Apprentice in Death (In Death 43)

“Looked good to me.”

The woman, black skin wet with sweat, grabbed a towel, swiped off as she studied Eve.

“Missed the count twice, forgot the damn head roll. Sorry, are you looking for a class?”

“No.” Eve pulled out her badge.

This time the woman said: “Uh-oh.”

“Just a couple questions. Let’s start with who are you?”

“Donnie Shaddery. It’s my studio—I mean I rent the space.”

“Did you have classes yesterday?”

“Every day, seven days a week.”

“My background indicates no classes yesterday between three and five P.M.”

“That’s right. Morning classes. Seven to eight, eight-thirty to nine-thirty. Ten to eleven, eleven to twelve—break twelve to one. One to one-thirty’s sort of freestyle, then afternoon class from one-thirty to two-thirty. Then except for Fridays, I break until five.”

“You’re the instructor?”

“There are two of us. I had morning and afternoon yesterday, my partner had evening. Why?”

Not the place, Eve thought, with the schedule that tight. But.

“I need to know if anyone was here, or in the studio next door, between three and four P.M.”

“I was here. I’ve got a call-back—for a new musical—today. I’ve been working on the damn routine every chance I get. I was here from about six-thirty yesterday morning until five.”

“What about the yoga studio?”

“I know Sensa was here before seven. And she did her afternoon meditation about three—at least she always does, I didn’t actually look in. She’s got two other instructors, and one of them—that’s Paula—came in around three, after the afternoon class, because she’s a dancer, too, and she came over and watched me practice for a while.”

“So, basically, someone was in the space all afternoon.”

“Yeah.”

“Did anyone else come in during that time frame?”

“Not that I saw. Or heard. Should we be worried about something?”

“I don’t think so.” Eve walked over to the windows. “Seven days a week,” she repeated. “And someone’s generally here—on the floor—in the afternoons.”

“That’s right. If we leave, we lock up. We have a sign—Sensa and I split the rent for the floor, and we share an excuse for an office, and keep some stuff in here. Extra mats, some costumes—we co-teach a belly-dancing class on this side twice a week. It’s not much to steal, but we lock up. Was there a break-in?”

Eve scanned the space again. It just didn’t fit. “No, I don’t think so. One more question. Why ‘break a leg’? How the hell can you dance if you break a leg?”

“Sorry, I— Oh, the saying. Theater suspicion. Saying ‘good luck’ is bad luck. So you say ‘break a leg’ when you mean ‘good luck.’”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Nope.” Donnie gulped from a water bottle. “But that’s showbiz.”

5

Eve covered an office building, a residential building. She felt one apartment in the residential might warrant a trip back, and certainly a full run on the tenant. Single man in his mid-thirties, who’d served in the Army for five years.