Dead on the Dance Floor (12 page)

Lara was dead and would soon be buried.

She had to admit, she was afraid herself. Afraid of something vague that she knew but couldn't touch.

And Quinn O'Casey?

The man was after something. She just wasn't sure what.

D
oug was by the coffin and Quinn decided, for the moment, to let him be. He strode up the aisle and waited off to the side.

People were filling the chairs and lining the walls. Bits and pieces of conversation came to him. One group talked about the weather, and someone chimed in that it was a stroke of genius for Moonlight Sonata to plan the Gator Gala for February, the dead of winter, when everyone would want to be in Florida.

Two others were talking technique, comparing notes on footwork. He was pretty sure that most of the people here were in the world of dance.

Doug remained on his knees before the coffin.

Gordon Henson saw Quinn and lifted a hand in acknowledgment. Jane walked over to Doug, kneeling down beside him.

Ben Trudeau was standing at the coffin, arms crossed over his chest as if he were a sentinel, guarding the remains.

Quinn moved closer, waiting his turn, listening. At last Doug rose, arm in arm with Jane, and the two moved away. Quinn walked up to the coffin. The woman inside had been beautiful, of course. Now her hair was styled, makeup had been applied. She had been dressed for burial in a sky-blue dance gown with elaborate beadwork on the bodice. Her hands were folded. She held a flower. She really did look as if she were a modern day Sleeping Beauty, awaiting the kiss that would awaken her. Except that it wouldn't come. The telltale autopsy scar was, of course, not visible, and so Lara Trudeau lay like a whirl of grace and motion that had been paused in an eternity of time.

He'd seen the tape of that day. Seen her fly and touch the clouds. Seen her die.

He'd gone to Sunday school every week when he'd been growing up. He still attended church with Doug and his mom now and then. He automatically signed a cross over his chest, bowed his head…

And listened.

Someone was standing with Ben Trudeau by the huge flower urn at the head of the coffin. He recognized the voices—it was that of Gabriel Lopez, the sleek owner of Suede.

“Are you all right, Ben?” Lopez sounded like a true friend, concerned.

“Of course I'm all right. We'd been divorced a long time.”

“Still, I didn't know her anywhere near as well, but…she made an impression,” Gabriel said.

There was a hesitation. “I guess I never did stop loving her, in a way. Like you love a selfish child. I hated her, too, though, sometimes.”

“You might want to be careful what you say,” Lopez warned Ben, his voice quiet.

“Why?” Ben demanded.

“Well, the circumstances were pretty strange.”

“Oh, jeez, that again. The cops questioned everyone. They did an autopsy. They studied the tape. The circumstances were strange because Lara was such an idiot for killing herself that way. Accidentally. Idiotically.” He sounded angry. “I wish everyone would just stop with this. God knows—we could all point fingers at one another.”

“I don't know…is it really over? I heard that Shannon Mackay isn't convinced.”

“Shannon doesn't want to face reality. And hey, if someone wanted to start pointing fingers, they could point right at her,” Ben said irritably.

“Is everything all right?”

A third voice had joined in. A woman's. Memory clicked. It was Mina Long.
Dr.
Long, the pediatrician.

“Well,” Lopez murmured, a trace of humor in his voice, “this
is
a wake.”

“Of course, of course. You know, Ben, I meant…You
do
believe Richard did everything he could, don't you? He may be a plastic surgeon, but trust me, he knows CPR and emergency measures.”

“Mina, please, of course we know Richard did everything he could,” Ben said. “It's just hard to accept that she's really gone. Excuse me, will you? An old partner of mine just walked in. I think I'll say hi.”

Ben moved away. “He looks upset,” Mina said to Gabriel, concerned.

“Sure he's upset. But I think he sees a chance to find himself a new partner, rather than an old one. Ben hasn't danced professionally in a while now, and he's anxious to get back to it.” There was a long sigh. “I've got to get going. I didn't know Lara that well, but the club and the studio have a great relationship, so I wanted to be here. Still, I couldn't close the club, and it's a Friday night. Give Richard my best. How is he holding up, by the way? I know he considered Lara a big part of his success as a dancer.”

“Well, of course, his sessions with Lara were important, but I believe Richard knows that Shannon is the one who really taught him. He did admire Lara, though. And being the first one to reach her when it happened…He's all right, though. Good night, Gabriel. We'll be seeing you.”

“I count on it,” Gabriel assured her, and left.

A woman came up to Mina. “Hello, dear, how are you?”

“Gracie, nice to see you. Sorry for the circumstances, though. And congratulations. I understand that Lara was posthumously awarded the trophy for the night she died, but that you came in second.”

“It was a rather hollow victory,” the newcomer said. “I wonder why on earth Gordon and Ben chose that dress. She has so many others that would have been…more appropriate. I mean, it was perfect on the dance floor, but in a coffin…it's rather garish, don't you think?”

“I would have chosen that pink gown she wore for her last Viennese waltz,” Mina said. “And the delicate little diamonds she wore with it.” Mina sighed. “I helped her into it the last time she wore it.”

“Really?” the woman named Gracie said, then changed the subject. “We'll be seeing you at the Gator Gala?”

“Of course.”

“I've got to find Darrin. You and Richard take care, now.”

Mina Long was left standing alone but not for long. She saw Doug standing with Bobby and Giselle, not far away. “Doug, Bobby, Giselle, sweetie. How are you doing?” she called as she walked off.

Quinn didn't hear their replies, distracted when someone knelt next to him. He knew before turning that it was Shannon. He recognized the scent of her cologne.

