Dying for a Dance (13 page)

Too late? Yes, my dear Bridezilla, it is much too late to redesign your wedding dress.

“Bet that cost you a bunch of moolah.” Nanette voiced the thoughts going through several of our heads.

Paula nodded. “Four thousand dollars. And it's not even new.”

I couldn't tell whose jaw dropped the lowest.

“Are you kidding?” You could hear the exclamation marks in the tone of Liz's voice.

“I know it seems nuts,” Paula admitted. “But at the gold level I don't have a choice. The judges basically decide who will win first place the second they lay eyes on you. I could be the best dancer out there, but if I don't look and dress the part, I'll place near the bottom. With anywhere from six to ten couples on the floor at the same time, they have less than ten seconds to watch each couple dance. Your dress, and even the way your hair is styled, can determine the outcome.”

“It's a good thing I'm only competing in the Newcomer level. I can get by with that hot pink $99 fringed special I bought on EBay.” Samantha elbowed her friend. “C'mon, Nanette. Time for our group salsa lesson.”

Nanette stood and rocked to the left before she righted herself on her heels. Even wearing three inch stilettos she barely reached five feet. “I'm ready. Let's go find us some hard bodies.” She leered at us then teetered down the dance floor toward the smaller studio in the back.

Paula, Liz and I burst out laughing. I couldn't imagine prowling for hard bodies in my seventies. Not that I was all that successful at half her age.

Paula was still chuckling as she grabbed her garment bag and headed to the ladies dressing room to change. Mother and Bradford were evidently done terrorizing the other couples on the dance floor and they joined us.

“I can't wait to see your wedding routine, Liz,” Mother said. “Laurel was so excited about learning the foxtrot that Robert and I decided to take a few lessons ourselves.”

Liz gave me a self-satisfied “I told you so” smile. I tried to remember if I had ever used the words excited and foxtrot in the same sentence.

“Honey, why don't we take Ben to your house? We can stay until Jenna comes home.”

In less than five seconds, Ben had thrown the last vestiges of his Happy Meal in the garbage can and crammed his homework into his backpack.

We exchanged kisses and said goodbye. It would be far easier concentrating on the dance choreography if I didn't have to worry about Ben searching for killers hiding in the studio. My poor children would probably need years of therapy.

I waved as the three of them exited the studio then turned to Liz. “Where's the rest of the bridal party?”

“They should be here any second. Bobby said he'd be a few minutes late joining us. Boris called a brief meeting of all the instructors between classes. Something about some upcoming competition everyone is involved in.”

That must be the reason why Marcus had raced to the back of the studio before the waltz class ended. As if on cue, the door blew open again, bringing in a group of chatting men and women.

“Hi, beautiful.” Brian bent over his fiancee and kissed her, transforming her once again into his sparkling bride-to-be. Re-energized by her Prince Charming, Liz sprang into action, directing us to our spots with the efficiency of a drill sergeant on speed.

Bobby had choreographed the routine so all three bridesmaids entered from the left and the groomsmen came in from the right. We would simultaneously perform the grapevine step. Even I could manage that. We were also supposed to gracefully lift our arms but that seemed far too complicated for me. Recently I'd overheard Bobby muttering something about my Frankenstein arms.

Once we joined the groomsmen, we would dance the foxtrot including some turns and promenades around the room, then fan out for the bride and groom to perform their solo. The best man, a nice guy named Chuck, was my partner. He was remarkably agile for a former football player turned high school math teacher. His grapevine was perfect although he had a tendency to speed through the steps like he must have done in football practice twenty years earlier.

My attention wandered as I watched Anya and Marcus practice a movement that required her to slither down his body then slide between his legs. She was so flexible it was like watching Gumby with breasts.

Yuri wandered into the studio sipping his habitual energy drink. If I had to dance from nine to ten hours a day, a twelve pack of energy drinks would be a requirement.

Strains of “It Had to Be You” emanated from the sound system so I followed the other bridesmaids on to the floor. I wasn't positive if the reason I walked in last had to do with my official position as matron of honor, or clever choreography. I was grateful the other bridesmaids, masseuses in Liz's spa, seemed to know what they were doing.

