Page 27 of Juniper Bean Resorts to Murder

We’re almost to the gymnasium doors when I run, quite literally, into Rocco; he comes out of nowhere, and I stumble, righting myself quickly.

“Sorry, man,” I say. Then, grinning as I get a good look at him, I add, “Looking spiffy.”

His booming laugh echoes down the corridor, laced with that smoker’s wheeze. His blue eyes twinkle as he points to his hair. “You like this? I used about half a tube of hair gel.” His hair is thick and dark, graying at the temples, but usually it’s a mess; tonight he’s got some semblance of a part, and his suit fits him immaculately. His smile fades slightly when he notices Juniper, though, a glimmer of interest springing to life in his eyes.

“And who’s this lovely lady?” he says.

I sigh, resigning myself to the inevitable. “Rocco, this is Juniper Bean,” I say, nodding at her. “Juniper, Rocco Astor.”

Rocco just looks surprised for a second; then a wide, boyish smile splits his face, making him look younger than his forty-something years. “Forgive the facial expression,” he says to Juniper. He reaches out and shakes her hand. “I’ve just never seen this guy with a date.”

Juniper smiles back at him. “Truthfully, I just tagged along for fun,” she says.

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Miss Juniper,” Rocco says, winking. “Have that fun, all right?” Then, checking his watch, he says to me, “I’ve got to dash.”

“Yeah,” I say, waving him off. “See you later.”

He claps me on the shoulder, gives one last nod to Juniper, and then hurries off.

“What does he do?” Juniper says quietly, watching with an amused expression as Rocco fights through the tide of students and then disappears around the corner. “He looks familiar.”

“Gym teacher,” I say.

“Who was the gym teacher when you were here?” she says, looking over at me. “Ours was Kennedy. Is that who you had?”

“Old guy with grayish-blond hair?” I say, trying to remember. I have vague memories of excessive whistle-blowing and lots of shouting. “Drill sergeant in his former life?”

“That’s him,” she says with a grin. Something swoops low in my stomach at the sight—she’s really, really pretty—so I look away.

This is going to be a long night.

* * *

By the timeI step back outside after the dance, I’m ready to call it a night. Heck, I was ready to call it a night three hours ago. But now I’mreallyready. If I have to watch one more couple having a sloppy makeout session in some dark corner, I’m going to lose it.

Just a quick stop by the statue, and then I can go home.

Juniper trots along next to me as we cross the parking lot, the littleclick-clickof her heels percussion against the whispering wind. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright, her skin glistening.

“Do you want my jacket?” I say as the breeze ruffles my hair.

“No,” she says. “Thanks, though. This feels good for now. It got hot in there, didn’t it?” She fans her face. Then she tilts her head to the side, drawing my attention to the smooth line of her neck, the delicate curve of her collarbone, all cast into exaggerated shadow by the parking lot lights.

“Hot,” I mutter, tugging at my collar. “Too hot.” I pick up my pace; no need to dawdle. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

“Thank you for coming with me,” she says, hurrying along after me. I slow down a touch—just enough for her to keep up in those heels—and nod.

“Ten minutes,” I remind her.

“Ten minutes,” she agrees. Her voice is a little breathy, and when I look over at her, she’s gripping her skirt with white-knuckled fingers.

“Nervous?”

“Of course,” she says lightly as we start descending the stairs that lead from the parking lot to the track below. “I’d be crazy not to be a little nervous.”

We step aside as we pass two of my coworkers coming up from the opposite direction—both of whom were supposed to be chaperoning the dance, by the way, but were clearly elsewhere. With Hailey and Bethany, I’m not surprised. Their dresses swish in the wind as they talk together, their steps hurried, their voices low. They don’t even acknowledge us as we let them by; Juniper watches them rush away for a moment before turning back to our path.

I look at her and swallow, trying to figure out the most tactful way to ask my next question. “So your mom…”

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