Free Skating on Thin Ice by Jessica Fletcher Page B

sound of the heavy door slamming shut, he skated over to his students.
    “That was quite a show,” he said. “I don’t recall telling you to practice the throw triple loop.”
    “We haven’t practiced it,” Chris said brightly, smiling up at Alexei, who grinned back. “That was our first time.”
    “You don’t do any elements until I tell you to—especially not in front of a camera. Do I make myself clear?”
    The skaters’ smiles faded.
    Devlin addressed Alexei. “You got away with it today, but what if she wasn’t ready? What if she fell, was injured? Not only could you have scuttled your chances to make the next competition; your friends back in Moscow would have gotten quite a sight of your new American partner collapsed on the ice. That would have given some people we know satisfaction, wouldn’t it?”
    “But Chris did not fall. She did it perfectly.”
    “I say when she does it perfectly. Not you.”
    “Yes, boss.”
    Devlin narrowed his eyes. “Okay, big shots, you want to do throw jumps? That’s what we’ll practice today. But only a double. This time I want to see the entrance with a Mohawk turn.”
    Lyla nervously twisted the chain she always wore and said to me in a low voice, “Oh, boy, Mr. Allen is not going to like that. Chris just got the stitches out of her chin last night. If she falls facedown again, the wound might open.”
    “Do camera crews come here often?” I asked.
    She shook her head. “Because this is a new program, we’re getting a lot more attention. A sports writer for the New York Times arrived yesterday and wants to interview Devlin’s students. Usually it’s pretty quiet here, but having big names like Christine and Alexei changed things. I suppose the fact that he’s Russian makes it an even better story. The Russians are irritated that Alexei is skating for America, calling him a traitor, although it’ll be a couple of years before he can apply for citizenship.”
    “There was bound to be some reaction like that,” I said. “Wasn’t there a Japanese girl who skated for Russia? She was the victim of a lot of name-calling, as I remember.”
    Lyla nodded. “Well, this is complicated by the fact that Irina hasn’t found another partner as good as Alexei. I haven’t seen her, but there’s a rumor around town that she’s here gunning for him.”
     
    My second time on the ice was an improvement over the first—at least I didn’t fall. But the skills I’d possessed in my youth did not return with the speed with which I’d hoped. I made a dozen circuits around the rink, sticking close to the boards just in case, after which I came off the ice and sat on one of the metal benches in the bleachers to catch my breath. Skating was hard work. Stroking around on a quarter-inch-wide blade meant constantly being aware of my posture, keeping my weight toward the middle or the front of the blade—not too far forward or the pick would scrape the ice, but not too far back either. That’s how I’d fallen the last time, and I was determined to not allow it to happen again. Most important, I had to remember to breathe. I’d found myself holding my breath whenever I hit a rough patch in the ice, and there were lots of them. No wonder I was panting.
    “You’re doing very well out there today. Are you going to become a regular?” The speaker was the lady who’d worn a pink angora sweater the first time I’d skated. Today her sweater was powder blue. “May I join you?”
    “By all means,” I said, moving to the side, “although I warn you, this bench is icy cold.”
    “Oh, I’m used to that,” she said. “My name is Muriel Charney. That’s my husband, Larry, the speed skater.” She waved at Larry as he streamed by, bent at the waist, left arm resting on his back, right arm swinging out in front of him.
    “Nice to meet you. I’m Jessica Fletcher.”
    “Oh, I know who you are. Everyone in Cabot Cove knows you’re a famous writer of murder