Chuck led me for three full steps before I abruptly halted.

“What the heck?” he yelled, as I grabbed his polo shirt in an attempt to stay upright.

“Laurel, what is the matter with you?” Liz said.

“Sorry, I was distracted.”

“Hey, I realize it's hard to stay focused when you're surrounded by so many gorgeous men, but you need to pay attention.”

“It's not the guys who distracted me.” I pointed across the room to where the number one murder suspect and her husband stood.

“What the bloody hell is
she
doing here?” Brian asked, his face livid. He was one angry assistant District Attorney.

I shrugged. Dana might be a murder suspect, but I assumed she was free to do anything she wanted other than leave the area. Brian marched over to the Chandlers.

Dana looked horrified from all the attention. Mr. Chandler thrust his pudgy jaw out looking like he was prepared to do battle to defend his wife's honor. I darted over but before I could eke out a greeting, Brian turned to me, his palm practically touching the tip of my nose. “Laurel, stay out of this.”

Like that would stop me.

“Dana, are you here for a lesson?” I asked, dodging Brian's hand.

She looked happy to explain her presence. “Yes, I'm supposed to, um, Yuri and I...” She stumbled as she attempted to regain her composure. “I need to practice for the Holiday Ball. Yuri offered to take Dimitri's place and compete with me. We have a lesson at nine.”

She turned to Brian. “I didn't realize it would be a problem coming to the studio. Is it out of bounds for me?”

Brian blew out a breath. “Technically, no, although I've never run across a situation where a person suspected of murder willingly returned to the scene of a crime, unless they had an ulterior motive in doing so.”

“My wife did not kill that piece of slime!” Mr. Chandler shook his fist mere inches from Brian's nose. I'd never seen the bank president lose his composure before. This was so out of character for him.

Dana grabbed her husband's wayward fist and clasped it in her hands. “Let me repeat. My goal is to compete in the New Year's Holiday Ball. I apologize if my presence at the studio is considered unacceptable, but I certainly hope my motivation is understandable.”

Liz joined us. With a brief hello to the Chandlers, she coaxed both Brian and me back onto the dance floor.

“Brian, leave that poor woman alone.” She slipped her arm around his waist. “I don't think you should be talking to her without her attorney present, anyway.”

That thought had also crossed
my
mind as Brian chastised Dana and evidently he realized it as well. He pulled Liz tight, nuzzled her cheek and whispered in her ear. She giggled and pinched his rear.

I rolled my eyes. Get a room.

I looked over my shoulder. Dana introduced her husband to Yuri. They shook hands and Yuri led the couple to a table and chairs alongside the dance floor. Dana and her new partner immediately began talking while Mr. Chandler sat glowering in silence. I wondered why he had chosen to accompany Dana. Did he come to support his wife? Or was he merely a jealous husband intent on keeping an eye on his spouse?

Yuri was attentive to Dana as well he should be towards a client, who despite being a murder suspect still had plenty of bucks to spend on dance lessons. Or did she? After spending all that money funding Dimitri's studio, the Chandlers could be in a sticky financial situation.

A vision in midnight blue strolled onto the floor. Paula's evening gown fit her like a dream. If I ever had the money to compete, I'd need enough Spanx to cover me from my neck down to my ankles.

Paula was followed by Boris. They joined Yuri and the Chandlers at their table. After a few minutes, the studio owner stood and led Paula onto the floor. I wondered how they could dance when our group hogged the CD player, but evidently at the gold level, you could practice your steps without music. Now
that
took skill.

Bobby stopped briefly at their table to chat with Yuri before he walked over to the CD player. Seconds later, the sound of “It Had to Be You,” which had shot to number one on my top ten most despised songs list, filtered through the room. The wedding party which had been chatting instead of dancing quickly resumed our positions. On our sixth attempt, the routine went perfectly.

Thunderous applause from the sidelines surprised me. I looked over to check out our rooting section. Salsa class must have ended because Samantha and Nanette cheered alongside Boris.

The studio owner's beady eyes zeroed in on one member of the wedding party. “Ah, Laurel, so light on your feet now, yes?” He shot me a wolfish grin “With more lessons you could be competing with these other beautiful ladies.”

