Dying for a Dance (6 page)
Authors: Cindy Sample
The writing on the other note was barely legible. It read, “
schedule meet Det Hun
.” A phone number was scribbled below. A cell number unrecognizable to most people, but which was easily identifiable to someone who had dated Detective Hunter.
So Tom had called the president. Did that mean he was checking up on me? Dana? Mr. Chandler? Or maybe it meant nothing at all. Tom was active with several local charities. He could have been soliciting the bank for a donation.
Yeah, right. And I didn't have two left feet. I knew what he was up to. There was an investigation afoot.
I ran down the stairs and turned the corner. Smack into my underwriting assistant, the man who thought of himself as the Watson to my Holmes. Although it was more like the Hardy to my Laurel.
“Sorry, Stan, you okay?”
“Fine. What about you? I heard you received a summons from El Presidente.” Stan looked concerned, as any responsible underwriting assistant would. “Did we screw up any loans?”
“Nope. He wanted to discuss Dana and her dance partner.”
We reached my cubicle and Stan dumped several four-inch thick loan files on my desk. He dropped into my visitor chair, crossed his khaki-covered legs, and pushed his wire rims up his pointy nose. The soft gray eyes behind the clear glass lenses looked puzzled.
“Mr. Chandler called you up to his office to talk about his wife and her dance partner? Do I detect some yummy gossip?” Stan's eyes popped out in anticipation of a little bank dirt.
“Of course not. Dana would never lower herself to have an affair with Dimitri. Not that it's even possible.”
“Is Dimitri gay? Can you introduce me to him?” My assistant rubbed his hands in anticipation. “Most of those ballroom guys are so straight. What a waste.”
“Sorry, Dimitri is unavailable. Permanently.”
“Hey, nothing in life is permanent except death and taxes.”
He snorted then his eyes met mine. “We're not talking taxes here, are we?”
I shook my head.
“So this Dimitri guy is dead?”
I nodded.
“Tell me you didn't find him?”
What could I say? In the words of our fearless leader, I have a knack.
NINE
* * * *
By eight o'clock that evening, I discovered that while I have a knack for finding dead bodies, I do not have a knack for designing costumes, particularly costumes that involve the design and construction of fake antlers. Mangled wire hangers littered the family room floor. Discarded pieces of misshapen brown felt were stacked in a raggedy pile at my feet. On top of the pile rested Pumpkin, the Halloween-hued kitten my ex had given the kids. The jury is still out as to which of the two creates more headaches for me. The cat, or my ex.
A flash of blinding headlights illuminated the room. It was too late and too cold for anyone to be out selling magazine subscriptions. Her highness must be making a house call. For once, I was pleased at my mother's predilection for unannounced visits. If anyone could design reindeer headwear, she could.
The front door creaked open. Number 23 on my to-do list. Buy some WD 40. The sound of my mother's trilling laugh was off-putting. She never trilled alone. The deep voice resonating from the entry immediately confirmed my suspicions. So did the knots that formed in my stomach. Mother had arrived with her boyfriend, Tall, Bald, and Homely. And Crabby. And Suspicious. His negative traits could fill an entire chapter.
I still couldn't figure out what my classy mother saw in the man. He wasn't anything like my sweet, perpetually cheerful father, the wonderful man who had died too soon, leaving behind a young widow to raise two children alone. I wished my brother didn't live 2,500 miles away in Hawaii. He'd have Bradford out of my curly hair and out of my mother's life in no time.
Bradford and Mother sauntered into the family room holding hands. Pumpkin took one look at the happy couple and dashed out of the room. Smart cat.
My mother's face glowed and she looked a decade younger than her sixty-two years. As I studied her smiling visage, my stomach slowly unclenched. Was my dislike for Bradford really due to the way he tormented me during the murder investigation? Or did memories of my beloved father keep me from accepting their relationship?
Or something darker? Could I be envious that her relationship with
her
detective lasted far longer than my relationship with
my
detective? I pushed those somber thoughts aside for another day when I would have sufficient time to lie on a couch and let a Jungian therapist solve my maternal issues.
