2 Dancing With Death (12 page)

    
The man counted out the bills. Betty almost choked. They were all hundreds.

    
“Five grand even,” the man said, sliding the bills into his pocket.

    
Betty gave up her pretense of not paying attention in favor of ogling the men around her.

    
“You bet five thousand dollars?” she blurted out. “Just like that?”

    
Harry laughed. “Oh love, that’s not anything. Pocket change. The real betting starts when the pro competitors start dancing.”

    
Betty’s eyes were so wide that she wondered they weren’t popping entirely out of her head. “You call that pocket change?” she choked out. That was what she made in two months, and these men called it pocket change?

    
“Yes,” Earnest said, so simply and directly that Betty couldn’t help but completely believe that he spoke nothing but the truth.

    
Harry winked at her. “You want in?”

    
Betty pushed away from the table, taking her now empty plate with her. “No,” she said. “Not at all.”

 
   
Suddenly, Betty needed a break. All the glitter and dancing and fairy tale feasts were just too much. The real world seemed to be fading away, and Betty wanted the touch of reality again. Did people really live in this gilded spider’s web?

    
She pushed through the crowd and out to the front hall, where she collapsed in a large arm chair by the window and watched the blizzard outside rage. The swirling snow was oddly calming, despite knowing that it was the reason for her internet woes. She knew that if she walked outside a shock of cold would greet her. The snow looked beautiful, but it was real and the dangers it held were simple and direct.

    
Go outside in a blizzard and freeze. It was as simple as that. There was no intrigue, no hidden theft plots, and no high-rolling betters throwing away more money than should be legal. Just water frozen around specks of dust falling from clouds to the ground, where they’re blown about by good, clean wind.

    
Simple.

    
Betty stared at the snow until her vision was obscured by Clarise, her sunset dress completely spot-free.

    
Clarise’s skills with clothing never ceased to amaze Betty. If that ketchup had fallen on her dress Betty would’ve had to send it to the dry cleaner’s before she could wear it again.

    
Clarise took Betty’s hands and pulled her up out of the chair. “Come see,” she said, “they found the person who did it. They’re going to make an arrest right now!”

CHAPTER 13

    
Betty was half way across the front hall before Clarise’s words had sunk in.

    
“Wait,” she said, tugging Clarise’s hands to make her stop. “What happened?”

    
Clarise drew Betty over to a wall and whispered excitedly, “They found the thief! Bill and Wes are going to make the arrest now. Wes said we could watch. Come on!”

    
“Are you insane?” Betty hissed, yanking her hand out of Clarise’s. “Why would I want to watch them arrest somebody?”

    
Clarise looked at her incredulously. “This is the jerk that tried to frame you! Don’t you want to see him caught?”

    
Betty shook her head. “No,” she said. “Not really. You go if you want.”

    
Which was when Wes came up to the two of them. He wrapped his arms around Clarise’s waist from behind, leaning his chin on top of her shoulder. Betty noticed that his eyes were glassy.

    
“Wes?” asked Clarise, turning to look at him.

    
“We had the wrong guy,” Wes said unsteadily.

    
“How do you know?”
    
Wes took a breath and stepped back from Clarise.
   
“Because they’re dead.”

CHAPTER 14

    
“I need to get back to the crime scene,” Wes continued. “I just… I needed to tell you. I didn’t want you to come looking for me and stumble on… well, let’s just say it’s bad.”

    
“Of course,” Clarise said. She gave Wes a hard hug. “Be careful?”

    
“Always am!” Wes quipped. But Betty could tell he was shaken. Whatever they’d found, it was enough to break his calm.

    
Bill. Bill must have been with Wes when they found the body. Bill may have had more experience than Wes, but something as grisly as Wes was making it out to be had to have an impact on him.

    
“I’m coming with you,” Betty said, following Wes as he turned to leave.

    
Wes stopped, giving her a look oddly reminiscent of the one Clarise had given her mere minutes ago for not wanting to see someone get arrested. The look said quite plainly that she was a square short of a chocolate bar.

    
“It’s pretty nasty. I’d rather you not come.”

    
“You don’t have a choice,” Betty stated flatly. “I’m coming.”

    
“It’s a crime scene,” Wes said, trying to get her to see reason. “You won’t be able to come in.”

    
Betty crossed her arms. “I don’t care if it’s the crown prince of England’s pet Chihuahua’s funeral. I’m coming!”

    
Wes’s lips quirked upwards for a brief second.

    
Clarise raised an eyebrow at Wes. “She has that look. You’ll never convince her not to go now. Me, I’d much rather not see another dead body.” Clarise shuddered. “I’ll give this one a wide berth, thank you very much!”

