Kissing in Action (11 page)

"Let's start with wardrobe," said Solomon, pointing to the racks of clothing to our immediate right. I could hear the sound of a sewing machine running as we approached. Ducking around the rack, I found a tall woman with very short, very bright, yellow hair, holding up a PVC corset and squinting at it. A few feet away, another woman was bent over the sewing machine, carefully stitching a seam in place.

"Annabelle?" I asked, checking the list.

The yellow-haired woman glanced over her shoulder. "Yes, and you are?"

"Lexi Graves with the Solomon Detective Agency. This is Solomon."

Annabelle took a long look at Solomon and an even longer look at me. I couldn't help wondering what she thought of my outfit. With my pants and blouse, I was a lot preppier than the PVC corset she held. "You're here about the blackmail plot?" she asked, surprising me.

"Yes. How did you know about it?"

"Not many secrets here, darling. Plus, I was with Shelley when she got her first one."

"So you've seen the contents?"

Annabelle nodded. "I have. I heard there were more letters."

"How did Shelley react?"

"She was angry. Really angry."

"Did you see who left the letter?"

"No, it was already waiting in Shelley's room when we got there after that night's concert."

"How come you were in Shelley's room?" asked Solomon.

"Shelley was complaining that her top for one of their numbers was rubbing uncomfortably and I needed to do a refit that night. We had to restructure it before we got on the road for the next concert."

I nodded, like I understood. "You didn't have much time?"

"Barely any. There's only my assistant, Janette, and me working on this tour, and we're often overrun with alterations, refits and new costumes to keep it fresh." The woman whom I guessed was Janette looked up as she pulled the material from her sewing machine. "Is that finished? Oh great!" said Annabelle sounding considerably more pleased.

"We won't take up too much of your time," I told her. "I can see you're busy. We just need to ask you a few more questions about the letters the band received."

"Shoot."

"Can you think of anyone on the cast or crew who might benefit from blackmailing the band?"

Annabelle frowned. "They asked for a lot of money? So... everyone?"

"What about anyone who would benefit from embarrassing the band?"

"None of us! We're all relying on the band to stay together for our jobs. I don't know about everyone else, but I get a bonus for completing the tour, although I don't know what's going to happen now. The tour might be canceled."

"You still seem busy?" I said, pointing to the large stack of alterations on the rack next to Janette and glancing towards the dancers busily rehearsing. None of them looked like they were packing to catch a flight home.

"Joe told us we had to carry on as normal until a decision was made as to the band continuing as a trio. So we're taking a break from the concert clothing and focusing on the video. Joe wants a whole new look for the band as a trio, and that means rethinking the band's apparel, as well as ten dancers’ clothing. Then there's footwear and coordinating with hair and makeup. It's a big job, and as usual, we have barely any time to pull it together."

"So if the blackmailer broke up the band, no one on the crew would benefit?" I double-checked.

Annabelle gave a firm nod. "We all need B4U to stick together. Many of us turned down other jobs to go on this tour, and our new projects are only booked to start when the tour is over. Sure, I might get another gig, but it's uncertain. Plus, in our world, no one wants to be ‘resting’ for long."

"Can you think of anyone who is close enough to the band to know the things the blackmailer appeared to know?" I continued.

"Not me, that's for sure. I had a purely professional working relationship with them. They're a bunch of divas, you know."

"I noticed."

We shared a smile and I wondered exactly how much Annabelle witnessed during the tour. Since she seemed to have no knowledge of the blackmail, I switched tactics and asked her where she was during Katya's murder.

"Am I a suspect?" she asked, looking unhappy as her eyes flashed from me to Solomon.

"No, we just want to build a picture of everyone's whereabouts," Solomon said.

"Oh, in that case, Janette and I were at a fabric wholesaler’s."

Annabelle waved Janette over. She finished the seam she'd been concentrating on and joined us, sidling up next to her boss, Annabelle. Clearly, she'd been listening to our conversation, as she said, "Joe told us the girls wanted new dresses for their closing number so we were picking up our order. I think we got coffee after. I can show you the receipts?" she volunteered. "I keep all the records of our budget for accounts."

"No need for that now, but hang onto it for when the police come by," said Solomon.

"The police are coming by?" Annabelle repeated, looking even more uncertain.

"Standard procedure," said Solomon, reminding me of when I met him, back when he worked with the FBI, but not for them. I still didn't know who was responsible for loaning him. I wasn't sure anyone did. The only thing I knew was that he was disillusioned enough to leave traditional law enforcement and set up shop for himself. "Nothing to worry about."

"You didn't see anyone else from the crew between the hours of eleven and twelve?" I asked.

