Free Death of an Irish Diva by Mollie Cox Bryan Page B

several workshops and camps, along with a six-week ballet refresher course.
    She heard the bell on her studio door ring. Someone was coming into the studio. She turned to face Leola Reilly.
    â€œWhy, Leola, hello,” Vera said, turning around in her chair.
    â€œI thought this was your studio,” Leola said, looking around. “Oh, look at that poster of Baryshnikov!” she exclaimed. She wore the same denim skirt she’d worn when Vera first met her. Very long, closer to the floor than her knee. There was something odd about it. It fit her snugly, so it was kind of sexy, and it even had a slit going up the center of the back. But yet Vera was certain it was meant to be conservative, because of the length and because of the flat shoes she wore.
    â€œHmm,” Vera said. “Beautiful dancer. Can I help you with something?”
    â€œI wondered if it was too late in the year to sign Elsie, my daughter, up for classes. I know she couldn’t be in the recital. It’s too late for that. But she’d like to stay in shape, you know, kind of audit some classes.” Her well-shaped and plucked eyebrows were lifted in interest.
    â€œSure,” Vera said. “I didn’t know that she dances.”
    â€œWell . . .” She sat down across from Vera’s desk. “She’s a talented ballet student, but she sometimes lacks interest. More interested in boys, I’m afraid. At thirteen, she’s all hormones.”
    â€œI see,” said Vera, suddenly feeling a bit uncomfortable. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe mothers of thirteen-year-old girls discussed their daughter’s hormones with acquaintances. “Well, as long as she wants to dance, she is welcome here.”
    Vera gathered a stack of paper together and looked down at it, hoping Leola would leave, but she sat there.
    â€œI was hoping for a schedule,” she said, tucking a strand of mousy brown hair behind her ear.
    â€œOh,” Vera said. “Bring her by on Wednesday at seven thirty. I have a group of ballet students about her age at that time. Lovely group of girls.”
    Just then a hippie couple walked by the studio. Emily’s parents. Vera’s heart sank. What could she say to them? Anything? It looked like they were heading to the bakery.
    She glanced back at Leola, who had also been looking at them.
    â€œSo, I hope you don’t mind my asking,” Leola began as her face softened. “What exactly happened between you and Emily?”
    Vera jumped back in her chair. She hardly knew this woman, and she asked such personal questions. What was her problem?
    Her rose-painted lips were smiling, but her eyes seemed cold.
    â€œIt was nothing personal,” Vera stammered. “I mean, I hardly knew the woman.”
    â€œFunny.” Leola sat up in her chair. “Rumor has it that you killed her.”
    Vera’s face flushed with embarrassment. She was certain steam would come pouring out of her ears at any minute. Whereas now Leola’s face was cold as stone.
    â€œWhat?” she said, clutching her chest. She felt like she couldn’t quite catch her breath.
    â€œYou heard me,” Leola said.
    â€œI’m sorry, Leola,” Vera said, gathering herself. “I don’t listen to ugly rumors, and if you are going to get along in Cumberland Creek, you shouldn’t, either.”
    â€œThat’s not a typical small town rumor,” she said, smirking. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap. Perfectly manicured, with her nail polish matching her lipstick.
    â€œNo,” Vera managed to say. “People who know me would never say such a thing.”
    â€œI don’t know you very well, Vera, but I’m an attorney and I’m thinking you might need representation,” Leola said.
    Oh, so that was it. She was trying to drum up business.
    â€œWell, thanks,” Vera said, smiling, relieved. “I have a lawyer. You met Bill?”
    â€œYour