"I don't care," Stride said. "There's something in that triangle that smells like trouble. You've got Emily and Rachel at each other's throats and Graeme walking into the middle of it. I want to know why-and what happened."
"We could get some heat about this," Maggie said. "If we push the family too hard without any evidence, what's K-2 going to say?"
"K-2 wants answers. Let's talk to the minister again. Dayton Tenby. Someone had to know what was going on inside that house."
"Okay. That's fair." Maggie pumped her hand as she landed another blackjack. She took a careful sip from her drink, avoiding the pineapple slice and frowning as the umbrella kept bumping her face.
"Hello, Detective."
Stride didn't know where the voice came from. It was suspended somewhere in the noise of the casino, yet close by, like a faint strain of music. He wheeled around to look behind him.
A woman stood there smiling at him. She wore a thigh-length black leather coat with a belt tied at the waist. Her blonde hair was wind-tossed. Her cheeks were flushed.
"It's Andrea," she said. "Remember me? From the school?"
"Sure," he said awkwardly, coming out of his trance. "I remember."
Maggie shifted in her chair and stared at both of them. She caught Stride's eye and cleared her throat conspicuously. Stride realized that he hadn't introduced her, and he saw, too, that Andrea suddenly realized that Maggie and Stride were together. She instinctively took a step backward, not wanting to intrude.
"I'm sorry," Stride said. "Andrea, this is my partner, Maggie Bei. We decided to play a few hands to unwind after pounding the pavement all day. Maggie, this is Andrea Jantzik. She teaches at Duluth High."
"Charmed," Maggie said slyly. "Why don't you join us? Take third base. Let Stride here teach you all he knows about blackjack, which is how to win and not have fun."
Andrea smiled and shook her head. "Oh, no, I don't want to intrude."
"You're not intruding at all." Maggie hesitated and concluded that subtlety wasn't working. "I'm just his partner in crime. That's all."
"Oh," Andrea said. She repeated, "Oh."
"In fact," Maggie said, "I think I'm going to try my hand at the slots. There's one here called the Big Pig, and it's supposed to oink when you hit the jackpot. I'd like to hear that. So why don't you take my place?"
"Are you sure?" Andrea asked.
Maggie was already out of her chair and guiding Andrea forcefully into it. She finished off her drink in two loud gulps, then took the umbrella and put it in her pocket. She waved at both of them. "Have fun, you two. I'll call you tomorrow, boss."
Stride nodded at her, smiling sarcastically. "Thanks, Mags."
Maggie gave him a broad wink while Andrea was settling into the chair next to Stride. Then, before she walked away, Maggie leaned over and whispered in his ear.
"She wants you, boss," Maggie said. "Don't blow it."
10
Andrea slipped her leather coat off her shoulders and draped it over the nearest stool. She was dressed to kill. Her black skirt strained to cover her thighs. Her legs were athletically curved and sleek under black stockings. She wore a pink satin blouse, which glinted under the casino lights. The top two buttons were undone, revealing a hint of bare skin that swelled as she breathed. Her makeup was impeccable and had obviously taken time to apply, from the pale gloss on her lips to the delicate streak of eyeliner above her long, light lashes. A thin gold chain graced her neck, and she wore sparkling sapphire earrings that accented her eyes.
It was a vampish look, full of invitation, but Stride realized that Andrea simply couldn't pull it off. She was uncomfortable. She tugged at her skirt, trying in vain to pull it farther over her legs. Her smile was shy and awkward, not at all confident. She played with her necklace, twisting it between her fingers, doing everything possible to avoid looking directly at him.
He realized she was nervous and didn't know what to say. Neither did he. It had been a long time since he had been on his own, dancing the delicate dance with the opposite sex. He tried to remember what it was like, but he had been with Cindy for so long that he couldn't remember anything that sounded clever. The last time he had dated was in high school, and he assumed that nothing he had said then would sound clever now.
Finally, the dealer coughed and gestured at the cards.
"Do you play?" Stride asked.
Andrea shook her head. "I'm afraid not."
"Do you prefer the slots?"
"Well, to be honest, I've never gambled," Andrea admitted. She turned and very briefly met his eyes. "Sometimes I'd come here or go to Black Bear with Robin, but I always watched him. I never played myself. This is my first real visit."
Stride saw the dealer sigh.
"Why did you come?" Stride asked.
Andrea nodded her head in the direction of the nearest row of slots. Stride turned and saw two women, pretending to play but obviously more interested in observing them at the blackjack table. The women were whispering and smiling. He recognized one as another teacher from the high school.
"My cheering section," Andrea explained. "They told me that it was Friday night, and as an eligible divorcee, I needed to strut my stuff in public. And I guess this is about as close as Duluth gets to a hot nightspot if you're over thirty."
"Well, I'm glad they did," Stride said.
"Yeah," Andrea said. "Yeah, I guess I am, too."
"Do you want to play?" Stride asked. "I'd be happy to help you lose some of your money."
Andrea shook her head. "The noise is giving me a headache."
"Would you like to go somewhere?" Stride asked. "I know a place by the water that serves the best margaritas in town."
"What about your partner?"
Stride smiled. "Mags can take a cab."
Stride glanced at his watch. It was almost one-thirty in the morning. They drove down into Canal Park; the parking lots of the bars and restaurants were still jammed with cars. He steered onto the street that led across the canal bridge.
"I don't recall any good bars on the Point," she said.
Stride glanced at her, embarrassed. "Well, actually, I'm the one who makes the best margaritas," he said. "And my place is on the water."
"Oh," Andrea said. He sensed her sudden hesitation.
"I'm sorry, I guess I should have explained. Look, I don't have any intentions here. You said you hated noise, and my porch is quiet, except for the waves. But we can go somewhere else."
Andrea glanced out the window. "No, it's okay. I'm with a cop, right? If you get fresh, I can always call-well, you." She laughed, comfortable again.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. But those margaritas better be good."
He reached his house a few blocks after the bridge and pulled into the strip of sand that counted as a driveway. When they got out, the street was still and dark. Andrea studied Stride's tiny house and the jumble of skeletal bushes out front with a puzzled smile.
"I can't believe you live on the Point," she said.
"I can't imagine living anywhere else. Why?"
"It's so rough out here. The storms must be brutal."
"They are," he admitted.
"You must get buried in snow."
"Sometimes the drifts go up to the roof."
"Doesn't it scare you? I think I'd feel like the lake was going to swallow me up."
He leaned across the roof of the car and stared at her thoughtfully. "I know it sounds crazy, but sometimes I think the storms are my favorite part. They're the reason I'm here."
"I don't understand," Andrea said, confused. She shivered as a gust of wind blew past them.