Page 114 of What She Saw

Susan was petite and lean and secured her blond hair in a smooth ponytail. She lined up the girls in a straight line and walked along the row, seeming to inspect their outfits. She paused to straighten a hair clip or adjust a tutu that had gone askew.

The girls appeared to enjoy her attention, and when she moved to the front of the room and struck a pose, they all mimicked her.

“Can I help you?” The question came from a thin, middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair.

“I’ve heard a lot of good things about this studio. I have a six-year-old who loves dance.” The trick to lying was to keep it simple.

“We have a waiting list. But I can give you an application. We’ll add your daughter to the list once we have your deposit.”

“Great.” I looked at the application as if I cared. “Do you mind if I watch the class? I’ll stay back here.”

“Just be very quiet. And don’t move beyond this desk.”

“Of course.” For the next thirty minutes Susan led the girls in a series of dances. The tiny dancers’ movements were rigid in aStepford Wiveskind of way.

A poster advertised a recital scheduled for Saturday. This must be the last big practice session before the show. The receptionist glanced at me several times. In the last thirty minutes, she’d determined that I didn’t fit in this suburban world.

I watched for a few more minutes but saw nothing of real interest. As I turned to leave, I remembered manners helped. “Thanks,” I whispered.

I left the studio and walked across the street, aware that the receptionist was watching me. I slid into the passenger seat. “Susan Westbrook is leading the class.”

He fired the engine. “The place looks legit.”

I glanced at the Dance Studio brochure. “It says she trained and danced in Seattle. Thirty-one years ago, it would’ve been easier to re-create herself across the country. She opened this studio twenty years ago. The kids and mothers seem to love her.”

Grant pulled into traffic. “The most we could get Brian Fletcher and Susan Westbrook on would be filing a false report. And after thirty-one years, no one would care.”

“Brian is a straight arrow.”

“Even straight arrows will lie to protect their children.”

“Sara told a few lies on my behalf, but that was more to protect herself than me.”

“Many parents will do anything to protect their child.”

“Would you?”

Grant nodded. “I would.” He parked in front of a place called Presidential Burger. “You look like you could eat. You didn’t eat a lot of breakfast.”

“Sure.”

We both ordered burgers, fries, and sodas, and found a booth in the corner. I focused on the food, sensing it was going to be a late night. I still wasn’t sure how I was going to approach Susan, but I needed to wait until the children and parents had cleared out from the studio.

As I sat, I imagined Tristan’s father panicking and calling in a false missing person report. I didn’t have a lot of stats on Susan yet. She could be a legitimate cousin. But I had serious doubts.

“If I get a DNA sample, can you test it against DNA from Brian Fletcher?” I asked.

He wiped his hands with a napkin. “How are you going to get samples from them?”

“I’ll figure something out.”

“Gently, Sloane. Adults who bodycheck other adults get arrested.”

“I get it.” I glanced at my watch. “The studio closes at eight o’clock. I’ll be there when she leaves.” The burger that had tasted so good now felt heavy in my stomach. “I hate waiting.”

“In your line of work, I’d think you’d be used to it.”

“I still don’t like it.” I picked up a fry. “Do you like waiting?”