Dead on the Dance Floor (34 page)

“I thought you could give me some help.”

“Oh?” Long said.

“Well, it occurred to me that you and your wife are physicians.”

“Yes?”

“Well, how do you think those drugs got into Lara Trudeau?”

Long stared at him for several seconds, and as he did so, his face began to mottle. “Are you suggesting that
I
would dispense drugs illegally? Never. Lara was not my patient. Nor would I have accepted her as a patient—ever. She would have been far too demanding.”

“So how do you think she got all that Xanax into her, then?”

Long's eyes narrowed angrily. “Who the hell are you to be asking? I thought your brother was the cop and that you were a…a fisherman, or something.”

“Licensed private investigator, Dr. Long,” Quinn told him. What the hell, hiding it hadn't gotten him anywhere. Maybe the truth would serve him better.

“And who hired you?”

“I'm not at liberty to disclose the name of my client.”

“Well, I'm sorry, I'm not at liberty to waste any more time with you. I never gave Lara Trudeau a prescription for narcotics. She had her own doctor. Question him.”

“I did. I was just curious, thinking you might be able to give me a little help. Now your wife is also—”

“Don't even go there. My wife's reputation is spotless. I can promise you, she wouldn't have given Lara a prescription or supplied her with free samples or anything of the kind!”

“I'm sorry, but let me just ask you this—the day of the competition, did you see Lara alone with anyone at any time?”

“Well, if I'd been there, too, she wouldn't have been alone, right?” Long said sarcastically.

“I think you know what I mean.”

“I was busy the day of the competition,” Long said. “This is my profession, but dance is my love. I had my own amateur ranking to worry about.”

Quinn rose. “I'm sorry I took up your time.”

“You could have talked to me at the studio,” Long said.

“Well, you know—everyone is at the studio.”

“Lara did herself in. That's my professional opinion. Sorry, Quinn. I have patients out there.”

“Of course. Sure.”

Quinn put his hand on the door handle.

“If anyone spent time with Lara Trudeau, Mr. O'Casey, you might want to look closer to home.”

Quinn turned back.

“Most of the students think he was having an affair with her,” Long said. “Talk to him. In fact, come to think of it, I think he managed to be alone with her, out on the balcony that joined the dressing rooms, right before she went on stage. And I think they were arguing. Yeah, if you need some help, go to your brother. Ask Doug your questions.”

“Thanks, Dr. Long,” Quinn managed to say easily.

He exited the office, nodding at the blonde with the fantastic boobs to the left of the waiting room door and the older woman with the tightly stretched face on the right.

Doug!

Dammit. Why did it keep coming back to his brother?

And why the hell wasn't Doug telling him the truth—all of it?

S
hannon was irritated to reach the studio early—after a very quick shower at her own house—and find out that Gordon was already in. So were Ella and Ben.

Ella was going through the books; Ben was practicing steps by himself, and Gordon was on the phone. When he saw her, he waved her into the office.

“Right, Richard,” Gordon said. He grimaced as Shannon took the seat next to his desk. “Richard, I was aware of Mr. O'Casey's profession, yes.” A moment's silence as Richard spoke on the other end. “Richard, I'm sure he came to see you for help, not to make an accusation, and of course everyone knows that Mina is beyond reproach.” Again silence. “Oh, come now, Richard, you and Mina have to join us on the cruise…As you wish,” Gordon said with a sigh. “We'll miss you.”

Gordon hung up the phone.

“Richard Long?” Shannon said.

“Totally indignant. O'Casey was over at his office, questioning him.”

“Really?”

“Well, you know, the man is a doctor. Doctors can get prescription pills.”

“But Lara had a prescription from her own physician,” Shannon said.

Gordon shrugged. “At any rate, Dr. Long is pissed off. Says he's not coming on the cruise, and he may just quit taking lessons.”

“You didn't try very hard to cajole him,” Shannon said. “Want me to call him?”

Gordon shook his head, grinning. “He'll call back any minute. By noon, at the latest. Richard thinks he's Fred Astaire reincarnated. He won't stop coming.”

“I hope you're right,” Shannon said, rising. “And by the way, Jane seems to be doing all right. I left early, but she was awake.”

Gordon nodded. “I stopped in briefly to see her. She said you had just left. I met her doctor. They're going to keep her two or three more days, then she has to lie low at home for a while.”

