Dead on the Dance Floor (9 page)

So what had she felt about Lara Trudeau? Doug's files didn't say.

He stared across the street, reflecting on his instructor. She'd been tense. His questions had made her nervous. Or maybe she was always tense. No…she was on edge, something more than usual.

Rhianna Markham, Jane Ulrich. Both pretty, unmarried, no solid relationships, no children. Rhianna was from Ohio and had a degree from a liberal arts college. Jane had never gone past high school but had worked three years as a dancer at one of the central Florida theme parks before coming south. Both were ambitious, wanted to advance in the professional world. Lara Trudeau would have been their competition.

Of course, every female competitor in the dance world would have been in the same position. Assuming that Lara Trudeau had somehow been helped to her demise, she had done so before a crowd of hundreds—a large percentage of them competitors. He could be barking up the wrong tree entirely.

But he had to start somewhere. If Lara Trudeau had been murdered, it had been by someone with whom she had a close relationship. To have her die the way she did, before a crowd of hundreds, a murderer would have had to plan very carefully. And it certainly did seem odd that a woman who had been a student at the school had died from an eerily similar overdose just weeks before, even if she hadn't been at the studio in some time.

So…

Love. Hate.

The male instructors. Ben Trudeau. The ex-husband. Always a good suspect. Late thirties, tall, attractive, talented, a bit hardened, and, like Lara, growing old for the field of competition. He'd taken a steady teaching job rather than just coaching. Sam Railey, Jane Ulrich's partner, deeply loyal, determined that they would rise to the top—they had come close together, many times. Justin Garcia, salsa specialist, newest teacher at the studio.

Then there was Lara's partner, Jim Burke. Not a full time teacher at the studio but a coach, as well. Again, a tall, striking man of thirty, lucky to be chosen to be Lara's partner. Now alone. With Lara, he flew like an eagle. Without her…he had no partner. He was back to square one. No matter what his talent, Lara had been the driving force of the pairs, the true prima donna of the dance floor. Jim Burke seemed an unlikely candidate as a murderer.

Gordon Henson?

Quinn shook his head. It wasn't difficult finding motives for most of Lara's acquaintances and associates. Gordon had gotten Lara started; he gave her space, taught her to move. Had she spurned him, rejected him, made fun of him…threatened him?

He looked across the street again. He had only glanced through the files on the teachers and he had half a dozen scenarios already. He hadn't even begun to study the student lists.

It was now beginning to get busier over at Suede. He checked his watch. After ten. He was surprised to realize that the waiter at the little café had politely let him sit here, nursing a water, for so long. He started to rise, then paused, watching.

Shannon Mackay was coming down the steps from the side entry to the studio. She had apparently left in a hurry and rushed halfway down, looking behind her as she did so.

Then she stopped, took a deep breath and squared her soldiers.

For a minute she simply stood there. At last she turned and slowly walked back up. She took out a set of keys and made quick work of locking the door, then started down the steps again.

She walked slowly at first. Then, as she neared the bottom, she began rushing again. She reached the sidewalk and took another deep breath. She stared back up the steps, then shook her head.

The doorman at Suede saw her as she stood on the sidewalk. He called out a greeting, and she swung around, greeting him in turn.

Then she disappeared into the club as he opened the door for her.

Very curious behavior, Quinn thought.

He left the café, making sure to leave a generous tip. He would undoubtedly be wanting his table back in the days to come. He stopped by his car long enough to toss in the files he'd been reading, then headed across the street.

The doorman at Suede was jet-black, a good six-three, and pure muscle. He looked at Quinn, frowned, sized him up and down, and decided to let him pass.

Inside, the music was loud.

The bar was to the rear of the building, the dance floor about ten feet from the entrance. The place advertised live music and lived up to the advertising. The room was handsomely appointed, with the walls painted to imitate a sunset. Floor lighting gave the place just enough illumination to make the tables navigable, while spotlights gave a burst of life to the polished dance floor. A Latin trio was playing, and the beat was fast. Tables surrounded the floor on either side, and despite it being a weeknight, most of the tables were filled, though the place wasn't overcrowded. Scantily clad women on the dance floor gyrated at shocking speeds, some looking good and some not.

Toward the rear of the place, to the left of the bar, he caught sight of Gordon Henson. The thick thatch of white hair on his head was caught in the light, drawing attention to him. Skirting around the dance floor, Quinn saw that his brother was in attendance, along with Bobby Yarborough, one of his classmates from the academy, and Bobby's new wife, or at least, Quinn assumed it was his wife. He'd never met her. Shannon Mackay was next to Doug, on her other side a tall man in a white tailored shirt and sport jacket, who, in turn, was next to a small woman of about forty, perfectly elegant, but with features so taut they screamed plastic surgery.

Doug, looking across the floor, saw him and, with some surprise, called his name. “Quinn!”

Quinn continued across the room, excusing himself with a quick smile when he nearly collided with a waitress.

“My brother with the two left feet,” Doug teased, rising to greet him with a handshake.

“Hey, now, that's not really true,” Shannon said, defending him. The words, however, seemed to be a natural reaction; she smiled, but she seemed distracted.

“That's right. You had your first lesson today, so you've met Shannon and Gordon, and of course, you know Bobby.”

Quinn nodded, reaching out to shake Bobby's hand. Bobby grinned broadly. “Hey, Quinn. You haven't met my wife, Giselle.”

“Giselle, nice to meet you. Congratulations on your wedding.”

Giselle smiled. “Thank you. It's amazing. I thought it would never come. Now, I feel as if we've been married forever.”

“Ouch,” Bobby said.

She squeezed his arm. “I meant that in the best possible way.”