I untangled my legs and stood up. Ouch. My thighs ached from sitting cross-legged on the carpet. “What brings you here so late?”
“We have some important news—what on earth are you making?” She bent over and picked up one of the jagged-edged scraps, dangling it from her fingertips.
“The students in Ben's class are supposed to dress up like reindeer,” I replied, “at least from the head up. You're going to the concert tomorrow night, aren't you?”
“Of course. You know I wouldn't miss one of my grandchildren's performances.” She grabbed a hanger, a piece of fabric and the stapler. Within seconds, sturdy brown felt antlers appeared out of nowhere. Barbara Bingham, the Houdini of home-made magic and childhood memories.
“There you go.” She handed the felt masterpiece into my less than capable hands then joined Bradford, who stood leaning against the doorway.
“Can I get either of you anything?” I forced a smile at the grim-faced former detective. Even though he was retired, he probably maintained his contacts within the sheriff's department. He could be a useful ally if Dimitri's death was officially declared a murder and I officially became a murder suspect. Again.
Bradford shook his head but my mother smiled. “We have some wonderful news to share with you and we brought a bottle of champagne to celebrate.”
“News?” For a minute I was puzzled then I grinned in relief. “Oh, you must mean I'm off the hook. Not a suspect in Dimitri's murder. That
is
an excellent reason to celebrate. Thanks, Bradford. I don't think I could survive another murder investigation.”
He snorted. “I don't think the sheriff's department can survive another murder investigation if you're involved. But that's their problem.”
Mother's arched brows joined together as she directed one of her royal-highness looks his way.
His face reddened. “Sorry.”
“This has nothing to do with the murder, dear,” she replied.
“So what's the big news?” And why were her hands flailing in the air like a novice orchestra conductor?
Oh, crap. The lights in my ceiling fixture illuminated something shiny on her left hand. To be specific, the fourth finger of her left hand. I grabbed my elegant mother by her elegant wrist and zeroed in on the two carat diamond blinding me with perfectly cut prisms of light.
If the diamond had been residing on any other hand, I would have been mesmerized by the beauty and simplicity of the emerald cut setting. Instead, my jaw dropped to my knees and I fell into the sofa cushions. “But, you barely know each other,” I said.
Awkward seconds passed as I tried to eke out my congratulations but I just couldn't do it. The creak of the front door brought the arrival of my kids and an end to my silent agony. The babble of my two garrulous children, who had attended a holiday party at one of the neighbors, grew stronger as they approached the family room. “Is Grandmother here? Her car is in the driveway.”
Ben catapulted into the room ahead of his sister. He immediately raced to the big man's side. “Hey, Detective Bradford, what's up?”
Bradford's face lit up at the sight of my young son. They bumped knuckles
mano a mano
.
“Did you bring it?” Ben squealed as he bounced up and down. Bradford reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny brass object. He handed it to Ben. My son's eyes grew wide when he realized he held an official sheriff's department badge in his hand. He wrapped his arms around the detective thanking him profusely. Since Bradford is almost six foot six that meant Ben was hugging the detective's tree trunk-sized thighs. Bradford's smile was a sight to behold. What happened to the crotchety detective I was acquainted with? And when had these two become bosom buddies?
Jenna ambled into the room. Her eyes zeroed in like a laser beam at the large diamond glittering on her grandmother's finger.
“Wow, nice rock. Way to go, Bradford.”
“Isn't it lovely?” Mother said. “Robert has such excellent taste.” She smiled at her darling granddaughter. At least one family member appreciated precious gemstones.
“Hey, can I be in the wedding?” Jenna asked.
Wedding? I had barely absorbed the news that my mother was engaged. My brain hadn't processed the fact that an engagement normally led to an official ceremony.
“Of course, you can be in the wedding,” Mother responded. “In fact I want all three of you to participate in the ceremony. Why don't we go into the kitchen and discuss some of the details. Ben, you come too. I brought some of your favorite cookies.”
The three of them disappeared leaving Bradford and me alone in sullen silence.
Bradford eyed me warily. He must have realized I wouldn't be thrilled to have him become a member of our close-knit family. My stomach clenched when I realized the detective would soon become my stepfather.