Take lessons with Boris? Over my
zaftig
dead body.

Paula joined the two bridesmaids who were heading in the direction of the changing room so her lesson must have ended also. Yuri tossed his energy drink into the wastebasket with a shot that would have made Michael Jordan proud. He stopped to talk to Bobby who indicated our group was finished for the night. Bobby looked like he was finished as well.

Liz and Brian walked off nuzzling each other. It was kind of nauseating but I was happy that Queen Elizabeth was in a good mood after our practice session. Since I had yet to see Dana and Yuri dance together, I decided to stick around and watch from the sidelines. I sat next to Samantha and Nanette. Mr. Chandler watched from the opposite side of the studio.

“Your group looked good out there,” Samantha said.

“Thanks. Maybe once I master the foxtrot I can join you in your salsa class. Is it hard?”

“Not hard enough.” Nanette tittered at her double entendre and Samantha punched her on the forearm. Paula said goodbye and exited the studio behind Liz and Brian. The sound of “Just Dance,” one of my favorite Lady Gaga tracks pulsated through the room as Dana and Yuri took to the floor.

I tapped my foot along with the music and watched the couple perform the elaborate eight-count cha cha. Dana swiveled, pivoted, and thrust her hips back and forth at lightning speed. She was at least ten years older than me, but in far better shape. I couldn't blame her for not wanting to miss out on the Holiday Ball competition. She was amazing.

I wondered if Mr. Chandler had ever seen his wife in action before. Seeing her face glow as she danced with the good-looking instructor, I doubted this was the best method for maintaining a successful marriage.

On the other hand, maybe letting your spouse indulge in their favorite hobby was the perfect prescription for creating a healthy, enduring relationship. If I ever had a spouse again, I'd keep that in mind.

Yuri's high cheekbones shimmered with perspiration as the couple performed some type of complicated step that left even me breathless. And I was merely watching.

The song ended and Yuri bent over, his chest rising and falling more rapidly than the frenetic music. They conferred briefly then started again, this time side by side, their legs kicking out with amazing speed and dexterity. Watching them jive was like watching
Dancing with the Stars
, but better, because I had a front row seat.

Dana splayed her hands on Yuri's rock hard abdomen and he thrust her up in the air. Her long legs, covered in black leggings, whirled around and around while remaining at Yuri's waist level. Their performance was mesmerizing.

Yuri suddenly bellowed a sound reminiscent of the roar of a wounded elephant. Dana flew out of his arms and slid across the varnished floor. She landed in a sprawl, her face dark with anger that quickly changed to horror.

Yuri clutched his chest, his face as white as a bridal gown. He staggered a few steps then crashed to the floor.

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TWENTY-THREE

* * * *

There was a brief lull when nothing and no one moved, including Yuri. Then everyone leaped into action. Dana scrambled to her feet and within seconds she was bent over Yuri's prone body. Boris and Bobby were right behind her and I arrived right behind them.

Dana's dark head rested on Yuri's chest. “He's still breathing. Thank God. I don't understand. What happened?'

Yuri's eyes were closed, his mouth twisted in a gargoylesque grimace. Spittle dribbled out of the corner of his lower lip.

“I called 9-1-1,” Nanette announced. “They should be here soon.”

Boris made an attempt to lift Yuri into a sitting position but Nanette stopped him. “Don't move him,” ordered the nurse. “See if you can find something to put under his head so he doesn't choke.”

Bobby ran to the lobby and removed a pillow from the sofa. He returned with Anya hot on his heels.

“Let me through!” Anya propelled herself past the group, falling to her knees before the prone body. She grabbed one of Yuri's hands and drilled Dana with a look so cold it could have turned the Amazon jungle into the Siberian tundra. “What have you done? Have you killed our Yuri, too?”

Dana's dark doe eyes were huge in her pale face. “I didn't do anything. Yuri and I were practicing for the competition. He collapsed right in the middle of our jive solo.”

Anya shook her finger at Dana “Why are you not in jail?”

Dana shrank back against her husband who had now joined the group gathered around the dancer.