Dying for a Dance (24 page)

“Ick. No wonder they all look like they stepped off a plane from Hawaii.”

Stan chuckled. “Yeah, Anya said the hotel arranged for the dancers to have a bronzing room in case someone needed a quick tan fix.”

Between the artificial tans, makeup, elaborate hairpieces, and occasional pair of factory-made breasts, the only things not fake were the competitors’ dance abilities.

I returned my mother's phone call. She and Bradford were at Harrah's playing the slots and the kids were in the video arcade perfecting their hand and eye coordination. Jenna had tried to talk Bradford into joining a poker game, with her acting as his consultant, but he had officially explained why that wasn't going to happen. I was relieved everyone was having fun.

Liz, on the other hand, was not fine. The white calla lilies the florist had special ordered had not arrived. What was I going to do about it?

Never let it be said that Laurel McKay would let a little thing like a death threat interfere with her best friend's wedding plans. I called Liz back and told her I was on it and went off to deal with the unfortunate florist. After an hour of hand wringing from the owner of Floral Perfection, we decided that white poinsettias could replace the calla lilies in the original arrangement. Post Christmas, they might be a bit bedraggled but so was I at that point. If he stuffed enough lilies of the valley and white roses throughout our bouquets, no one would even notice.

By the time I finalized the floral decisions it was almost four. The wedding rehearsal wasn't scheduled until six so I had time to kill and no one to kill it with. Since I'd already paid for admission to the afternoon competition, I decided to go inside and watch Paula. It was the least I could do for a fellow Golden Hills student and should only take a few minutes. I was curious to see how light on his feet the burly Boris would be. I also wanted to see if Anya had returned.

There were more bystanders in the ballroom than earlier probably because this was the highest level that an amateur could compete with her professional partner. Paula stood next to the studio owner who dwarfed the other male instructors in size. Since they were competing in the standard dance category Boris was clad in tails instead of the open-shirted style worn in the Latin dance competitions. A far cry from the survivalist gear he'd worn last week.

I spied an empty seat next to an attractive older man who I belatedly recognized as Paula's husband, Richard. He smiled in recognition. “Hello, Laurel. Did you change your mind about competing?”

I emphatically shook my head. “Nope, this reinforces that I never ever want to compete. But I thought it would be fun to watch Paula. She doesn't appear the least bit nervous.”

“My wife has nerves of steel.” He chuckled. “Nothing fazes her.”

“She mentioned you recently took a Mediterranean cruise for your five year anniversary.”

Richard smiled and nodded. “Did she tell you we met on a cruise ship?”

I leaned closer. “That's so romantic. Tell me more.”

“My first wife had passed away two years earlier from cancer. The ordeal was such a strain that I had turned into a recluse. My kids were worried that I wasn't getting out enough so they arranged for the whole family, grandkids and all to go on a Caribbean cruise for my fifty-fifth birthday.”

“You have wonderful children. I hope my kids are still talking to me by the time they're grown up.”

“I'm a lucky father and an even luckier husband. One day when the ship was out at sea, I decided to try my hand at skeet shooting. I'd been duck hunting out in the delta but never tried hitting a clay pigeon. It was love at first shot!”

My face must have reflected my “huh?”

“Paula worked on the cruise ship facilitating a lot of the activities and excursions, you know like shopping activities, bridge, shuffleboard, that kind of thing.”

What a sweet story. I guess it proved you never knew when and where you would find a soul mate. In Richard's case, it had apparently happened twice in one lifetime. Would there be a second act for me as well? My expression must have appeared pensive because he reached over and briefly touched my hand. “Sometimes it takes a while to find that special person.”

I nodded back. Liz had Brian, my mother had Bradford, and Paula had the delightful Richard. Would the universe ever decree that a hunky detective should be in my life?

The strains of a Viennese waltz echoed around the room and I was transported into another century where women with elaborately curled hair wore flowing satin gowns and elbow-length matching gloves. The men looked debonair in their tails, crisp white shirts and glossy black shoes. Boris was masterful at leading Paula, even evading what appeared to be a trap set by another couple to lock the studio owner into a corner.

