Read Online RESORT TO MURDER by Mary Ellen Hughes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Ellen Hughes
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time to mull this over
because Rob hurried onto the court and got down to business right
away.
"Let's see what you're doing now," he said.
He set up his ball basket near the net, and motioned her to stand
at the baseline. Then he began tossing balls for her to hit.
"Not bad, but this is where you’re going
wrong.” He demonstrated with his own racquet, then went through the
proper motions of the backhand with her. He tossed more balls at
her, keeping up a constant patter of instruction, and Maggie
struggled to follow it all.
"Turn your shoulder more, that's right. Now
follow through - you didn't follow through on that one. See where
your ball ended up?"
She was swamped with detailed directions.
She felt clumsy and uncoordinated.
"Hey, that's a good one. Perfect!"
Maggie beamed. This was fun. She hit a few
more. "I think I'm starting to get the hang of it."
"Oops, you didn't step forward enough on
that one. Always remember....” Back to square one.
The sun beat down on the court. Maggie wiped
sweat from her face and pushed back the short brown waves of hair
that were rapidly tightening into what Joe teasingly called,
"little Shirley Temple curls."
"Do you think we could take a break?” Maggie
finally asked, breaking into Rob's steady stream of
instruction.
"Arm getting tired?” He glanced at Maggie
and checked his watch. "Yeah, let's sit down a while.” He took her
racquet from her, leaned it against the net, then led the way to a
shaded bench beyond the fence. Maggie noticed he had barely worked
up a sweat. His white tennis shorts and shirt still looked crisp
and fresh, the skin of his neck below the dark hair was tan and
dry. She wrapped a towel around her own damp neck and dabbed at the
edges of her hairline.
"Try to work on what you just learned," Rob
said, "practicing until it feels natural, automatic.” He filled a
paper cup with water from a cooler and handed it to her, then
filled one for himself.
"I don't know if it will ever feel natural.”
Maggie held the cold cup against her temple, then forehead and
cheek. "I'm obviously not one of those natural athletes."
"Even a natural athlete has to work at it,
and work hard."
"I guess you've played for a long time?"
Maggie asked, glancing over.
"Since I was four," he grinned back at her,
"and could barely hold a racquet."
"No kidding? Someone said you played at
Wimbledon. Is that right?"
Rob's grin faded, and he squinted at the
sky. "Yeah, that's right. I had to qualify, but it was a dream come
true. Something I spent years working towards. Did pretty good too,
until, well, let's just say Wimbledon demands 100 per cent of its
players, and suddenly I crashed down to about 25 per cent."
"An injury?"
He gulped his water and threw the cup down,
then picked it up again, tossing it into the nearby trash basket.
"I don't like to talk about it much. I thought I was beginning a
career on the tour, and it didn't work out. That's that.” He raised
an eyebrow as he turned and looked at her with an easy smile. "I'd
much rather talk about you. Understand you're a teacher. That
right?"
"Yes.” Maggie heard his flirting tone now
and felt annoyed. He seemed to be able to turn it on so easily. Was
he just trying to avoid talking about himself? She gave him a cool
look and said, "Math. High school."
"That's great."
"The math is great, but sometimes the system
is less than wonderful, like when they give me someone who hasn't
mastered multiplication yet and expect me to get him into quadratic
equations by the third quarter."
"Yeah, but isn't it great when you start to
see some improvement, and know you brought it about?"
Maggie looked at Rob, surprised. "Yes, it
is. It's one of the reasons I went into teaching.” She took a sip a
water, then, watching Rob's face closely, said, "Did you know that
the girl whose body I found, Lori, was a student of mine back in
Baltimore?"
Rob looked back at her steadily, and she
noticed a tightening at the side of his mouth. "I
because Rob hurried onto the court and got down to business right
away.
"Let's see what you're doing now," he said.
He set up his ball basket near the net, and motioned her to stand
at the baseline. Then he began tossing balls for her to hit.
"Not bad, but this is where you’re going
wrong.” He demonstrated with his own racquet, then went through the
proper motions of the backhand with her. He tossed more balls at
her, keeping up a constant patter of instruction, and Maggie
struggled to follow it all.
"Turn your shoulder more, that's right. Now
follow through - you didn't follow through on that one. See where
your ball ended up?"
She was swamped with detailed directions.
She felt clumsy and uncoordinated.
"Hey, that's a good one. Perfect!"
Maggie beamed. This was fun. She hit a few
more. "I think I'm starting to get the hang of it."
"Oops, you didn't step forward enough on
that one. Always remember....” Back to square one.
The sun beat down on the court. Maggie wiped
sweat from her face and pushed back the short brown waves of hair
that were rapidly tightening into what Joe teasingly called,
"little Shirley Temple curls."
"Do you think we could take a break?” Maggie
finally asked, breaking into Rob's steady stream of
instruction.
"Arm getting tired?” He glanced at Maggie
and checked his watch. "Yeah, let's sit down a while.” He took her
racquet from her, leaned it against the net, then led the way to a
shaded bench beyond the fence. Maggie noticed he had barely worked
up a sweat. His white tennis shorts and shirt still looked crisp
and fresh, the skin of his neck below the dark hair was tan and
dry. She wrapped a towel around her own damp neck and dabbed at the
edges of her hairline.
"Try to work on what you just learned," Rob
said, "practicing until it feels natural, automatic.” He filled a
paper cup with water from a cooler and handed it to her, then
filled one for himself.
"I don't know if it will ever feel natural.”
Maggie held the cold cup against her temple, then forehead and
cheek. "I'm obviously not one of those natural athletes."
"Even a natural athlete has to work at it,
and work hard."
"I guess you've played for a long time?"
Maggie asked, glancing over.
"Since I was four," he grinned back at her,
"and could barely hold a racquet."
"No kidding? Someone said you played at
Wimbledon. Is that right?"
Rob's grin faded, and he squinted at the
sky. "Yeah, that's right. I had to qualify, but it was a dream come
true. Something I spent years working towards. Did pretty good too,
until, well, let's just say Wimbledon demands 100 per cent of its
players, and suddenly I crashed down to about 25 per cent."
"An injury?"
He gulped his water and threw the cup down,
then picked it up again, tossing it into the nearby trash basket.
"I don't like to talk about it much. I thought I was beginning a
career on the tour, and it didn't work out. That's that.” He raised
an eyebrow as he turned and looked at her with an easy smile. "I'd
much rather talk about you. Understand you're a teacher. That
right?"
"Yes.” Maggie heard his flirting tone now
and felt annoyed. He seemed to be able to turn it on so easily. Was
he just trying to avoid talking about himself? She gave him a cool
look and said, "Math. High school."
"That's great."
"The math is great, but sometimes the system
is less than wonderful, like when they give me someone who hasn't
mastered multiplication yet and expect me to get him into quadratic
equations by the third quarter."
"Yeah, but isn't it great when you start to
see some improvement, and know you brought it about?"
Maggie looked at Rob, surprised. "Yes, it
is. It's one of the reasons I went into teaching.” She took a sip a
water, then, watching Rob's face closely, said, "Did you know that
the girl whose body I found, Lori, was a student of mine back in
Baltimore?"
Rob looked back at her steadily, and she
noticed a tightening at the side of his mouth. "I
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