2 Dancing With Death (24 page)

    
Unfortunately, she wasn’t going to get an answer to her question now. While she’d been staring at the ticket lost in thought, Bill had gone to talk with Officer Park.

    
Betty put the ticket in her pocket and grasped the glasses case. It was small and rectangular and brown. It seemed so inconspicuous to contain such an important item.

    
She took a deep breath. Glasses. She hated the very idea of needing them, but it wasn’t like she had any choice. And now Bill knew, so there was no real point to hiding it any longer. If Bill knew, her other friends would as well.

    
Would Bill and Wes be able to guess that she had diabetes? Would they... no. She had to stop that line of thought right there. That line of thought was what had gotten her in trouble in the first place.

    
Betty opened the case and put the glasses on before she could think about it any more. Her eyes watered, and she pressed her fingertips against her lids. Then she opened her eyes slowly, letting her eyes adjust.

    
The whole world looked different. Betty realized that she’d become so accustomed to not being able to see properly, that she hadn’t even missed seeing details. Now, the entire world seemed sharp. The trees behind her were no longer tall stalks with blurry blobs on top. Each branch was set in high relief. If she wanted, she could count the mountains of the range. She could see the shed, and noted for the first time that it was weather worn, the paint peeling away in short curls.

    
And, in the door of the shed, right by the hinge, Betty could see a bullet lodged in the wood.

    
Betty got up to investigate. It took a moment for her to adjust to her new vision, so she more stumbled than walked to the shed. When she reached the bullet, she reached out a fingertip to touch it, and stopped herself just in time. This was evidence, not something she could poke and prod at just because she was curious.

    
Something shone in the sunlight and Betty leant closer. A strand of hair was caught between the bullet and the doorjamb. It matched her hair color.

    
Betty reached up, feeling the ragged edges of her bangs.

    
This was the bullet that had grazed her. Betty was sure of it.

    
But, if this was the bullet then Harry couldn’t have shot it. He’d had the gun aimed right at her chest. If he shot and missed, the bullet would’ve wound up somewhere in the woods behind where the snowmobile had crashed.

    
Betty broke a straight-looking icicle that was hanging from the roof edge of the shed, and positioned it to follow the path the bullet would have taken. She was careful to match the angle of the icicle to angle of the bullet, so that they formed one straight line.

    
Sure enough, one end of the icicle pointed at the bullet and the other pointed in a completely different direction from where Harry had been standing. It pointed through the parking lot, to the tree line almost half a mile away.

    
Betty felt a shiver of fear run up her body, joining the very real shivers of cold. Someone had shot at her to kill, and it hadn’t been Harry.

CHAPTER 30

    
With the murder of Marissa solved, and the recovery of the Loving Cup, it was as though a dark cloud had been lifted from over the competition. The last of the competitive rounds had finished that morning while Betty was off solving crimes, and with the end of judging had come the end of a great deal of tension. Dancers who’d been strung tight as a wire, running on adrenaline and stress alone, were able to take a step back from the negativity of competition and simply enjoy themselves.

    
At the end-of-competition party, Betty watched in bemused amazement at girls who’d been avidly insulting each other embraced and swapped stories of the past year, talking about everything from common dance acquaintances to births and marriages.

    
And this time, when the dancing started, Betty could see every detail.

    
The string quartet started off with a slow dance, as though to ease party-goers into the idea of dancing just for fun. Dancers of all levels crowded the dance floor, dressed in their most comfortable finery.

    
There was scarcely a high heel in the bunch, but there were still plenty of sequins. The light bounced off dresses and sparkling ties, sending jets of light in an almost disco-ball like effect across the air. The dancers all moved in sync, twirling and dancing with abandon.

    
It took Betty’s breath away.

    
The string quartet drew out their final notes before taking a bow to polite applause.

    
Emily Knolhart took the stage, graceful as ever. Her hair was done up in a bun, her floor-length gown glimmering.

    
“Hello!” she said cheerily through the microphone. “How is everyone this afternoon?” A few scattered bits of applause and cheering answered her. “It’s been quite a competition, hasn’t it?” Miss Knolhart asked wryly. Laughter popped up throughout the crowd. “Well, I’m glad to say that, thanks to our fine officers and their friends, the Loving Cup will continue to grace the Legacy Trust Competition!”

    
This time, the cheers were more solid.

    
After a moment, Miss Knolhart held up her hand. “Yes,” she said, “they deserve your cheers and applause for much longer. However, we have prizes to hand out!”
    
Betty looked about at the other faces in the crowd, confused. All the competition winners had been announced at an official award ceremony earlier in the day. What other prizes could there be?

    
But, the entire crowd was watching a hotel staff member wheel out a tray laden with trophies and engraved knick knacks.

    
Betty had no idea what was going on.