    
That made sense, thought Betty. Clarise had been arrested for the murder of the last dead person she’d come across. Of course she’d want to avoid seeing another one.

    
But Betty wanted to make sure Bill was okay. It might be silly, especially given that she and Bill weren’t even really dating, but seeing how shaken up Wes was…

    
And who knew? Maybe she could help somehow.

    
“Bill won’t like it you know,” Wes said, walking towards the hall.

    
“He’ll live,” Betty said. She followed Wes through the double doors and passageways. There didn’t seem to be many guests in this area. In fact, Betty noted as they passed yet another server wheeling a tray of treats, there didn’t seem to be any guests at all.

    
Was a hotel employee responsible for the murder and theft? Her thoughts flashed back to the snarky receptionist and George the concierge before she dismissed them out of hand. They didn’t seem the murdering type.

    
“No offense Betty,” Wes stopped before a closed door and turned to face her, his expression serious. “But you should really stay out of this one. Don’t play the hero, and don’t try to solve it.”

    
Honestly, Betty thought. It’s not like she was a helpless twit. She wasn’t going to take unnecessary risks.

    
Often.

    
“You know, I don’t have to get involved in every murder I come across! Though, if I happen to notice something…”

    
“Betty…” Wes ground out. “I mean it.”

    
Betty shrugged. “I won’t set myself as bait for a psycho again, if that’s what you’re asking.”

    
Wes nodded. “It would be an improvement.” He started to push through the doors before turning to her. “And remember, you can’t come in the actual crime scene.”

    
Betty rolled her eyes. “Yes Sir. Just let me talk to Bill.”

    
They walked through the door, and Betty immediately realized that she was in the heart of the hotel catering business. Carts laden with food lined one wall, and carts with dirty dishes lined the other. The space between the two lines was just enough to drive one of the service carts, with barely two inches to spare. More than once as they walked down the hall, Betty had to squish into the space between two carts against the wall to allow a server to rush through. She tried not to imagine herself getting stains on her outfit as she stood sandwiched between a make your own sundae tray and a plate of chicken parmesan.
    
The hallway smelled like heaven and a diabetic’s worst nightmare all at once. Betty watched a dessert cart roll past with a cake shaped like a couple waltzing and trays of mini pastries. It had to be for the ballroom dancing competition. Betty resisted the urge to use her status as a competition spectator to ask for one of the mini éclairs. She didn’t need the blood sugar spike right now, and there were other things to focus on.

    
It was apparent that everyone working here was part of a clockwork pattern. What looked like insane busyness to Betty was just part of their everyday schedule. A person from the kitchen loaded the carts, another person unloaded them, and servers cycled them in and out in an endless stream.

    
Wes and Betty wove through the hallway until they reached the very end, where a set of swinging double doors stood still. Wes pushed the door open. “Chief, we’ve got company!”

    
Betty entered behind him, to be greeted by the sight of a deserted kitchen. Clearly, Bill and Wes had ordered everyone to leave the kitchen exactly as it was when the body had been found. Bowls of batter and half-chopped salads sat dejectedly on the stainless steel counters. Knives sat haphazardly on cutting boards, and a pot of water on the stove still held the remains of what had once been edible lasagna noodles.

    
The delicious smell of the hallway was replaced by the unmistakable smell of human fecal matter and urine, a side effect of death that was very unfortunate for those who came upon the body.

    
Betty wasn’t hungry any more. She willed her roiling stomach to settle down.

    
The walk-in freezer door had been propped wide open with a large white bucket of butter. A key pad hung on the wall to its right. At Wes’s comment, Bill exited the freezer. When he saw Betty, he turned on Wes.

    
“Why is she here?” he asked. “This is a crime scene! Get her out of here.”

    
“It’s not his fault,” Betty jumped in. “I made Wes let me come.”

    
Bill glared at Wes. “Sergeant Bundy,” he said, stressing the title, “is an officer. He should know better than to bring a civilian to a homicide.” Wes looked away, shamefaced. Bill ushered Betty towards the swinging doors, walking behind her to make sure she kept moving. Out in the hall, he turned left into an alcove that housed a payphone and a few employee lockers.

    
“What do you think you’re doing here?” he hissed. “You can’t come traipsing into a crime scene like you own the place!”

    
For a moment, Betty just looked at him. Sweat had beaded on Bill’s forehead, and he was shaking ever so slightly. She tended to think that the shaking was anger, not shock. He crossed his arms, glaring at her.

    
“I…” Betty started, suddenly at a loss for words. In the face of Bill’s anger, her urge to see him felt like a very foolish thing. Not only foolish, it felt selfish. What had she been thinking? Bill was a police chief! He didn’t need her help to solve a crime, and he certainly didn’t need her coming her down here like a mother hen trying to make sure he was okay.