A Season to Dance

by Rebecca Heflin

  “Chief Ryder.” A nurse came up to him. “There’s a man and a woman here asking for you.”

  Dammit. What was this about?

  “They’re in the waiting room.”

  He hesitated to leave, in case . . . in case something . . . but he followed the nurse through the ER doors and into the waiting room to find Tyler and Kristen, worried expressions on their faces. Apparently, Olivia’s welfare took precedence over their animosity for one another.

  Word traveled fast in a small town.

  Jennie and Amy weren’t far behind, both pale and frightened.

  “How did this happen?” Jennie asked, out of breath.

  “We don’t know yet,” Zach replied. He needed to get his head in the game. He couldn’t do anything to help Olivia right now other than piece together the story.

  “She left the studio around two fifteen,” Amy volunteered. “I heard,” she sobbed, “I heard the crash, not even thinking it was Olivia.”

  “So she wasn’t far from the studio?”

  “No. On Elm Street, just past the brewery. I ran out and saw the van,” she covered her mouth.

  “It’s okay.” Zach gathered her into his arms.

  “I called 911 and then ran to see if there was anything I could do.”

  He rubbed her back, trying to soothe her.

  “But, there were bees—”

  “Bees?” Zach asked, incredulous.

  “One stung me on the arm.” She lifted her right arm where an angry welt formed.

  “You need to have that looked at.”

  She brushed off his concern. “One of the firemen on the scene tended to it after the ambulance left. Turns out they all took a few stings themselves.”

  Goddammit. How is it someone who’s allergic to bees has two encounters with them in as many months?

  “Her EpiPen was lying in her lap. I don’t know if she was able to actually use it,” another sob, “but it wouldn’t inject.”

  Why were there so many bees? Had she hit a hive? And what caused her to lose control of the van in the first place? Did the bees appear after she hit the pole?

  “Was her car door open?”

  “No. It, along with all the windows, was closed.”

  Two of his deputies strode through the door of the ER, and on seeing him, they redirected his footsteps. He’d get a few answers from them. But first, Amy needed to tell her story to them.

  “Amy, can you tell Officer Dillon and Officer Sheldon exactly what happened?”

  “Yes.” She swiped the tears from her face, her already ruddy complexion more so now. She followed them to a quiet corner of the waiting room, and Jennie joined them, presumably for moral support.

  “You okay, man?” Tyler asked, as he clapped a hand on Zach’s shoulder.

  Zach scrubbed a hand across his face. “Yeah. No. I’m scared to death, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.”

  “She’ll be fine.” Kristen stepped forward to take Zach’s hand. “She’s too tough to let a bunch of insects take her down.”

  The dimly lit hospital room made it difficult to see Olivia, but Zach knew from his conversations with the doctor and with Jennie and Amy that Olivia was going to be all right.

  He’d been chomping at the bit to see her, but Jennie and Amy took precedence. As soon as she was alert, he’d sent his officers in to talk to her about the events leading up to the accident, and the story had made his blood run cold. There was no doubt in his mind that the bees had been placed in her car by someone. Someone out for revenge. He hadn’t taken Olivia’s speculations seriously. He couldn’t wrap his head around the mayor’s wife or son being so vindictive as to almost kill someone. But that could have easily been the outcome in this case.

  He’d tackle that tomorrow when he paid a visit to the Larson residence. Preferably without Dan’s presence.

  Right now, he wanted to assure himself that Olivia truly would be okay. And the only way to accomplish that was to see her with his own eyes. Even if she slept, he’d content himself with just looking at her.

  He approached the bed, and she lay still and quiet, her breathing even. Her hands rested above the blankets, covered in welts from the bees. More welts dotted her arm, and a couple marred her beautiful face, along with some minor cuts from the airbag. Her lips still showed signs of swelling from the reaction to the bee venom, and her eyes were puffy.

  A sob lodged in his throat when he thought about what the outcome could have been.