“Maybe I was too panicky last night. I guess she'll be back to teaching in less time than I thought.”

Gordon mulled that over. “Whether you were panicky or not, it's kind of a good thing. I think that young lady we're bringing in is going to be quite an asset.” He leaned back in his chair, reflecting. “I hope she never changes, though. Her enthusiasm is so wide-eyed, and her energy is so unlimited. She just loves dancing and being here. Lara was like that when I met her. She let it all go to her head, though. She was a champion, but not really a winner.”

“I hope it works out well, and I definitely hope she stays sweet—since I said she could live with me,” Shannon told him.

“Speak of the devil,” Gordon said.

Shannon turned. Marnie was standing hesitantly just outside the door. “Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. Quinn dropped me off. With my things. They won't take up much room. I got the impression I needed to get started right away.”

“Good call,” Shannon said, rising. She smiled, slipping an arm around Marnie's shoulder. “Come on. You'll work with me first. I'm early.” She winked. “I'm also the best—and most qualified—instructor.”

“Really?” Marnie said.

“Well, in my own mind, anyway,” Shannon told her. “Let's get started.”

When she moved back into the studio dance floor area, she saw that Quinn had not only brought Marnie, he had stayed. He was in the back by the coffeepot, and Ben had joined him. They seemed to be deep in conversation but broke it off the moment she appeared.

“Coffee, Shannon?” Ben asked.

She hesitated, remembering Jane's words and her earlier decision. But they both appeared to be drinking coffee from the pot.

“Sure, thanks.”

“I saw Jane,” Ben said.

“You, too? So did Gordon.”

Ben laughed. “The hospital is going to be thrilled when they get rid of her—Gordon was just leaving when I arrived. Mr. Clinton showed up with chocolates and flowers. Doug was up to see her, and Gabe and Katarina came together, right when I was leaving. I'm willing to bet that the rest of our group—the teachers, at least—will all show up to check on her.”

She smiled. Once that had been the good thing about the studio. They might squabble with one another once in a while, but they were always there for one another, too.

But now…

Now it seemed that a shadow lay over them, that there was some kind of malady among them that could never quite be cured.

Ben handed her a cup of coffee and said to Marnie, “Hey, kid, do you drink coffee?”

“Of course. I am eighteen,” she said.

“Let's hope she keeps it to coffee,” Quinn murmured. Marnie made a face at him, but she also looked at him with a certain amount of adoration.

“Quick cup of coffee. We're going to start working,” Shannon said.

“Are you? I was hoping to catch you early and get a class in,” Quinn said.

“We're not even officially open, Quinn,” she said. “Sorry, I—”

“I can start with Marnie,” Ben said. “I'm in because I'm restless.”

“Yes, but—”

“Don't worry. I'll leave the finer points to you. Marnie has so much to learn, she might as well start some basics with me.”

“I really need the help,” Quinn said.

“Fine,” Shannon told him, unable to come up with another excuse. “Let's go, then.”

She usually linked arms with a student to walk across to the stereo and choose a working disk, but she let Quinn O'Casey follow in her wake.

She slid in a fox-trot.

“No, let's work on that waltz.”

“You know the waltz—you suck at the fox-trot.”

“But we're doing a waltz routine. I'd rather get that right than anything else.”

“You can get it right, but if you're going to compete, you need to do the fox-trot.”

“You just want to do the fox-trot because you know I hate it.” He was grinning.

She sighed. “You need to learn it.”

“Why? Do you make everyone learn the fox-trot?”

“We don't
make
people learn anything.”

He grinned. “I promise I'll learn the fox-trot. Let's do the waltz today, though. I really want to excel at the pooper-scooper.”

“Great.”

She put in a waltz and slid into his arms. He really did have this one down.

“You caused some trouble,” she told him.

“Only some?”

“Richard Long is refusing to come on the cruise.”

“Oh, I bet he'll be there.”

“That's what Gordon said. But you went into his office and started accusing him of dispensing drugs illegally.”

“Nope.”

“You didn't go into his office?”

“Sure. But I just asked him a few questions.”

“Great.”

“That's what investigators do. Ask questions.”

He arched a brow at her. “Yeah, you know, like I did with you. Such an ugly thing.”

She shook her head. “You're killing time now, aren't you?”

