Promise Her Read Free Page B

Hallie.
    “She wasn’t herself tonight,” Jane said.
    “What do you mean?” Lisa had seen it too. The jerky way Tempest’s hand held her drink; the breathless way she spoke. At the time, Lisa had explained it away as pre-performance jitters. Now she thought different. Why hadn’t she stopped her from performing? If Tempest had hit her head when she'd fallen and died, Lisa would consider herself responsible for not doing something when she'd had the chance.
    “Tempest was the one who always kept us calm before a show. Tonight, she needed valium,” Hallie said.
    “Did she take one?”
    “Figure of speech,” Hallie said. “I don’t think Tempest took drugs of any kind.”
    “Did anyone ask her what was wrong?”
    “I did,” Jane volunteered. “She just looked away and said she didn’t feel up to par.”
    “What did you think when she couldn’t hold up her end of the act?”
    “I thought she might be drunk,” Hallie said. “But I didn’t want to say anything.”
    “Was it normal for her to drink before a performance?”
    Hallie shook her head. “No. She wasn’t a drinker.” She glanced over at the other performers. “At least, we never saw her drink.” Tears filled her eyes. “She was our inspiration. She was the one who put the act together. We can’t do it without her.”
    The others nodded in agreement.
    “If you thought something was wrong and she wasn’t herself, wouldn’t that be a reason to either stop the act or at least keep her from performing?” But Lisa had tried to stop her and hadn’t succeeded. How did she expect anyone else to? But had she tried hard enough? Had anyone? No. They hadn’t.
    “I didn’t think she was in such a bad state,” Hallie said. “I was wrong. Was she hurt bad from the fall?”
    “Don’t be stupid, Hallie. It’s a lot more serious than being drunk and falling off a horse,” Jane said.
    “How do you know?” Lisa asked as she pushed aside her thoughts for a moment and came to her feet.
    “I work at St. Luke’s. I’ve seen people having seizures and it’s never good.”
    “Don’t say that,” Mavis cried, putting her hands to her face. “She’s our age, and in perfect health. She only had a spill. She wasn’t trampled or anything.”
    They cried again, both for Tempest and for themselves.
    “Would you mind giving me your phone numbers? I’ll let you know if I find out anything.” If Tempest was seriously injured, the cops would be here any minute and Lisa wouldn’t get another chance to talk to them. At least not today.
    Digging in her bag, she hauled out a notebook, took down their names and cell numbers.
    “When do you think you’ll know something?” Mavis asked.
    “Could be any minute. Why don’t you get dressed and hang loose for a while?” She didn’t want to tell them they were facing a grilling if this was as bad as she was afraid it might be.
    She looked at her watch. “I’ll be in touch,” she said as she hugged each woman and handed out her business card. “Call me if you need to talk.”
    She was almost to the door when she turned back to ask one final question. “Was Tempest’s husband here tonight? Did he come in before the performance?”
    They shook their heads. “Didn’t see him.”
    “Okay then. Just hang loose.”
    She shut the door behind her and hurried down the hall.
    “Hey!” Bailey yelled, trying to keep up.
    “Get a move on. I have to meet Douglas.”
    They entered the skybox a few minutes later. The crowd had thinned. Most of the dignitaries had left to find out what had happened to Tempest. Those who remained were milling around with drinks in hand, rehashing their own perceptions about what they'd witnessed.
    Her gaze swept the area. Where was Douglas?
    She caught him as he opened the door. And couldn’t stop the hitch in her heart. He had on his lawyer clothes: suit and tie. The tie matched his eyes, making them an even brighter green. Unsmiling, he searched faces until he found