Stan Mackey was counting out loud to the music. He had one hand digging into my waist and the other squeezing my right hand. It felt like he was wearing metal gauntlet gloves, he was that stiff. I’d checked his footwear when he arrived. No steel-toed work boots, but if I hadn’t seen his leather loafers, I would have sworn he was wearing work boots or maybe combat boots.

“Loosen up a bit,” I said with a forced smile. “Remember, you’re going to be holding Paula, th...