A Killing Spring by Gail Bowen

Author:Gail Bowen
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: McClelland & Stewart
Published: 2011-06-20T22:00:00+00:00

Taylor was still at the table when I left for Nationtv at 5:15. I kissed the top of her head. “Chili’s on the stove,” I said. “Angus promises to dish it up as soon as his movie’s over, and I’ll be home in time to tuck you in.”

For the first time in months, Taylor didn’t even turn a hair when I announced I was going out for the evening. “Good,” she said absently, and she went back to her drawing. Finally, it seemed I had done something right.

It was strange to walk across the park towards Nationtv on a Saturday evening without feeling a knot of apprehension about the show, but I was grateful that there was no hurdle I had to leap that night. I’d had enough. All I wanted to do was take deep breaths and look around me. In the park, the signs of an early spring were everywhere: the breeze was gentle; the trees were already fat with buds; the air smelled of moisture and warming earth. As I walked, my mind drifted. Once I had heard a poet describe the eyes of Hawaiian men as “earth dark,” and I had thought of Alex’s eyes. When I told him, he had laughed and said I was a hopeless romantic. Maybe so, but I had still been right about his eyes.

The first person I ran into when I walked into Nationtv was Tom Kelsoe. He was wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, and a black leather jacket. Very hip. My first impulse was to pretend I hadn’t seen him, but if I ever wanted to reconcile with Jill, I was going to have to bite the bullet.

I smiled at him. “Break a leg,” I said.

Tom Kelsoe looked confused. “What?”

“Good luck with the show,” I explained.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. For once, his tone wasn’t rude. He seemed genuinely perplexed; somehow my presence had knocked him off balance.

“It’s personal, not professional,” I said. “There’s a party for the woman who does makeup for the show. She’s getting married.”

“I guess Jill mentioned it,” he said warily.

“Anyway,” I said, “I’m glad I ran into you. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you and Jill at the service for Reed yesterday.”

I could see the pulse in his temple beating. “Who put that display by the door together?” he asked.

“I did,” I said. “What did you think of it?”

He flinched. “It was fine.” He checked his watch. “I’d better get down to the studio.”

“Have you got another minute?” I said. “I need to ask you about Kellee Savage.”

“What about her?”

“Apparently, Reed Gallagher had a very high opinion of her work. I wondered if you shared it.”

Tom looked at me coldly. “She’s a troublemaker,” he said; then, without a syllable of elaboration, he headed for the elevators. Apparently I wasn’t the only faculty member Kellee had gone to with her charges against Val Massey.

I was the first person at the party. The green room was empty, but somebody had brought in a clear plastic sack of balloons and made an effort to arrange the furniture in a party mode.

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