After four dances in a row, I was exhausted from watching the competitors. I couldn't imagine keeping up the pace without a transfusion of Jolt Cola. Especially considering that quickstep was included as one of the required dances. One of these days I would have to look up its history. My guess was that some young maiden was running away from a frisky partner when that one was invented.

Boris and Paula's quickstep was electrifying. They hopped and skipped around the room, their feet barely skimming the floor. I was certain they had nailed first place in all five events when, without any warning, Boris crashed to the floor, taking his partner with him. Two other couples who had been hot on their footsteps tripped over the downed dancers. The music stopped and for a second there was stunned silence.

Then World War III began.

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FORTY-ONE

* * * *

The three couple pile-up reminded me of a traffic accident. Tempers flared and obscenities were yelled in a variety of languages. At one point I thought Boris was going to belt one of the other men. Several of the judges, who had narrowly missed being crushed by the fallen dancers, tried to untangle the competitors. I glanced at the entrance to the ballroom and saw a petite blonde woman rushing out the door.

What was Irina doing here? Was the new mother competing at this event? And why wasn't she sticking around to see if Paula or Boris were injured?

Richard ran off to assist his wife who looked shaken but not hurt. One of the other female dancers sat on the floor in a cloud of iridescent pink chiffon, rubbing her left ankle. Boris flexed his right hand but I couldn't tell if he was injured or merely anxious to punch someone.

After a lengthy discussion, the six judges decided all of the couples would advance into the finals the next day. That way those who were slightly injured would have twenty-four hours to heal. And time to ingest some potent anti-inflammatory meds, the staple of the ballroom dance community.

I decided to wait for Paula's return to tell her how great she and Boris had looked prior to the crash. Paula's color was high and two of her curls drooped against her cheek but other than that she didn't appear to have been hurt. As she slid into her chair, I noticed a tear in her skirt. “Oh, Paula, you were dancing so beautifully. What happened?”

“That couple from Australia intentionally shoved Boris and the next thing I knew we were all piled on top of each other.”

“You must be relieved you didn't injure anything other than your dress.”

She followed my gaze and gasped. “I didn't even notice it ripped.” Paula abruptly stood up and swished down the aisle with Richard right on her heels, looking as worried as she was. Paula was lucky she had such a sympathetic and devoted spouse.

I'd been so distracted by the fracas I'd lost track of the time. As I stood up, my eyes were drawn to something sparkly under the table. I bent over and picked up the tiny item, a crystal from Paula's dress that must have fallen off and rolled underneath the table.

I stuck the stone in my purse. Hopefully Paula had a few spares in case one of them fell off and needed to be replaced. I left the ballroom, stopped at the front desk to officially check in and arranged for my luggage to be delivered to my room.

I walked to the elevator and as the elevator doors slowly closed, my eyes locked with the somber gray eyes of Vladimir, standing in the lobby holding a dance program in his immense hand. Now why was the Mr. Clean clone at the hotel?

My mind raced with tales of Vlad the Impaler, the famous Romanian leader. Did this Vladimir have any desire to maim or impale anyone? Or had he already done that to the man who had been married to Irina?

By the time the elevator arrived on my floor, I decided the stress of watching ballroom dancing combined with wedding jitters had sent my imagination into overdrive. Tonight I would forget about murder and concentrate on my best friend's wishes.

I shoved my card key into the door, barely glancing at the massive oak furnishings and the lakeside view. I grabbed the phone and dialed my mother's room next door. Supposedly the rooms she and Bradford were assigned had a connecting door so all four could be together.

“Hi, Mom,” said Jenna. “What's up?”

“Just checking on you guys. Are you having fun with your grandmother?”

“Yeah, we're having a great time.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “She's way more fun since she's been getting it on with Bradford.”

“Jenna! That's no way to talk about your grandmother,” I chided her then giggled when I realized she was right. Mother
was
way more fun now that she was getting some.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “Grandmother is in the bathroom. Do you want to talk to her?”