  “Zach?” His name on her lips was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard, despite the croaking sound.

  “I’m here.” He leaned over her, kissed her forehead. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

  He didn’t know for certain if Lily was to blame for this, and he didn’t know if finding her victim still alive, she’d come back for more. He doubted it, just as he doubted Lily’s intent had been to kill Olivia. She likely had no idea Olivia was allergic to bees. She’d probably only meant to scare her.

  But.

  He’d disavow her of the innocence of her deed tomorrow.

  Afraid to aggravate the bee stings, he didn’t take Olivia hand but sat in the chair next to the bed.

  “I,” she croaked, “I don’t know . . .”

  “Shh. Don’t talk about it right now. Just rest.”

  Her eyes drifted shut, drowsy from the effects of the antihistamines.

  He closed his own eyes and laid his head on the bed. “I thought I’d lost you.” A lone tear trickled down his nose before dripping onto the blanket.

  Her hand caressed his hair. “No,” she croaked.

  “I love you, Olivia. Always have, always will.”

  Her fingers paused their stroking, and she slept.

  Olivia woke, unsure where she was, then winced as the IV in her hand snagged in the blanket. Opening her eyes, she turned to see Zach in the chair, his long muscular legs stretched out in front of him, his head resting on the back of the chair, eyes closed. He’d have a crick in his neck when he woke.

  The last thing she remembered was his quiet confession.

  They’d said those words to each other as teenagers, and other than from her mom, she’d wondered whether she’d ever hear those words again. She certainly hadn’t expected them from Zach.

  She gazed drowsily at his face, relaxed in sleep, and knew she loved him too. But to what end? What good would it do to tell him? To do so would only make matters worse when she left. Her life, her career, were not in Northridge.

  The hum of the bees had been drowned out by the strains of Rodgers and Hammerstein, the music of Cinderella. It had been her accompaniment on her daily commute since she’d taken over the studio’s production. As a professional dancer in Chicago, she’d often listen to the music almost from the moment the piece was selected. First, getting a feel for the rhythm and flow, and then, after the choreography was set, going over the steps in her mind.

  It wasn’t until she’d turned onto Elm Street that the bees had come out of their hiding place. First, just one or two, then more followed—so many, she couldn’t count. They stung her ankles first then, as she’d swatted at them, her hands and arms. She’d scrambled for her EpiPen, but by the time she found it, the anaphylaxis was setting in. Her lips were tingling and swelling, her throat was closing up, and it was becoming difficult to breath.

  She lost control of the van and swerved off the road and slammed into the telephone pole, triggering the airbag. The EpiPen fell into the cupholder, but before she blacked out, she’d grabbed it and stabbed herself in the thigh with it. That was the last thing she remembered until she woke up in the ER.

  A tear trickled from the corner of her eye. She’d been so scared. The thought of never seeing Zach and Jennie and Amy again left her almost as breathless as the bee venom.

  Zach stirred then sat up with a start, his eyes wide, his body tense. When his gaze found hers, he relaxed, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Morning.”

  “Morning.” She winced, he
r throat sore from the tube they stuck down her throat to help her breathe.

  He stood up then groaned, his hand going to the back of his neck, rubbing the sore muscles there.

  “Yeah. You’re going to pay the price for sleeping in that chair all night.”

  He leaned over the bed and kissed her forehead. “Worth the pain.” He caressed her cheek. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I drank a bottle of Benadryl. Dry as a desert. And groggy.”

  He reached for the plastic pitcher of ice water and poured some into a cup then stuck a bendy straw in it. Lifting it to her mouth, he directed her to drink. She took a long pull on the straw, drawing the cold sweet water into her mouth and down her parched, aching throat. Her lips still felt like she’d had a too much collagen injected into them, but it felt like the swelling around her eyes had receded.

  “Knock, knock.” One of the nurses stuck her head into the room. “How about some breakfast?”

  Before Olivia could decline what was sure to be a bowl of lumpy oatmeal, Kristen breezed into the room with a couple of coffees and a brown bag that likely held something decadent.

