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Bob settled into the front seat of the van as if he owned the place.
It was a relief to have everyone in the vehicle aware of his presence. She didn’t have to think about pretending that he wasn’t there. Lying was so stressful, even when it wasn’t technically lying.
She backed out of their driveway and got pointed in the right direction. Once she’d put the van in drive, she said, “There. Now that we have a chance to talk, thanks for coming. I wasn’t sure you would.”
“You’re welcome, but I didn’t come because you invited me.”
She could hear the smile in his voice, but she glanced at him anyway to confirm it.
“Keep your eyes on the road, Mom!” Peter scolded from the middle seat.
“So then why did you come?”
“The dance angel asked me to.”
Sandra laughed. So did Peter.
“There’s a dance angel?” Sandra asked.
Bob nodded. “Of course.”
“But there’s not a specific soccer angel,” Peter complained, “so why do dancers get their own angel?”
“Because we’re better!” Joanna said, which made little sense, as she also played soccer, though not as enthusiastically as her big brother.
“Dancers,” Bob answered, speaking louder as if that could make them be quieter, “have their own angel, but the angel covers a much bigger territory than I do. Anyway ...” He lowered his voice again. “The owner of the studio is very shaken up, and—”
“Understandably,” Sandra interrupted.
“Yes. Understandably. She’s worried that her reputation will be damaged. And it is a stellar one. Untarnished. And she’s worried that her young dancers will be scared to come to class. Her studio is supposed to be a place of joy and safety, not a place where children think about murdered corpses.”
Sandra shuddered at the thought.
“So she’s been praying for help, which the dance angel is willing to give. But because I’ve sort of got a reputation now for being something of a sleuth, he asked me if I’d help.”
Sandra snickered. “Is he going to help too?”
“Of course he’s willing if we need him. But I don’t think we will.”
Sandra got the sense Bob didn’t want the dance angel to help. Maybe he wanted to be the only sleuthing angel. “What’s this dance angel’s name?”
Bob hesitated. “I’m probably not supposed to tell you that.”
Bummer. She liked angel names, even if she couldn’t pronounce them.
“Anyway, I told him I would help. I owe him one. He saved my hide a few centuries ago, and I’m happy to have a chance to return the favor.”
The idea of being alive for centuries made Sandra’s head spin. She glanced at him again. “You look good for a guy several centuries old.”
“Try millennia. Anyway, it’s my turn to ask you for help.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Don’t get an inflated sense of yourself. I don’t have a lot of options for human sleuthing partners.”
“I would help you!” Peter said.
“Let’s hope you don’t have to this time,” Sandra said, though she was a little proud of her son for volunteering.
They rode in silence for a minute. “You say she’s praying about her reputation and her children’s fears ... but she isn’t worried about the killer coming back?”
He thought about that for a few seconds. “I don’t know. Macholyadah didn’t mention that.”
Aha! She’d gotten an angel name after all. Bob didn’t seem to realize he’d slipped, though, so she wasn’t going to mention it. “Seems odd to me that she’s not worried about the safety of her dancers.”
Bob looked at her. “You think Joyelle might be the killer?”
No, she didn’t think that. Did she? She couldn’t imagine Joyelle hurting anyone or anything. “No. I do not think she’s the killer. But maybe she knows who is.”
“And?” he pressed.
Sandra sighed as she pulled the minivan into the long line of cars waiting to offload offspring. “I’m thinking that she knows who the killer is, knows he or she isn’t a threat to her students, and, therefore, isn’t worried about their safety. If she didn’t know who the killer was, wouldn’t she be scared of a repeat performance?”
“See,” Bob said, contemplatively, “I hadn’t thought of that. That’s why I need your help.”
She basked in the praise. “Thank you.”
They were quiet for a few minutes, inching the van along one car length at a time.
“If Joyelle already knows who the killer is,” Bob said, “then maybe we don’t need to go looking for him. Maybe we just need to get closer to Joyelle, get her to tell you who he is.”
“Maybe!” She wouldn’t mind getting closer to Joyelle. The woman was wonderful. “And that won’t be hard as I will already be hanging around because of Joanna’s dance class.”
“No,” Bob said quickly. “That won’t be close enough.”
She looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you need to get closer.”
“You want me to invite her out for coffee or something?”
He shook his head. “Closer.”
She didn’t understand. Did he want her to move into the woman’s house?
“He wants you to join the adult dance class, Mom,” Peter said.
She looked at Bob wide-eyed, and he was grinning. “No.”
“Oh yes.”
Her heart rate increased. “No.”
“Please?”
She gripped the wheel tighter. Hadn’t she been tempted by this very idea the day before? But now she was terrified. And she wasn’t scared of the killer. She was scared of making a fool of herself. Quietly, she asked, “Can the dance angel make me a better dancer?”
Bob snickered. “I’m sure he can. I doubt he will. But you won’t need his help for that. You’ll be fine. All humans can dance. It’s a gift from God. Joyelle will take that natural gift and help you shape it into something you’ll be proud of.”
It was a lovely thought. It didn’t quite convince her, though. They had arrived at the front of the line. “Okay, kids!”
Joanna ripped the sliding door open and jumped out. “Bye, Mom! Bye, Sammy! Bye, Bob!” she said loudly and then turned and ran to the door.
Peter climbed out more slowly. “Bye, Mom! Bye, Sammy!” he said at a normal volume. Then he whispered, “Bye, Bob!” and slammed the door shut.
Sandra exhaled heavily, checked her side mirror, and eased the van out of the line.
“Your children are quite spectacular,” Bob mused.
“Yes, I know. Thank you.”
He snickered.
“What’s so funny?”
“I was enjoying your utter lack of humility.”
“Humility?” she cried, pulling out onto the main road. “Oh trust me, I wasn’t being prideful. I can take no credit for how spectacular my children are. They are gifts from God. Their spectacularness doesn’t come from me, and, therefore, I can admire it right along with you.”
“Point taken. So, you’ll dance?”
She groaned. “I don’t know if I can dance.” Her brain flickered back through her small collection of embarrassing bridesmaid dance fiascoes. “But maybe I’ll try.”
