Free Skating on Thin Ice by Jessica Fletcher Page A

people press?”
    “Uh-huh. They’re from some celebrity Russian TV show.”
    A bright light lit up the side of the rink. A camera crew was interviewing Alexei Olshansky, but the person holding the microphone was not whom I expected. Instead of the glamorous young woman I’d seen in Charles Department Store, this reporter was a stocky fellow in a double-breasted black topcoat and black sheepskin hat. In his figure skates, Alexei loomed over the older man. The two conversed casually in Russian while a third man adjusted the focus of the large camera balanced on his shoulder.
    Devlin paced impatiently, making a show of pulling up the sleeve of his down jacket to look at his watch.
    The cameraman nodded, and the reporter spoke into his microphone, then thrust it up to the mouth of the skater. Alexei appeared thoughtful and replied in Russian. Several more questions and answers followed, until the reporter’s next question elicited a frown. Olshansky made a cutting motion with his arm. The camera kept rolling. There was a heated exchange; the only words I caught were a name: Irina Bednikova. She had been Alexei’s former partner, and from what I knew, he’d severed their professional relationship and had come to the United States to skate with Christine Allen. But now I wondered if the customer at Charles might indeed have been his ex. And why would she be here?
    “No more,” Alexei said in English.
    “What’s going on?” Devlin asked.
    “Nothing,” Alexei said. “Let’s get on with the practice.”
    “What did he ask you?” the coach demanded.
    “He asks about Bednikova. She is history.” Alexei removed his skate guards and entered the ice.
    Devlin squinted at his student. “She’d better be,” he said, following him.
    Alexei slashed an arm behind his back angrily and glided to where Christine waited.
    The cameraman shifted around to focus on the couple on the ice.
    Alexei took Chris’s arm, and they began to skate together. The rink was silent except for the grinding sound as their edges dug into the ice. Alexei pulled Chris in front of him, his hands firmly at her waist. They turned together. She put one hand on his wrist, crossed her skates, and bent her knees. In a smooth move, he lifted her, turned, and threw her in front of him. She rotated three times in the air, turning counterclockwise, and landed on one skate with her left foot raised behind her, arms stretched out to the sides.
    Devlin watched for a few seconds, then cupped his hands at his mouth and shouted at the reporter’s crew. “Okay, you got your shot. Now get out!” He turned to Chris and Alexei. “You two, wait for me over there.” He pointed to the sound booth by the side of the rink where I stood with Lyla Fasolino.
    “But you agreed we could shoot today,” the reporter yelled. “You cannot change your mind now.”
    “No more. Your presence is disruptive. My skaters need calm. You got enough. Take your camera and go.”
    “I need another angle.”
    “You got all the angles you’re going to get. I want you out of here. Do I need to call the cops?”
    The reporter yelled something in Russian, followed by, “I am going to complain.”
    “Complain all you want. This is my rink when I’m teaching. Get out of here.” He called to Jeremy Hapgood, who stood by the Zamboni, “Make sure they leave.”
    Jeremy, who was suited up for hockey, sauntered in the direction of the reporter and cameraman, swinging his hockey stick in front of him. He was tall and broad to begin with, but with the padding of his uniform and the extra height provided by his skates, he appeared to be enormous.
    I looked to where Alexei and Christine stood and saw Alexei smirk. He pulled Chris into his side, wrapped his arm around her shoulder, tipping his head over to rest on hers, and wiggled his fingers at the departing camera crew.
    The two men walked swiftly toward the exit. Devlin’s eyes never left them, his expression furious. When he heard the