“Seriously religious, are you?” she asked softly.

“I have been known to go to mass,” he replied.

She was staring at the coffin, her expression tense.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“Well, she
is
dead,” Shannon pointed out irritably.

“Yes, but you look a lot more than just sad.”

She shook her head. “She shouldn't be dead, that's all. She was only in her thirties. She was stunning. She didn't smoke. She drank power shakes all the time…. She just should not be dead, that's all,” Shannon said. “Has everyone seen you yet? Have you seen everyone? I need to get home, but I can call a cab.”

“No, I'd be delighted to drive you home. As long as you won't get fired for it or anything.”

She cast him a glare. “You know, we're not that ridiculous. It's not a good thing for teachers and students to get too close. It can cause professional difficulties.”

“Then again, you have to try to get your students to feel a sense of closeness, right? Dancing is a social activity. The longer you do it, the closer you get.”

She rose, saying, “We're hogging the prayer bench.”

Then she was gone.

Quinn rose more slowly and found Bobby standing to his side. He offered Quinn an awkward smile. “She was a beautiful woman, huh?”

“You worked with her?”

“Only a few times. Giselle and I wanted a picture-perfect wedding. And we had fun. Doug's the one who got so involved in the dancing.” Bobby shrugged. Quinn realized that Bobby didn't know that Doug had not just gotten into dancing, but that he had gotten into Lara Trudeau, as well. Bobby frowned, though, and lowered his voice. “He didn't drag you down here just to get you into dancing, though, did he?”

Quinn shook his head. “But they don't know that at the studio.”

“Hey, I wouldn't say anything.” He shrugged again. “But I don't know what you're going to find. I was there when it happened. She just dropped.”

“I know. I saw the tape today.”

“Well, if I can help, I'm there.”

“I know. Thanks.”

By the time Quinn walked away down the aisle, Shannon Mackay was almost out the front door. He stepped up behind her as she walked out to the street, ready to hail a taxi.

“Sorry. I'm here.”

“Look, it's okay. The beach isn't on the way to the Keys.”

“I brought a boat up to Coconut Grove. You're only a five-minute detour.”

“You can get to the Grove by driving straight south.”

“But I like to drive on the causeway out to the beach. Especially at night. All the lights are on. The shadows hide all the city's dirty little secrets. Night on the water is the most beautiful time. Come on. Let me drive you home. It's really no big deal.”

“All right, thank you.”

She walked along beside him, then stopped suddenly. “How did you know I live on the beach?”

“I didn't. I assumed. I guess because of the studio.”

“You assumed?”

“My God, you're suspicious. I figured if you lived somewhere else, you'd tell me so. Just so I could drive you to the right place.”

He must have sounded exasperated, because she actually smiled. “I live on the beach. Just a few blocks from the studio.”

The night was balmy. As they walked along, however, she shivered slightly.

“Cold? Would you like my jacket?”

“No, thank you. I'm fine.”

She spun around suddenly. A couple who had attended the wake was walking behind them. Quinn glanced at them, then at Shannon, arching his brow. “You seem a little jumpy.”

“Not at all.”

“Okay. If you say so. That's my car.”

He hit the clicker, and his Navigator beeped. Stepping ahead, he opened her door. She gave him a brief thanks and climbed in. She was quiet as they left the parking lot, then headed north and east, toward the expressway entrance.

“You really are nervous. You going to feel safe once you get home?” he asked.

“I live in a nice, safe area.”

He sniffed. “Sure. I heard they found a dead prostitute near you, not long ago.”

She frowned. “Yes, they did, but that was unusual. Most of the people who live and work around there all know one another. She must have gotten in with the wrong element.”

“Easy to do on the beach. Face it, South Beach is where people go for action. Sure, for some that means dancing and restaurants, but some people go for the sheer excitement. Some people love alcohol and drugs—like ecstasy. And some of the people there aren't exactly honest. There are big bucks to be made in the drug trade. You know that.”

“Of course. But dancers tend to be health freaks.”

“Some of your students might not be so dedicated, right?”

“Of course. But Gabriel runs a clean establishment. You can trust me—the cops have checked him out.”

“I can imagine. So why are you so jumpy?”

“I'm not jumpy!”

“Hey, you know, you can ask me in for coffee when I drop you off. I can check out the closets and under the beds before I leave.”

She stared at him, her emerald eyes bright in the neon glow of the local businesses. “
That
would be fraternizing.”

“No, that would be professional courtesy. You teach me to dance, I check out the hidey-holes in your house.”

“Gordon doesn't allow any free lessons.”

“Not after the customers are sucked in, huh?”

“Sucked in? I resent that. We can give your brother a refund—I told you that.”

“But I'm sucked in already,” he said.

She turned away from him, looking out the window. “You know, you're right. I forget sometimes how beautiful it is,” she said.

Across the water, the skyscrapers of downtown Miami were decked out in their night lights—blues, greens, shades in between. Moonlight glowed down on the water, as well. The breeze was light, the waves small. They lapped gently in a captivating pool of deep color beneath the kaleidoscope of glowing pastels.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “The beauty was one of the first things I noticed when I got here.”

“You've just moved here?”

“I was born here. I just moved back.”

“Where were you before?” she asked. There was a suspicious note in her voice again. It made him smile.

“Northern Virginia. Which is beautiful, too. Virginia has the sea and the mountains and everything between. But this is home. I missed it.”

“Did you run a charter service in Virginia, too?”