  Just before she reached the bed, Kristen’s steps faltered. “Holy shit. You’re a hot mess.”

  “Thanks,” Olivia muttered. She grimaced, wondering just how bad she looked. Or maybe she didn’t really want to know.

  Kristen shrugged. “You’re welcome. Thought you could use a grande City Roast, two sugars, one cream.” She handed the larger of the two coffees to Zach. “And for the patient, a French press, black.” Olivia gratefully took the cup, eyeing Kristen, not a little surprised to see her.

  “Bless you,” Olivia said, taking a sip of the strong coffee.

  “And woman—or man—” she cast a glance at Zach, “shall not live on coffee alone. Chocolate croissants.” Kristen held out the little brown bag that held such big delights.

  Taking the bag, Olivia peered in, and her stomach growled vociferously. “I’m beginning to regret all those things I said about you in high school.”

  Kristen barked out a laugh, as Zach snorted, taking the proffered bag from Olivia.

  “Who’s minding the store?” Olivia asked around a mouthful of buttery, flaky, chocolatey sin.

  Kristen shrugged, “A part-time barista I hired.”

  “Wow,” Zach said, pausing with his coffee halfway to his mouth. “The control freak in you is actually letting someone else make the coffee?”

  “Gotta happen sometime,” she grumbled. She eyed Olivia for a moment, as if to get her measure. “Some people will resort to anything to get attention.”

  Olivia chuckled. “Yeah. Even almost dying.” She washed down the last of the croissant with a gulp of coffee.

  “Been there, done that,” Kristen muttered.

  Zach frowned and cut a glance at her.

  Before Olivia could ask what that was all about, Kristen stepped forward and pecked Olivia on the cheek. “Don’t do it again.” And then she turned and left the room like the hounds of Hell were on her heels.

  Olivia couldn’t have been more shocked by the show of affection if Kristen had stripped to her underwear and danced a jig.

  Zach took the empty coffee cup and bag from Olivia and tossed them into the garbage.

  “What did she mean, ‘been there, done that’?”

  Dusting off his hands, Zach moved to the side of the bed. “Not my story to tell.”

  She wanted to press but let it go. “You look exhausted.” She touched his hand.

  “I am. But I’ve got to head to the station.” He grimaced. “After a hot shower, that is.”

  Olivia nodded. “Thank you. For coming to the hospital. For staying with me.”

  “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” Pressing a kiss to her still-swollen lips, he gave her shoulder a squeeze. “I’ve texted Jennie that you’re awake. She’ll take you home.”

  “’Kay.” Tears filled her eyes. “Why?” she whispered. “Why would someone try to kill me? And over a part in a dance recital of all things? I could have had someone else in the car with me—Emily, Amy—they could have been hurt too.”

  “Oh, baby.” Zach perched on the edge of the bed and brushed the hair from her face. “I honestly don’t think whoever it was meant to kill you. Probably just to scare you. They likely didn’t expect this outcome. Don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of this, and I won’t let anyone else hurt you. I promise.”

  She nodded and swallowed past the lump in her raw throat.

  “You just worry about getting better.”

  “See you later.”

  As Zach walked out the door, Olivia wondered how, when it came down to it, she’d be able to leave Zach again.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The cool, bottle blonde opened the door to Zach, a smile frozen on her face, but he could read the annoyance in her brittle blue eyes.

  “Do you have a minute?” Zach asked, slipping off his sunglasses.

  “Of course.” The smile grew more brittle. “Anything for our police chief.” She stepped back from the door, lifting her hand to indicate he should come in. “But only a minute. I have a Woman’s Club meeting at noon.”

  Zach followed her into the well-appointed living room. The Larson family business did well. His step faltered when he caught sight of the sizable portrait of the first lady herself over the fireplace. A beautiful woman, if you liked the painted, plastic look. Vain much? he wondered.

