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to avoid looking at him than anything else. She wasn’t sure how she could deal with this for the next several days. If she were a free agent, some sort of liaison might be poorly advised, but feasible. The problem was, she was happily attached to Rob.
    No. That wasn’t right. Rob wasn’t the problem. Dylan was the problem. But the fact that she had to keep reminding herself of that was
also
a problem.
    She called Evangeline to clarify about the ladder, then told the boys it was coming soon and to start on the branches they could reach. She couldn’t afford to get sucked into this distraction, so she headed back to her office to finish organizing her day.
    Once her planner was double-checked, she went into Evangeline’s office to see how things were going for her.
    * * *
    I n the lower level of the Roanoke Arts Commission was a large room that the pageant had been lent in exchange for including the commission’s name on the program and promotional materials. Michelle would use it to teach the girls three choreographed numbers for the pageant. Cam wondered if she was sufficiently recovered from the trauma of finding Telly the day before.
    Two of the routines the girls would perform were fairly simple: just walking in a certain pattern, but the third was intended to evaluate fitness and coordination, and so would take some effort. Three girls from one of the local high school dance teams had signed up to help Michelle, so they could work in smaller groups to learn faster. Two of them were present already when Cam got to the room. She decided to avoid mentioning what had happened the day before, as she didn’t want to alarm the girls.
    “Hi, girls. Michelle not here yet?”
    “I saw her, but she said she forgot her microphone in her car, so she ran back to get it.”
    “Yeah, I imagine getting the attention of thirty young girls takes some volume,” Cam said.
    “No kidding!” one of them said. Cam thought she was called Chelsea. “I just helped coach a cheerleading camp for middle-schoolers. My word!”
    They all laughed.
    “Should we test the music? It’s all set up, isn’t it?” Cam hoped if they were busy, she could more easily have a quiet word with Michelle.
    The other girl shrugged. Her name tag read Ashley. “I think it’s all on her iPod.” She went over to look, found the iPod, hooked everything together, and looked at the song options. She frowned. “Chel, does this look right?”
    Chelsea joined her, looking at the options. “I’ve never heard of these songs, but maybe she just called them something funny.” She pushed play.
    Cello overtures of a loud, depressing Wagner tune blared.
    “No!” Ashley yelped, hitting stop. She tried another, which was more energetic but just as dark. “It’s all this Wagner guy!” she said it like an American, though Cam knew better.
    Vogner.
    “Maybe you’re just in the wrong folder. A lot of people love Wagner.” Cam pronounced it carefully so the girls might learn, though she was thinking “for mourning” as the most appropriate timing for the tunes.
    The girls had pushed play on one last song when Michelle came in, cringing. “Zoiks! Who’s the morbid one?”
    Cam and the girls turned.
    “It’s not you?” Cam asked.
    “Oh, Cam. I’m aware it’s ignorant, but I’ve made a point of avoiding any classical music that isn’t featured in a game arena or pop song since I was allowed to quit piano at fourteen. No. Not mine. Mine’s the . . .” She stared and pulled the iPod off of the player. “Mine looks just like this, but this is
not
my music. And my music is gone!”
    “Are you sure you left yours here? Black is a common color,” Cam said.
    “Positive. I left everything I worried I’d forget.” She glanced to the side to check on the props, but then nodded.
    “So someone came in here, but not to steal . . . they just wanted to wreak havoc?” Cam asked.
    “Looks like it,” Michelle answered, running a hand through her hair.