“Still investigating.”

“Me?” she said. “I would have thought you had me down pat by now.”

He shook his head. “Not really.”

“Oh? And what don't you know?”

“How did you break your ankle?”

She inhaled, shaking her head. “What are you after?”

“The truth.”

“I broke my ankle because I wasn't good enough. How's that?”

“Not true.”

She let out a sigh. “We were at a competition. I was dancing with Ben at the time, and Lara was dancing with a man named Ronald Yeats. We were all out on the floor during a Viennese waltz and…she crashed, and I went down, too. My ankle was broken.”

“So basically, Lara caused all your woes.”

“So I murdered her?”

“You didn't, did you?” he said, and his tone was both serious and mocking.

“No,” she snapped.

“I didn't think so. But…”

“But what?”

“You're still a coward, you know.”

“What are you getting at now?”

He didn't answer her. They'd moved across the floor, following the steps in the routine, and he flipped her up and around in a perfect rendition of the pooper-scooper. Then he spun her into perfect position to take a bow.

She turned to him. “Your mother must be one good dancer.”

“She is,” he said.

“Are you really planning on dancing at the Gator Gala?” she demanded. She lowered her voice. “Because if all this isn't solved by then…”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“I'll be insane, that's what,” she admitted.

“The amazing thing is this—okay, I suck at the other dances. But I do want to learn them. It actually feels…great, I guess. To be able to do this. That's the truth.”

“Ah,” she said.

“And that means?”

“That's the truth, but it's not the whole truth. Why didn't you mention the FBI? And why did you leave the Bureau? And for that matter, you and Doug seem to have a lot of money. You're not drug smugglers in your spare time, are you?”

He shook his head. “Cops don't make big money, FBI agents don't make big money, and P.I.s just do all right. My father died years ago and left us all trust funds.”

“Was he a drug smuggler?” Shannon said, only partially teasing.

“Real estate. He came here when land cost nothing, bought tons of it and made some pretty good money. I try pretty hard not to touch mine. Don't know why, except that I like to make my living on my own. Planning to check out my bank accounts?”

“Maybe. But that would be illegal, wouldn't it?”

He shrugged, and she had the feeling he had the ability to check out just about anything he wanted.

“I'll put the music back on,” she murmured, dropping the subject of his finances.

In all, they went through the routine several times. Then they went into the fox-trot, which was just as bad as it had been. Still, as they worked, she realized that she loved teaching him. Loved his rueful smile when he didn't get what she was saying, and the flash in his eyes when something made sense. The scent of him seemed very rich to her, seductive. The feel of his hands on her was magic. She was startled when he suddenly said, “I think I'm way over time. I've got to move on.”

They
had
gone over.

She stared at him. “You managed not to answer me before. Why did you leave the FBI?”

He hesitated for a minute. A shield went over his eyes. Then he said, “I made a mistake. A big one.”

She stared at him, then shook her head. “You're really something.”

“Why?”

“You call me a coward, but you're worse. You made one mistake, so you copped out. You're worse than me.”

He stared at her and didn't reply. He walked by, saying something to Marnie and Ben, then departed by the back door.

She followed him, but the door had already closed. Then, as she stood there, hesitant, she heard it.

The grating sound.

She couldn't place it. Was it coming from inside—or outside? Ben turned up the music, and she rushed over, turning down the stereo.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Didn't you hear that?”

“Hear what?” he asked, trying not to sound annoyed.

“That…noise.”

“There's noise from all over, Shannon. What noise are you talking about?”

“Never mind,” she told him. “When you two are done, let Marnie take a little break, then I'll see what she's learned,” Shannon said.

She left them and walked into the ladies' room.

Nothing. And yet…

The noise, she decided, was coming from the rear of the studio. But from where, exactly, and what the hell was it?

 

Quinn found his brother at Nick's.

Luckily he was alone. He was also looking very worn.

Quinn took the chair opposite him. “You look like death warmed over.”

“Yeah, I'm tired,” Doug admitted.

“Should you be taking lunch?” Quinn asked.

“Why?”

“Well, you took time off this morning to go by to see Jane.”

Doug flushed. “I had to.”

“Patrolmen aren't supposed to mess around like that. Your beat is Kendall.”

“I only took a few minutes. What's the matter with you? You're coming on like a ball-buster sergeant.”