  “I’d offer you something to drink, but since I’m pressed for time,” she held up her beringed hands, as if to say sorry. “What can I do for you, Chief Ryder?”

  “Olivia James was involved in an accident out on Elm Street yesterday.”

  “I had heard. I do hope she’s okay. Texting and driving?” She shook her head, tsking. “When will people learn that no text is worth an injury? Or, heaven forbid, death. But what does this have to do with me?”

  “It wasn’t texting and driving. She was stung by bees. Lots of them, in fact, and lost control of the car. She hit a telephone pole.”

  Lily tried to frown, but the Botox prohibited it. “That’s horrible.” She shuddered. “But I still fail to see what this has to do with me.” She glanced at her watch. “So, if you don’t mind, I really do need to run. It wouldn’t do for the president of the Woman’s Club to be late for her own meeting.”

  “I’m sure they’ll understand when you explain you were doing your civic duty by cooperating in a police investigation.”

  She crossed her arms. “What’s to investigate?”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Someone deliberately put those bees in Olivia’s car.”

  A delicate hand rose to her throat, and she licked her lips. “Who on earth would do that?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Someone with a vendetta would be the most obvious suspect.” He pinned her with his gaze, daring her to look away.

  “A vendetta? And, what?” She laughed, but he could hear the nerves underlying it. “You think it was me?”

  He pulled out his smartphone and tapped on the notes app. “I have witnesses who saw you talking to Olivia in the Beans ’n Books back in March. You were arguing over casting for the recital. You were quite animated, according to the reports, and you said, and I quote, ‘I promise you, you’ll regret this decision.’”

  Her cool composure faltered, and she stepped back. “Are you seriously accusing me of . . . of what? Assault and battery?”

  “More like attempted murder.” Zach kept his expression bland, waiting for her reaction.

  “Murder?” Lily scoffed. “How does putting bees in a car rise to the level of murder?”

  “Olivia James has a severe bee venom allergy. She had more than twenty bee stings. One bee sting could kill her if it weren’t for an EpiPen. Twenty? An EpiPen was all but useless.”

  She dropped down onto the sofa behind her, stunned. “I see.” She recovered then stood abruptly. “I still fail to see what all this has to do with me. I didn’t
put bees in Olivia’s car, if that’s what you’re saying. For heaven’s sake, I’m the mayor’s wife.” Her eyes narrowed, as if something had just occurred to her. “Does Dan know you’re here accusing me of this . . . this crime?”

  “No. I don’t require the mayor’s permission every time I conduct an investigation.”

  “I think you need to leave.” Lily stood, arms crossed, bristling with righteous indignation.

  “We’re obtaining a warrant and will be checking your credit card purchases and bank accounts.” He turned to go then faced her once more. Based on Olivia’s timeline, she’d arrived at the studio a little before nine and left to run errands around eleven thirty. “Where were you yesterday between nine a.m. and eleven thirty a.m.?”

  She gave him a belligerent stare, and, for a moment, he didn’t think she was going to answer. Releasing a huff, she dropped her arms by her sides. “I had an appointment in Atlanta with an interior designer. I left here at nine thirty and didn’t return until sometime after four.”

  She could have detoured by the studio on her way out of town. “And someone can corroborate those times?”

  “You can ask the interior designer. And after that meeting, I had lunch with friends at Blue Ridge Grill in Buckhead.”

  Zach opened his notes app and took down the alibis’ names and phone numbers. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Emily Madison sat in the chair in the living room, regaling Olivia with stories of the rehearsals that had continued in her absence, under the supervision of Chrissy Cocklyn, one-time soloist for the Atlanta Ballet.

  When she’d first arrived, Emily’s face wore a look of worry and fear, but Olivia reassured her that she was fine, and it wasn’t long until they spoke amiably about the upcoming recital.

  The doorbell rang, and Jennie called out, “I’ll get it! Don’t you get up!” Jennie had been oddly protective since ‘the incident,’ as they’d taken to calling it.