Page 34 of Blade

He runs through the timeline—the one that’s in the file. Emile picked up Grace after her fight with Tammy Theisen. Dawn was still at the rink—witnesses place her there through early evening.

Grace returned in time for dinner that night, having changed out of her dress. Her skates were back at the rink, in her locker, though she claims she accidentally left them in Westin’s office after her session.

Emile didn’t show up for training the next day, and his body was found three days later by a local resident walking his three black labs in the field. There had been snow, then freezing rain in the days leading up to the discovery. Emile’s body and the pool of blood were frozen, discovered by the dogs after they were let off their leash.

Questioning followed, the missing dress, the search of the locker, the blood found on the skates. How Jolene, who was still in town after the holidays, tracked me down in Aspen, and I came the same day. Shannon called Artis. He was one of the few criminal lawyers in town.

Shannon listens, riveted like she’s watching a true crime show.

“I remember seeing her at dinner. She’d changed out of the dress—the blue one with the butterflies—remember it, Ana? I still have mine after all these years.”

I tell her that I do remember. But mine is long gone.

Shannon shrugs. “She couldn’t find it when the police asked her. It was all so horrible,” she says. “That’s when I called Artis.”

“Right,” I say. And now I wonder—“How did you know him?”

Shannon laughs. “Grace isn’t the first of my kids to get into trouble.”

My kids,I think. Edie never would have called us that.

Artis chimes in. “I talk to the skaters every season. Tell them how to stay out of trouble. What to do if they get pulled over. If they’re caught buying weed, using a fake ID at the liquor store. I do the same for the private school in Colorado Springs.”

I get it now. “And they put your number on speed dial?”

Artis laughs. “Something like that.”

And I think about what he said earlier—how he wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for The Palace.

Shannon exhales a heavy sigh. “Artis said you wanted to talk about that video? And about Grace—her ... personality?”

I nod. “Yes.”

Shannon takes a beat, like she doesn’t want to tell us. But then, suddenly, she does. “Look. I love Grace like my own child. She’s not like that. And Tammy—well, that had been coming for a long time. They were rivals on the ice, living together here. Then Grace made it to Nationals and Tammy didn’t. It came down to the triple Axel, like it always does—even when we were skating, right, Ana?”

“I remember,” I tell her, and for a second I think she’s going to talk about Indy. But she doesn’t. Maybe she knows better. Maybe she can feel the embers still smoldering inside me.

“Only now, several girls have it. They just don’t always land them when they need to. And that’s what happened at Midwesterns. Tammy fell and Grace didn’t.”

“But that day, and that night,” Artis asks. “Why did it suddenly come to blows?”

“And why did you call Emile?” I add.

Shannon shakes her head. “I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

“Why don’t you let us decide?” Artis leans forward, hands in a prayer.

“California—you know about that, right?”

“What about California?” Artis asks.

“You really don’t know? My God—Emile was planning to move some of the top skaters there. He was hired to take over a program in San Diego. The place is already set up, training top skaters from around the world, but they’re about to lose their head coach, Eduardo Patteli—you know him, right, Ana?”

I did. Eduardo Patteli was one of Dawn’s rivals. He’d been around forever.

“Emile was stepping in to replace him.”

“Ah,” I say as it all comes together. “Was he taking one girl and not the other?”