Dead Pan by Gayle Trent Page B

beginner mode—Myra and I had already progressed to “medium”—and started the song, “I Love Rock-N-Roll.” Sumi and Jessie began to play.
    Violet was hesitant at first, but then she began to hit her stride. By the time the song had ended, she was ready to play it again.
    “I think I can do better this time,” she said. “Hit ‘replay’ or whatever you do to start it back.”
    “Same song?” I asked.
    “Of course. We want to be able to do this one well before we move on to the next one.”
    And so we played “I Love Rock-N-Roll” five times. By the fourth run-through, Violet had us not only playing the song but singing it as well.
    After the fifth rendition, Violet looked at the clock and gasped. It was three-thirty.
    “I should’ve been back at home an hour ago,” she said.
    “What’s your verdict of the game?”
    “Even though the lyrics to some of the songs may be a bit questionable, Jason and I have instilled strong values in Lucas and Leslie. They know right from wrong. I believe they’ll have fun with this game.” She grinned. “As a matter of fact, I think we all will.”
    *
    For my date with Ben, I wore a red jersey wrap dress and black velvet heels. I pulled my hair back from my face and secured it with a silver clip. I wore silver hoop earrings to match the hair clip.
    When Ben came to pick me up, he handed me a manila envelope. “Copies of the articles you wanted.”
    As I started to open the envelope, Ben took it back and placed it on the counter. “Later,” he said. “I’ve got reservations.”
    I frowned. “Since when does Dakota’s require reservations?”
    “They don’t. But I’ve got reservations about your opening that envelope. I would like to go to dinner sometime this evening.”
    “Okay. It can wait.”
    “Thank you. By the way, you look incredible.”
    “Thanks. You clean up well yourself.”
    He looked fantastic. He was wearing a white shirt, khakis and a navy sport coat. He sort of looked like a newscaster . . . a really handsome newscaster. I’d tune in.
    As we walked into the restaurant, I felt happy. I was optimistic we were going to have a delightful evening. That feeling lasted until after the waitress had brought our drinks and taken our meal orders. It was when she was walking away that my warm fuzzy feelings dissipated. That’s when I looked up and spotted Cara Logan and a man who could be none other than John Holloway approaching our table.

Chapter Seven
     
    “What--?” Ben didn’t have the chance to finish his question.
    “Hi!” Cara smiled broadly. “John, I’d like you to meet Daphne Martin. Or have you two met already?”
    “No, I haven’t had the pleasure.” Dr. Holloway, a short, thin man with a round face and round glasses, shook my hand.
    “Oh. I thought you might’ve met Daphne since she catered your holiday party,” Cara said.
    “No, darling. Dr. Broadstreet handled the planning of that event.”
    “Besides,” I said, “I was only responsible for the cake.”
    Cara turned to Ben and squeezed his hand. “John, I do believe you’ve met Brea Ridge’s local newspaper reporter. I didn’t know he and Daphne were an item, though.” She wagged her finger at me as if I’d been a naughty girl.
    “Yes, I’ve met Mr. Jacobs,” Dr. Holloway said. “Good to see you again.”
    Ben nodded. His jaw muscles were clenching, cluing me—and, unless Cara and Dr. Holloway were only semi-conscious, them—that he was grinding his teeth.
    Obviously, Cara was indeed only semi-conscious because the next words out of her mouth were, “Mind if we join you?”
    I did not utter a sound. I simply sat and looked at Ben.
    “Darling, I think perhaps we’re intruding,” Dr. Holloway said.
    “Aw, come on,” Cara said, swishing her hair off her shoulders. “You’re not still miffed at me for my intrusion earlier today, are you, Benny?”
    “Intrusion?” Dr. Holloway asked.
    “Yes. It appears Benny here thought I was trying to steal his