“Um...congratulations,” I mumbled.
He pointed to the sofa. “Laurel, sit down. I need to discuss something with you.”
I reluctantly moved, sitting as far from Bradford as possible, not easy considering that the over-sized detective took up half the sofa. Years of service with the sheriff's department had etched deep Shar-Pei lines in his face. I could not understand the attraction he held for my mother. She, on the other hand, was obviously a catch for him.
“I realize you're...not pleased with our news, but you need to know how much I care for your mother. I've never met anyone as intelligent, gracious and thoughtful as Barbara. And for some strange reason, she's in love with me, hard as it is to believe.” He smiled ruefully. “For either you or me.”
His smile seemed sincere and so did his sentiment.
I shook my finger at him. “You better treat her the way she deserves. Otherwise you'll have me to contend with.”
“Trust me, I know. You're as relentless as a pit bull.”
“Uh, thanks.” Was he complimenting or criticizing me?
“It's going to take tenacity and teamwork to get you through the coming weeks.”
I sighed in agreement. “This wedding is going to be difficult for me.”
“I'm not talking about the wedding. Guess whose shoe was officially declared a murder weapon?”
TEN
* * * *
So much for a quiet Friday evening. My heart rate ratcheted up to Mach 1 levels as the detective's comment sank in. Bradford's revelation put my mother's announcement in perspective. A wedding is a joyous occasion. Involvement in a murder? Not so much.
As my heart rate slowed back down, the wheels in my brain churned faster.
“Okay, I know my broken heel was found in Dimitri's mouth, but that didn't necessarily mean my shoe killed him. How did the lab guys figure out how he was killed? Did someone whack him with the sole?”
Bradford shifted uncomfortably on the cushions. My sofa wasn't built for men his size. Neither was my mother's dainty Chippendale furniture. Did their impending marriage mean that a pair of matching Lazy Boys was in her future?
Focus, Laurel.
“The shoe with the missing heel wasn't the weapon. It was your other shoe,” he said. “The base of the heel still showed microscopic traces of blood on it which the crime scene guys identified as the victim's. And the shape of the heel matched the size of the wound. According to the Medical Examiner, Dimitri may not have died immediately from the impact. He could have walked away and later lost consciousness as pressure from the trauma built in his brain.”
“So someone might have hit him in the studio. Then he could have walked out to the parking lot, not realizing how severe his injury was?”
Bradford lifted his bushy eyebrows. “Excellent deductive reasoning. Or is there something you need to share with the authorities?”
I held up my hands in protest. “Not me. I know nothing. So the person who assaulted Dimitri might not have intended to kill him. Do you think it was an accident?”
“I don't think anything. I'm retired, remember?” He sighed and glanced in the direction of the kitchen, where we could hear Mom and the kids giggling. “Your mother was worried about you being a suspect yet again, so she asked me to ferret out whatever information I could get from Hunter.”
I slumped back into the sofa cushions. Bradford's news was not improving my mood.
“Since your shoe appears to be the murder weapon,
you
are unfortunately a person of interest.” He paused a moment in thought. “I have to ask, was there any reason why you wanted to hurt this guy?”
“Of course not. I barely knew him. Our only actual contact came that day when I collided with him and Anya during my lesson. Dimitri yelled some Russian obscenities at me and called me a klutzsky. That's not a reason to murder someone and he's certainly not the first person to tell me I'm a klutz.”
Bradford's shoulders shook; he appeared to be biting back laughter. Wise move. I gnawed on my thumbnail. Where were Mother and the kids with those cookies? If I didn't have something edible to chew on while I worried about this latest revelation, my few remaining fingernails would be history.
Our mother-daughter telepathic communication appeared to be in working order. Jenna walked in to the family room bearing a plate of iced snickerdoodle cookies. The scent of cinnamon and sugar provided a well needed lift for my flagging spirits. My mother carried three crystal flutes brimming with champagne on an embossed silver tray—since it came from my kitchen, it was a cheap aluminum tray. Ben handled the heavy lifting. A cookie in each hand.