“Hmm,” Bobby mused, feigning a frown.

“Quinn, these are the doctors Long,” Doug continued. “Richard and Mina.”

He shook hands with the couple. “How nice. Do you work together?”

The petite blonde laughed. “Good heavens, no. Richard is a dermatologist and plastic surgeon. I'm a lowly, hardworking pediatrician.”

“She's far more noble,” Richard said, grinning.

“You're the artist,” his wife teased back.

His arm, casually around her shoulders as they sat in the expansive booth, tightened affectionately. “We simply thank God we don't work together. That way, we get to enjoy the time we do share.”

“Great,” Quinn said.

“Here, please, sit,” Mina Long said, inching closer to her husband.

“I don't want to crowd you.”

“Oh, please, don't worry,” Richard said. “We're only here for a few minutes longer. We have to join some other friends across the room. In fact…we were about to dance?” He wasn't looking at his wife but across the table at Shannon.

“That's the music you want?” she asked.

“That's it,” he told her.

“Excuse me, then…?”

Bobby and Giselle moved out, allowing Shannon to slip from the booth. She brushed past Quinn, who excused himself, moving backward again to allow her more room.

“Sit, bro,” Doug said, as the others slid back in. “So how did you like your lesson?”

“It was…great,” Quinn said. He watched as Shannon took the floor with Richard Long. A moment later, they were moving with astonishing grace, taking up the floor, entwined in seemingly impossible ways, and doing it so well that many of the people on the floor moved back, cheering.

“That's salsa?” Quinn said.

“Samba,” Gordon told him.

He looked across the table at Mina. “And do you dance, too, Dr. Long?”

“Oh, yes.” She laughed pleasantly. “But not like Shannon.” She grinned. “Richard and I dance together at social functions, of course. But frankly, he prefers Shannon—and I prefer Sam. Sam Railey. He's my teacher. Two amateurs naturally dance better with two professionals.” She leaned closer across the table. “I'm afraid Richard is showing off tonight. We have to join a few of his professional associates in a minute.”

“Ah, I see,” Quinn said.

She smiled again. It would have been a great smile—if it hadn't appeared that her entire face might shatter. “You
will
see. Wait until you get into it more. Hey, have you seen your brother dance?”

“Believe it or not, I haven't.”

Mina Long looked at Doug. “I'm not exactly Jane or Shannon, but we can give your big brother a bit of show, if you like?”

“Absolutely,” Doug agreed. “Sorry,” he said apologetically to the others again.

“Hey, we might as well dance, too,” Bobby told his bride.

“Might as well?” Giselle said with a groan. “See, Bobby, it
is
as if we've been married forever.”

Bobby laughed. “Sorry. My beloved wife, would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”

“Good save,” Doug muttered, and they all laughed.

“Pretty darned good, yes,” Mina agreed, and she took his hand, heading for the dance floor.

“How did you enjoy your lesson?” Gordon Henson asked Quinn.

“You know, quite frankly, I went because Doug bought me the guest passes and he was so into it himself. But I was surprised. I
did
enjoy it,” Quinn said, his eyes on his brother and Mina.

His brother, he noted, was good. Bobby and Giselle, both beginners, weren't as smooth but obviously enjoyed themselves.

“Those two only came in to take some classes before their wedding. They keep coming back,” Gordon told him. Then he leaned against the table. “So, what do you do, Mr. O'Casey?”

Quinn didn't have a chance to answer him. A man approached the table, calling out cheerfully, “Gordon! I'll be damned. They actually got you in here?”

The man was tall, dark, good-looking, casually dressed in an open-neck black silk shirt, tan trousers and a dark jacket. His eyes were dark, too, his face deeply bronzed.

“Yeah, they dragged me down,” Gordon said, half rising to shake the newcomer's hand.

“Gabe, this is Quinn O'Casey, Doug's brother, a new student. Quinn, meet Gabriel Lopez, entrepreneur extraordinaire! Suede is his club.”

“How do you do?” Quinn said, shaking hands with Lopez.

“Great, thanks. And welcome. You ever been in here before?”

Quinn shook his head. “Never. I'm a total novice.”

“You'll like it. I get the best musicians, even during the week. We keep up the floor, and our kitchen turns out amazing food.”

“So far, so good,” Quinn said.

“You haven't been on the dance floor yet?”

Quinn grinned. “No. And you won't see me on it for a very long time, I assure you.”

Lopez had slid into the booth next to him. “My friend, you'll be surprised, don't you think, Gordon?”

Gordon nodded. “Dancing gets in your blood. You hear the music, you have to move.” He shrugged, staring at the floor. “Maybe you don't get to be a Shannon Mackay right away, but look at Doug. Six months, and he's quite impressive. Most importantly, he's having fun.”

“Yeah, he really enjoys it. And hey, what a setup you two have here,” Quinn said, including Lopez. “You learn upstairs, you dance downstairs. Couldn't have been planned better.”

“True,” Gordon agreed. “And it wasn't even planned.”

“This wasn't a club before?”

“It's always been a restaurant—with an excuse for a dance floor,” Lopez said. He shrugged. “When I came down, a year or so ago now, I saw the potential in the place. The other owners weren't making use of the gold mine they had.”

“We have a great relationship,” Gordon explained. “We have the same people come in to take care of the floors, and we both get a deal that way.”

“They send me their students all the time,” Lopez said.

“And we have a place to send our students, so that they have a good time and want to take more lessons,” Gordon said, then pointed toward the ceiling. “The other tenant in the building is a designer and costumer. She's great, too. Katarina. When someone is looking for a dress—for a night out on the town, or for a competition—they just go right across the hall. You couldn't get a better setup.”