Free Plateful of Murder by Carole Fowkes Page A

Mallorie to dance solo. “Claire, it’s my turn to dance with you.” He gave Ed a look that said, “Get lost, pal.”
    Ed stopped massaging his ankle and stepped back with his hands in the air. “No problemo. But I hope you got steel in your shoes and socks.” As he turned to go, he whispered, “Great job. Now I can get back to Miss Mal.” He moved in her direction. “Mallorie, may I have this dance?” He only limped a little.
    Michael’s eyebrows lowered. “Mind if I ask what that was about?”
    “Tell you later.” A slower musical number started. His hand on my waist felt strong, confident. I relaxed and let him guide me. “Hey, you’re pretty good.”
    He shrugged. “Dancing lessons. My mother insisted my sister and I go.” His face clouded over. “Constance made it bearable.” He turned his head away and swallowed hard.
    The music ended, but we stood still, like a porcelain statue of two dancers, until Mallorie shattered the moment when she clapped her hands. “Break time, everyone.”
    As the others collapsed into surrounding chairs, I massaged my forehead and sighed, “One of my headaches is coming on.” I had to get out of there before my cover got completely blown.
    After Michael graciously insisted on paying for our so-called dance lesson, we made our escape to the car, now fragrant with the scent of veal and lemon.
    I laid my hand on his arm. “Thank you.” In all likelihood, Gino had some rule about not letting a client pay expenses for another client. “I’ll pay you back just as soon as this Jezebel pays her balance.”
    He shrugged. “Forget it. I should thank you. It was fun.”
    Fun? I was pleased, but sure wouldn’t have called it that.
    He reached for the casserole and grinned. “Shall we eat?”
    “Good idea. We can go to my apar-, ah, office. We’ll be more comfortable there.” 
    He thought about it a moment, then said, “We can go back to my place. For dinner.”
    I wondered if I’d be dessert, picturing myself in just some whipped cream and a cherry, and shivered.
    I needn’t have wondered. Michael was so engrossed in my recounting of what Ed had told me about Mallorie, I wasn’t even an after-dinner mint. My relief mixed with disappointment, neither gaining a foothold.
    After my second glass of wine, I slouched in one of his comfy chairs and felt my whole body mellow out. Unfortunately my mouth took the opportunity to sever ties with my brain and I proclaimed, “Michael, you’re the best cook around, and a wonderful host, and a charming dinner companion.” Thank God, he stopped me before I nominated him for sainthood.
    “Thank you, but you make it easy.” He blushed.
    I blamed it on the wine but I couldn’t think of anything witty, so settled for, “Back at ya.”
    We both fell silent and it seemed like the ticking of his mantle clock got louder. I swirled the wine in my glass and he cleared his throat. Time for me to say something. “This was great but I better go.” I rose too fast, and the room began to spin. Scared of falling, I latched on to the table, holding as tight as a kid on a roller coaster for the first time. Michael sprang up and grabbed my shoulders for support. Even when the dizziness subsided, he didn’t let go. “Are you okay, Claire?”
    “Never better.” His hands felt good on me and I was afraid if I moved, he’d pull them away. We stood like that for a moment, neither of us going any further.
    He must have felt me stiffen just a bit because he dropped his hands and stepped away. “I better clear the dishes.”
    Offering to help would’ve been the right thing to do, but sticking around there with him would’ve been a mistake. I didn’t want to get in too deep, at least not until Constance’s murder was solved. I stretched and produced a few faked yawns. “Dinner was great, Michael, but it’s been a long day. I’ll call you when something new turns up.”
    He walked me to the door where we both stood there like mummies, stiff