    
“We’ve had to add a few new categories this year,” Miss Knolhart continued, “for some extraordinary people who weren’t able to fit into any old category. In fact,” the doyenne proclaimed, picking up the first trophy from the table, “our first winner is in one of those new categories. Eliza Bickens, will you please come forward and accept your award for “Most Shiny Shoes!”
    

    
Betty laughed along with the rest of the crowd as Eliza walked forward to accept her prize, a huge grin on her face.

    
The other prizes were a mix of funny and serious, ranging from “Best Comeback for an Injured Dancer” to “Most Twirled.” For Betty, the highlight of the ceremony was when Clarise and Wes won “Most Congenial Couple.”

    
Betty thought Clarise’s face would split in half, she was grinning so hard. Betty clapped and whistled as they accepted their award.

    
Clarise practically skipped back to Betty to show her their prize: a music box of a waltzing couple in evening wear.

    
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Clarise gushed. “It’s perfect!”
    
Betty admired the prize, agreeing that it was beautiful.

    
A few prizes later, the last winner had been announced. But Miss Knolhart wasn’t finished.

    
“And now,” she said her tone turning serious. “I have something to tell all of you.” She took a deep breath, the exhale sounding throughout the suddenly quiet room. “I’ve decided that this will be my last year hosting the Legacy Trust Dance Competition. I’m retiring.”
   

    
At that, cries of dismay sounded through the crowd. “You can’t retire!” one girl cried out.

    
Betty stared. These were the same people who, just a day or two earlier, had been bashing the doyenne for her pretentiousness and vicious attitude towards her competitors. Now, they were acting like her fan club! Betty shook her head. She didn’t think she’d ever understand dancers.

    
After trying to speak into the microphone for a full five minutes, but being unable to make herself heard over the protests, the doyenne held up her hand, smiling. “Oh, all right,” she said. “You’ve convinced me. One more year.”
    
The crowd laughed, and Betty realized that this, too, was a part of the tradition. And, no matter how much the crowd despised Miss Knolhart’s competition tactics, she was the host of the competition for a very good reason: she was one of the best ball room dancers of her generation. You didn’t have to like someone to admit they had skill.

    
Betty saw Earnest Foone slinking out through the double doors, a sour look on his face. The public display of affection for his Miss Knolhart must have rankled him. Betty was glad to see him go. This new crowd was far too nice to be poisoned by his presence.

    
All the competitors gathered on the ballroom dance floor for one last farewell dance. This one was a high-spirited flamenco, and everyone who’d participated in the workshop was invited to join in. But Bill didn’t know how to do the flamenco, so Betty asked him to come outside instead.

    
“I have something to show you,” she said. She walked with him to equipment shed, explaining about the bullet in the door jamb on the way.

    
When they reached the shed, the bullet was gone, along with Betty’s hair. But the bullet hole remained, and that was enough proof to lend credit to her story.

    
Bill agreed that the angle was strange, and that the shot was unlikely to have come from Harry’s gun. He pulled out a pencil, repeating her experiment with the icicle.

    
“You’re right,” he said. “The shooter was probably standing in the edge of the woods with a sniping rifle. Let’s go check it out.”
   

    
Bill hopped on the snowmobile and gestured to Betty to sit behind him. He handed her a helmet before putting one on himself.

    
“Hold on,” he said, and Betty leant forward, wrapping her arms around his waist. She tried not to think too much of it. After all, they were on a quick investigation trip. It’s not like they were on a moonlit ride with a picnic by candlelight waiting at the end.

    
Still, as the snowmobile rumbled to life and jerked forward, she couldn’t help but lean forward a little bit so that her cheek was resting against the back of Bill’s shoulder. As she’d suspected, it was very comfortable. And, if he asked, she could always blame her lack of balance and claim she’d needed a better handhold.

    
She closed her eyes as the snow sped by. Bill smelled of cedar and oranges.

    
All too soon, the trip was over. Betty dismounted from the snowmobile reluctantly.

    
With her new and improved eyesight, it didn’t take Betty long to spot the first bit of proof that someone else had been in this area recently. Track marks from cross country skis wove in between the bushes and tree trunks, just behind the edge of the forest. From the parking lot, the skier would’ve been invisible.

    
“The shooter was probably a man,” Bill said quietly. “They were using men’s cross country skis.”

    
Betty and Bill drove the snowmobile slowly along the tracks, keeping a sharp eye out for any deviations. After a few minutes of searching, they found the end of the tracks. A small area where the shooter had stood and shifted about was packed flat. They turned to look down at the view from the tree line at that spot, and saw that the shooter had had a clear view of the entire parking lot, including the shed and where Bill and Officer Park had been standing, with their back turned towards the shooter.

    
They could’ve been gunned down very easily, Betty realized. So why had the shooter chosen her as a target?