Excerpt 1
“Where do you think Margo is?”

Rather than barge uninvited into the classroom looking for her, Gabby and I bided our time and hung out in the lobby. I shifted from one foot to the other while Gabby perused the business cards pinned to a brand-new combination whiteboard and corkboard.

“When I come back with that vase, I’ll bring a few business cards to tack up here.”

“Great idea!” I rifled through my purse until I found a couple of cards promoting Oldies & Goodies and Cats & Their Cradle. I affixed them to the cork and smiled. Part of me wondered whether Sam would take them down before anyone ever saw them.

Still no Margo. Did she not hear the bell when we entered a few minutes ago? Maybe not over Ol’ Blue Eyes. I considered writing a message on the whiteboard. I picked through the pens in the Tremont Regency Hotel mug on the desk, but there didn’t appear to be any of those dry-erase markers.

“Where could she be?” Gabby asked.

“Probably in the back. Should we check?”

I gently opened the glass door to the main classroom. A rush of crisp air reminded me how we’d kept the temperature in the low sixties so the students wouldn’t get overheated. The smell of fresh-cut grass suddenly wafted over me. My nose recognized dance floor wax, forcing me to stifle a sneeze. 

The same song we heard when we walked into the lobby still played. Must be on a continuous loop. I listened closely. Ah, Frank was singing “Witchcraft.” An appropriate theme for the day.

The walls were painted a creamy shade of white. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined one wall and a row of barres ran parallel to the floor. The mirrors reflected framed images on the opposite wall. I turned to examine them up close. I walked along the wall, studying and touching each gently. Definitely Sam and Margo in their younger years. 

This egotistical display was so unlike the studio Paul, and then I, owned. Our walls were proudly adorned with photographs of the young dancers who graced our ballroom.

Where are those pictures? Why didn’t they ask if I wanted them? What else did they keep from me?

“Margo?” I called.

Silence.

At the far end of the room, there was a royal purple floor-to-ceiling drape pulled closed across the width of the ballroom. As I walked toward it, I waved toward Gabby. “I’m gonna check back here.”

I noticed a universal restroom to my right. I motioned to Gabby. “You check in there.”

Then I drew back the curtain. “Never mind. Found her!” I cried out.

Excerpt 2
Misty’s inquiry about the book clubs reminded me I needed to let the Tuesday crowd know we’d be meeting on Thursday instead. Before I did that, though, I had to confirm with Grant Croft that he was available, since he’d agreed to lead the discussion of A Simple Plan.

I stopped short of texting Grant when I realized I was holding Oscar’s phone, not mine. I exhaled, shook the cobwebs out of my head, and headed down the hallway toward the kitchen in search of my own phone. The odd aroma of coffee mixed with popcorn—nutty and toasty—drifted up my nostrils. I stifled a sneeze.

At the exact moment I caught myself from contaminating Oscar’s phone, it buzzed with an incoming text. I halted. Voices floated in from the kitchen. I could hear Oscar asking for milk for his coffee.

So I did what anyone would do. I tilted his phone just enough to read the message.

Evening, Detective. The Velvet Clasp alarm just went off. Sending patrol there now.

Thrown off balance, I read it again before joining everyone in the kitchen. My first thought was: thank goodness Gracie installed that alarm system. My second was: what on earth was going on in Chatham Crossing? Murders and break-ins? I could assist in the investigation of one crime—but two, three?

And what did I know about catching a jewel thief? …

I tugged at the emerald stud on my right ear. Something foul had infiltrated our cozy town. My nose twitched. I rubbed it and reminded myself to stay focused on the Abbotts.

When I entered the kitchen, I handed Oscar his phone. “There’s a message for you,” I said as he passed me mine. “You might want to read it.”

I collapsed back into my chair and stared at him, waiting.

He studied the screen, then looked straight at me—no one else. “Never a dull moment in Chatham Crossing,” he said, exhaling loudly.

“What now?” my sister asked, eyes wide.

“A break-in,” I said.

“Where?” Carole asked.

“The Velvet Clasp,” Oscar and I said at the same time.

Realizing I’d read the message on Oscar’s phone, the crew glared at me. “Okay, guilty,” I said, throwing my hands in the air. “The message came in right after I hung up with Misty. There was no way I couldn’t see it.”

While they processed that confession, I clutched my phone and texted Grant.

Moving book club to Thurs night. Good for you?

I hit send. Almost instantly, a phone pinged.

My head snapped up. Too fast. There was no way Grant could reply that quickly. We all looked at one another until Carole waved her phone in the air. “Alert about The Velvet Clasp,” our mayor said. “You heading over there, Detective?”

I was surprised when Oscar said he’d stop by Harpoon Square later … 

“Okay, let’s finish this up and call it a night,” Oscar suggested.