“No, that's okay. I need to get ready for the wedding rehearsal. You know we're meeting at the King's Tavern at seven?”

“Yep, Liz already called to confirm we'll be there.”

We signed off and I jumped into the shower. Liz had hired a hair stylist and makeup artist for the entire bridal party tomorrow. I couldn't wait to see what kind of miracles she could work on me.

In less than an hour, I was ready, garbed in a navy blue empire waist chiffon dress that flattered my curves. I grabbed my clearance evening bag, checked to make sure I had my room key then took the elevator down to the lobby. On the way down I noticed that the bright orange sale price tag was still attached to my purse, so I stopped at the front desk to ask for directions and also to borrow their scissors. It was one thing to find a bargain. It didn't need to be advertised to the rest of the hotel.

The woman behind the front desk pointed me to a long corridor on the right. I followed the signs to the tunnel walkway, which led to the hotel wedding chapel. Liz stood next to Brian, her arm linked in his, smiling up at her fiance. I hugged both of them then stepped back to scrutinize the radiant bride.

“You look oddly calm,” I said, puzzled by her tranquil demeanor on the night before her nuptials.

“I mixed her a Xanax cocktail,” said Brian. “It should last through dinner.”

“Isn't he a sweetie?” she chortled as she ran her fingers playfully up and down his forearm. Brian seemed tense so he must have skipped the anti-anxiety meds. His cell rang and he pulled it out of his pocket and walked away. His face was somber as he hung up and joined us.

“We have a minor problem.”

“It's okay, just hang loose,” Liz said in a sing-song lilt, already emulating the laid-back lingo of the islands in preparation for their Hawaiian honeymoon.

I eyed her warily. I was beginning to think I preferred Bridezilla Liz to this chirpy medicated version.

“Chuck went skiing today and a snowboarder crashed into him,” Brian said. “He called from the hospital and his leg is broken.”

“What a terrible thing to have happen,” I said. “Poor Chuck.”

“Didn't I instruct the bridal party
no
winter sports activity until after the wedding?” Liz planted her hands on her hips and scowled.

Now that sounded more like my friend.

“We're going to need a replacement.” Liz turned to Brian. “Who can we get to be your best man on this short notice?”

Suddenly I felt the presence of a man who was without question the best man for the job. The three of us stared at the new arrival. Liz circled her prey, a calculating look in her hazel eyes as if she was trying to determine if the newcomer could be turned into a dancer in less than twenty-four hours.

Tom was a better detective than I gave him credit for. He took one look at Liz and shook his head. “I have no idea what you're going to ask me, but I can already tell you the answer is no.”

Liz hooked her arm over his. “Our best man broke his leg today and can't be in the wedding party. Laurel thought you could take his place, and I know you wouldn't want to disappoint her.”

The expression that crossed the detective's face was of relief and maybe something even better.

“Sure, I'd love to be Laurel's escort.”

Liz's smile could have lit up the entire ballroom. “Great. We're about to start the rehearsal for the wedding ceremony right now.” She stepped into the chapel and threw out her parting gift. “Later tonight Laurel can teach you the dance steps for the reception routine.”

The bride and groom disappeared into the chapel and Tom turned to me with a stunned expression.

“Don't stress,” I said. “We have bigger things to worry about than our two pairs of left feet partnered together. Do you remember Anya from the dance studio?”

He nodded. “Anya Taranova, the gorgeous brunette with the great...” His voice petered out probably in response to the peeved expression discernible on my face. He concluded with, “one of the female teachers in the studio.”

Never let it be said that Laurel McKay is jealous of another woman, even one with two percent body fat. “Yes, the teacher with the fabulous body and the flexibility of a rubber band.”

He chuckled. “What about her? Is she in that competition they're holding here at the resort?”

“She's Stan's partner, but she was MIA until a minute before their event. Then she disappeared right after they competed, but not before she told him someone is trying to kill her.”

His left eyebrow quirked upward. “Why would someone want to kill her? Chandler is in jail, so this can't be tied to the studio deaths.”