“Some breaks can’t be mended,” Olivia said. “Ryan has a good side, and that’s what you saw, although you have to admit he was self-absorbed, too. The real problem is he tends to lose interest in his ideas once they demand too much time and administrative work. He loves to do surgery, and surgery is where he shines. He seemed to be making an effort to be less controlling because he wants me to move back to Baltimore and take care of all the stuff he hates to do. If I’m going to oversee a business, I’d much rather it be mine.”
“I can understand that,” Del said as a waiter arrived to refill their coffee cups. They both shook their heads when he asked if they wanted dessert. When the waiter was out of earshot, Del said, “I do think there was more to it. I think he misses you, and who wouldn’t? Maybe you need to think about his offer for a while.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Teasing, Olivia narrowed her eyes at him. “Or wait, I get it. You’ve been listening to Charlene Critch, and you’ve decided I’ve brought too much sugar into your life.”
“Or maybe not enough,” Del said with a lopsided grin.
Olivia glanced at her watch and said reluctantly, “I’ve got to run. My mom’s rumba lesson begins in fifteen minutes.” But she stayed put and tilted her head at Del. “You’ve pulled back,” she said. “That’s your right, of course, only . . .” She sipped her coffee, took a deep breath, and asked, “Is Ryan the whole reason, or is there more?”
Del stared down into his coffee cup, out the window, anywhere but in her direction.
“You are free not to answer, of course,” Olivia said. “Only, could you give me a verbal hint whether you plan to answer in the next three minutes or not? It’s just that Mom’s rumba lesson waits for no one, not even her one precious daughter.”
Del’s smile was fleeting. “You have a right to know, though I’d appreciate your keeping this between us. In a sense, it’s about Ryan, but more about you. I mean you in relation to Ryan,” he added when he saw the stricken expression on Olivia’s face. “My marriage . . . Livie, I know it isn’t fair to make this comparison, but I can’t help it. My marriage ended because my wife left me for her ex-husband.”
“Oh, Del, you—”
“Don’t really want to talk about it right now,” Del said. In a softer tone, he added, “If I’m not mistaken, it’s time to rumba.”
An unusual number of well-to-do families had settled in and around Chatterley Heights, which made the town a destination for hungry artists of all types, especially those willing and able to teach. Olivia’s mother, Ellie, took full advantage of the opportunities available. On Monday evenings, she would be at her Latin dancing lesson.
The Chatterley Heights Dance Studio occupied a small building located southeast of the town square. A sister team of seamstresses had occupied the building until the early 1960s. The sisters died long before Olivia was born, but her mother had often described the elegant ball gowns and bridal trousseaus she’d admired in the large display window. Ellie had been a little girl in the fifties, but she remembered in vivid detail the delicate embroidery and tiny beads hand-stitched to satin gowns. Ellie had called it sweet karma that, after standing empty for years, the building was renovated for a dance studio. Grateful for the opportunity, underemployed dance teachers came regularly from Baltimore and DC to offer lessons in everything from hip-hop to square dancing.
Through the studio’s front window, Olivia could see the dance floor, which covered what used to be the store’s entire sales area. The dimmed lights left the edges of the room in near darkness. Her mother appeared to be alone on the dance floor, practicing some steps. Behind her, a light shone through a doorway, which Olivia guessed was the instructor’s office. If she hurried, maybe she could catch a word with her mother alone.
Olivia stepped inside the building and felt a rush of cool, dry air. Ellie was across the room perfecting a spin that sent her long, gray hair flying out from her back. In contrast with her usual preference for loose, flowing outfits, Ellie wore a red knit dress that hugged her petite figure. A double row of short ruffles flounced around her knees as she executed a quick twisting movement.
Ellie caught sight of Olivia and waved. She held up one finger to say she’d be back in a minute and disappeared into the office. A moment later, music erupted from speakers around the dance floor, and Ellie emerged in the arms of one of the most gorgeous men Olivia had ever seen. He could have been anywhere from thirty to sixty. His tall, lean, perfectly controlled body swayed like silk in the wind, and he possessed a luxurious shock of white-streaked black hair that set off a chiseled face. He looked down at Ellie, who barely reached his shoulders, and smiled in a way that made Olivia feel squeamish.
“Quite a dancer, isn’t he?”
Olivia spun around to find her stepfather, Allan Meyers, standing behind her in the shadows. Allan’s broad, friendly face tightened as he watched his wife twirl away from her instructor, then back into the crook of his arm.
“Name’s Raoul, of course,” Allan said. “Doesn’t seem to need a last name.”
“Something tells me you’re not here for a rumba lesson,” Olivia said.
Allan laughed. “Your mother sang this fellow’s praises so much, I thought I’d have a look-see for myself. Not that I’m worried, mind you.”
“No reason you should be.”
With his eyes glued to Ellie’s movements, Allan asked, “You thinking about rumba lessons, too? You might want to step on it. This guy will be gone in two weeks.” With a sheepish grin, he added, “Not that I’m counting the days.”
The rumba came to an end, and Ellie danced over to them, swaying her hips in a way no daughter should have to witness. Allan handed Ellie a bottle of water from which she took a long swig. “I have a five-minute break while Raoul selects more music. And I’m afraid Allan and I have to leave right after the lesson. We have reservations for a romantic dinner at that new restaurant, Bon Vivant. Allan planned the whole thing.” Ellie flashed a radiant smile at her husband.
Olivia decided not to mention that she’d just had dinner with Del at Bon Vivant. Her mother already dropped enough hints about the two of them. Living in the city had given Olivia a sense of personal privacy that had evaporated about two minutes after she’d moved back to Chatterley Heights.
Ellie took another swallow of water and handed the bottle back to Allan. “Now Livie, on the phone you said you wanted to know about the Critches? I’m afraid I rather lost track of them after they left Chatterley Heights for DC, but one hears things.”
“I think Charlene Critch is hiding something,” Olivia said. “She knows who that prowler was, the one I found in her store. I’m sure of it. Del suspects her brother, Charlie.” Olivia shook her head. “I visited Struts & Bolts and took a good look at him, but I’m not convinced Charlie is the man I saw. He does seem secretive, though. I’d like to know more about him, and about Charlene, too.”
Allan laughed. “You sure came to the right person. When it comes to people, your mother knows all.”
“I’m not so sure about that. Let me think.” Ellie fingered her hair off one shoulder to disentangle it from a dangly earring. “The Critch family moved away from Chatterley Heights about ten years ago, right in the middle of the school year. I remember because it was Jason’s senior year in high school, and he had such a crush on Charlene. After she left, he was down in the dumps for some time and had trouble concentrating. Although it was spring, after all, which undoubtedly had something to do with his distraction. You know what those last months of high school are like. There’s so much on one’s mind, all of it earth-shattering.”
“The minutes march on, Mother.”
“As they so often do when one is constantly reminded of them.” Though Ellie’s tone sounded innocent enough, Allan edged away out of range.