“It’s very...” She hesitated, then settled for “...bright.”
“Cheerful, yes?” Maria said, gazing around the room happily. “Everyone helped. We did it as a surprise.”
Dana searched Rick’s face. “And were you surprised?”
“Stunned is more like it,” he muttered. “I’d really grown rather fond of that gray.”
“Too boring,” Maria said, ignoring his plaintive expression. “This is better. People leave this room feeling happy.”
“Or dizzy,” Rick countered.
Maria’s brow crinkled worriedly. “You hate it?”
Dana waited to see just how diplomatic Rick Sanchez could be when the situation required tact. Sure enough, he reached out and gave Maria’s hand a quick squeeze.
“It’s a beautiful office,” he reassured her. “Everyone who comes here says so.”
She gave a nod of satisfaction. “We could do something wonderful with your apartment, too, if you would just allow us.” She glanced at Dana. “Beige, floor to ceiling, nothing but beige and brown. It is worse than the gray, I think. It feels as if you are already in your grave with the dirt closing in.”
Dana shuddered at the imagery.
“It is not beige,” Rick protested. “It’s Navajo-white. I picked it out myself.”
“Call it what you like. I know beige when I see it. And the carpet is brown, yes? And the sofa? And that disgusting chair you love so much?”
Rick threw up his hands. “Okay, yes. But I’m not wasting money to change any of it. It’s livable. Besides, I’m never there.”
“True enough,” Maria agreed, “especially since...” A warning glance from Rick silenced her. “Never mind. Would you like coffee, Señora Miller?”
Dana shook her head.
“Okay, then. I will leave you to your meeting.” She retreated hurriedly.
Dana had listened to the exchange with fascination. She had watched the casual, affectionate teasing and wondered if there was more to their relationship than boss and secretary. Maria seemed to know an awful lot about Rick’s home.
“If she’s not crazy about your decor at home, maybe you should let her change it,” Dana said when Maria was gone.
Rick stared at her blankly. “Why would I do that?”
“If you expect her to spend any time there...”
Rick’s immediate chuckle stopped any further speculation. “My, my, you do have a vivid imagination, don’t you? I thought private detectives were supposed to look for evidence, not jump to conclusions.”
“In this case, the facts add up.”
“What facts?”
“She’s a beautiful young woman. You’re a healthy male. Both of you are single and unattached. She knows exactly what your apartment looks like, so obviously she’s spent time there.”
His gaze locked with hers. “I am a healthy male,” he confirmed softly. The mood suddenly shifted as he stepped closer. “You’re a beautiful widow.” One finger stroked lightly, provocatively along her jaw. “I know exactly what your house looks like, so obviously I’ve spent time there.”
Dana swallowed hard, but she couldn’t seem to make herself look away. She knew he was just trying to make a point, but she was too caught up in unexpected sensations to reason out what it was.
“So, Ms. Private Detective, would you say you and I are having an affair?”
She should have anticipated it, but she hadn’t. The taunting, softly spoken suggestion shocked her. Dana scowled at him, even as a traitorous tingle of awareness and anticipation shot through her. She forced herself not to back away, not to show any sign at all that he had shaken her with that slight caress.
“Touché,” she said, her voice husky and uneven, despite her best efforts. “Sometimes the facts may not add up.”
“Maybe it would be best if you and I stick to the things we can prove,” he suggested, his tone astonishingly casual considering the level of electricity that had been humming through the air just seconds before.
Dana could only nod.
“Have you thought about what you’d like to do here?” he asked as if the conversation up until that moment had been about nothing more consequential than the weather.
For once, she was grateful for the quick change of subject. “Poke through the files,” she said readily.
“I meant with the kids.”
She sighed. “You’re really going to make me go through with this, aren’t you?”
“It’s part of the deal. Reading, cooking, sewing, whatever. It’s up to you.”
She thought over the choices he’d offered and rejected all of them. She wanted something that would potentially reveal more of their personalities. “How about photography?” she said impulsively. “I have some experience with that.” Of course most of it had been snapping shots of errant husbands in the arms of the other woman. She supposed she could translate that and her two formal classes into an impromptu course of some sort.
Rick looked doubtful. “I don’t know.”
His lack of enthusiasm only fueled hers. “Why not? It’s a skill that they might be able to use.”
“But to get the equipment they’ll need, they might resort to theft,” he said realistically. “We can’t afford to buy the digital cameras.”
Dana wasn’t sure whether it was real enthusiasm for the idea or just plain perversity that made her say, “I have several old cameras at home and I can pay for the supplies.”
“You would trust these kids with your cameras?”
His doubting expression had her hesitating, but only for an instant. She didn’t want him to think she wasn’t willing to put herself on the line in exchange for the information she so desperately wanted. “Until they give me reason not to,” she said firmly.
A grin spread across his face. “Well, well, Mrs. Miller, now you’re beginning to sound just a little like your husband. There may be hope for you yet.”
The hard-won, if somewhat mocking, compliment pleased her more than it should have. She forced an indifferent shrug. “One small step at a time. What should we do? Put up an announcement of some kind?”
“Just set a time for the start of classes and tell Maria. Believe me, word will get around.”
“And if no one shows up, do we still have a deal?”
He shook his head. “You have to win them over. That was the deal. If photography doesn’t work, I guess you’ll just have to come up with something else, won’t you?”
The challenge was unmistakable. Dana resolved then and there that she would make the photography class work. She would teach these kids the skills they would need to take first-rate snapshots. Maybe, with a little luck, she’d even find one who could become a professional. Catching herself, she realized she was actually getting carried away. She saw how easy it was to become excited about possibilities.
She was also, once again, getting distracted. She eyed Rick suspiciously. Was that what he really intended? Had he hoped that she would get so caught up with these kids, so emotionally attached to them, that she’d forget all about the little matter of identifying her husband’s murderer?
“It won’t work,” she said quietly.
“What won’t work?”
“I