Terror in Taffeta by Marla Cooper Page B

investigating Dana’s death, and we’ve been instructed to stay put. I guess with the break-in, they’re assuming something suspicious happened, but there’s no way any of us had anything to do with it.”
    â€œI don’t know, though,” Evan said, sipping his drink. “Don’t you think it sounds a little suspicious?”
    â€œHow do you figure?”
    â€œDid your room get broken into?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDid anyone else’s room get broken into?
    â€œNo.”
    â€œJust the dead girl’s?”
    â€œWell. Yeah.”
    â€œAnd you can’t think of one reason the police would be suspicious?”
    â€œLook, Evan, I can see how it looks bad, but I know these people. They’re annoying as can be, but they’re not murderers.” I fished some fruit out of my sangria and munched on it distractedly. “Couldn’t it be a coincidence? I mean, we don’t even know the cause of death. The stupid police wouldn’t tell me anything.”
    â€œThe nerve.”
    â€œI know, right? I even tried flirting with one of them, and he was completely nonresponsive.”
    â€œThat I find hard to believe,” he said, leaning across the table and kissing me softly on the mouth.
    Swoon. Okay, just because he was the most charming man I’d encountered in, oh, five years, didn’t mean I was going to chuck it all and move to Mexico, but for one heated moment, I pondered what it would be like to be a kept woman. Nah, I’d be bored with nothing to do but order around the part-time house staff. Besides, I was booked solid for the next year and a half. But damn, he made it tempting. It would be nice to be taken care of for once, rather than doing all the caretaking. Not to mention the handholding, decision-making, t -crossing and i -dotting.
    â€œI admit it looks suspicious, but I’m sure everything will be fine. They’ll figure out that none of us has anything to do with this mess, and we can all go back to our lives.”
    â€œI have selfish reasons for hoping they drag it out,” Evan said, “but I’ll see what I can find out from my friends at the station.”
    Handsome and handy to have around. My kind of man.
    After dinner—and, to be fair, more kissing—we walked to the jardín to listen to the mariachis for a bit. After a group of tourists finished nodding their heads enthusiastically to “El Jarabe Tapatío”—also known as “The Mexican Hat Dance,” also known as “the only Mexican song some people can name when approached by a mariachi”—Evan pressed some pesos into the bandleader’s hand and whispered something in his ear. They began to play a romantic ballad as Evan slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me close. We danced for a few minutes while passersby smiled appreciatively. I could tell what they were thinking: Just two young people in love.
    As the song finished, an older woman patted me on the arm and said something in Spanish. My Spanish wasn’t good enough to catch what she’d said, but the twinkle in her eye made me blush.
    The date had been a good one, I had to admit. San Miguel was one of the most romantic towns in Mexico, maybe even North America, but I’d never really been able to enjoy it properly before now.
    We got to the gate of the villa, and Evan kissed me again as the bells of La Parroquia chimed midnight in the distance.
    â€œYou know,” he said, leaning in for a kiss, “one of the benefits of dating a pilot is that distance isn’t really an issue.” Just as our lips were about to touch, the heavy wooden door to the villa suddenly swung open.
    â€œKelsey!” Nicole cried, oblivious to the moment she had interrupted.
    â€œWhat?! Oh! Hi. Nicole. We were just—I was just—you remember Evan?”
    â€œHi, Evan. Kelsey, where have you been?” She threw her arms around me and managed to get