, that wouldn’t last long after taxes and my current expenses. And Craig wouldn’t be around to finish Under Covers.

      “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I said finally, turning back to Rucker. “I’ve lost two valuable authors and an ex-husband I actually still liked. This hasn’t been a red-letter day for me. If you’re arresting me, just say so. I’ll call my lawyer. If you’re not arresting me, this is over. Now.”

      His eyes narrowed. “You’re a pretty tough cookie, aren’t you?”

      “I can handle myself,” I said.

      I went back into the workout room, picked up my purse and took out my keys. “Especially with men like you.”

      Damn, Mary Beth. I bit my lip. Had that sounded like the tough message I’d meant to send—or a challenge?

      When I turned back he was standing only a few feet behind me. “I have no doubt of that,” he said.

      I thought a minute, then made a rapid decision.

      “Look,” I said, glancing at my watch, “I have to eat dinner. Would you like to join me?”

      The eyes widened. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

      “Absolutely not.” I gave my laugh the tiniest bit of a scornful edge. “Get hold of yourself. I just thought that if you insist on pummeling me with questions, it might be better if we do it where I don’t feel like I’m going to be thrown in a cell at a moment’s notice. Tony and Arnold were important to me. So was Craig. I’d like to help find their killer.”

      “Uh…okay,” he said, his tone sounding suspicious. “Where would you like to go?”

      “My house,” I said, handing him my personal card with the address and cell-phone number on it. Which, come to think of it, he probably already had, since he knew so much about me.

      “Wow,” he said, “gold-plated lettering for a gold-plated address. Malibu, California…home of the stars.”

      I sighed irritably. “Are you going to hold that against me?”

      “Not at all. The view СКАЧАТЬ