Annabelle and Janette glanced at each other and shrugged. "We got back here around eleven," said Janette. "We came through security, I think, and then walked over here and started cutting. I don't remember seeing anyone else."

"I think I saw the dancers come through a few minutes after, but we're kind of hidden behind these racks. I couldn't tell you exactly who was here," added Annabelle. "Is there anything else?"

"Can you tell us anything about Katya?" I asked.

Annabelle shrugged. "All I can tell you is that she was one mean girl. She treated the rest of her band like they were her backup singers, and the crew like dirt. As for guys, she just walked all over one after another. Honestly, I don't think she cared about anyone."

We thanked the pair for their time, and I made a special effort not to grab the clothes Katya would never wear again and make a run for it. Instead, my hands safely tucked into my pockets, we walked over to the dancers who were sprawled on the floor, catching their breath.

"The choreographer is Devon Heat," I told Solomon as we approached. "I looked him up on my cell phone on the way over, and he's worked with everyone who's anyone. I don't think his name is real."

"Never heard of him."

"You would if you had a life," I told him. "You need to go out more."

"I've been thinking about cutting back my hours," Solomon replied, stopping me dead in my tracks.

"Are you ill?" I stuttered.

Solomon turned back to me. "I've been thinking about the work/life balance. I need more balance."

"Does that mean I can finally lock you in for a weekend away?" I thought about Maddox's booking for the inn at Lake Pierce. Maybe not there.

"Absolutely. Where do you want to go?"

"Somewhere romantic and cozy."

"I'll book somewhere."

"With a roaring fire and snug blankets." I frowned at him.

"No problem."

"A freestanding bath, a variety of bath oils and scented candles," I added slowly, wondering why Solomon was being so agreeable.

"Send me a list of what you want and I'll make it happen."

"Okay then," I said, half to myself as Solomon started towards the dancers with me hurrying in his wake. If this was the kind of balance he was looking for, who was I to complain?

"Devon Heat?" Solomon called and the choreographer turned around. He was a surprisingly solid-looking man with muscular thighs straining against tight jeans and very little hair left. He had nice eyes, thick eyelashes and I was pretty sure a sweep of blusher across his cheeks. I admit it was a judgment, but I judged well: the blusher made his cheekbones pop and I was tempted to ask the brand.

"Are you a dancer?" asked Devon.

"No," said Solomon as he crossed his arms, his biceps tugging against his jacket.

Devon gave him a very long look. "Shame," he snipped, turning away.

"We need a few minutes," said Solomon.

Devon stared at him wistfully. "I would, but we have a whole new number to rehearse and my dancers are terrible.
Terrible!
" he screamed at them. "Where did we find you people? The circus? Actually, that's where I found that one!"

A few of the dancers laughed and Devon flapped a hand at them. I breathed out. Apparently, the abuse was tongue-in-cheek. "Sure, what is it, doll?" he said, but he wasn't talking to me. Solomon gave me a look that was impossible to read, but I figured it was along the lines of never calling him "doll."

Solomon introduced us and Devon brightened, apparently more interested than when he thought he could add Solomon to the troupe. "Sure, I've heard about the blackmail. Those poor, innocent, little bitches," he said and the dancers giggled while he tapped a hand over his mouth. "Oops! Did I say bitches? I meant, poor dears."

"You weren't surprised they were being blackmailed?" I asked.

"No, lovey, I was just disappointed I didn't think of it first!" More giggles.

We went through our routine: did Devon know who might benefit from blackmailing the band or breaking them up, but his answers were virtually identical to those of Annabelle and Janette. In short, they all relied on the tour to continue to make their paychecks before moving onto new projects. Finally, when it was obvious we weren't going to get any new information from Devon, I asked him where he'd been the previous morning.

"Sweetheart, a knife in the back might be poetic justice, but it wasn't me. I took this group of monkeys to run an exclusive dance workshop at The New Montgomery Dance School downtown. We have thirty witnesses. Or, at least, we would have if they acted even half awake. We were all there."

"Except Don," piped one of the dancers. "He had that leg injury."

"Right, except Don. Don, did you kill Katya?" Devon asked. I looked in the direction of Don, my eyes settling on a dark-haired man with a square jaw and a closely cut crop of dark brown hair. His zipped vest over a thin singlet revealed muscular arms and solid pecs.

"Sure, you got me," said Don, dryly. "In between getting my knee checked over at the hospital and hailing a cab to the dance school to catch the last of the workshop."

"Was anyone with you?" I asked.

"The doctor at the hospital and a nurse. Oh, and the cab driver. I got a cab receipt," he said, digging into his vest pocket and producing a small card.

"Oh, honey, how many times have I told you to change your clothes from day to day," sighed Devon.

"Dude, I did. This is a vest. It's cold in here," said Don to a chorus of agreement.

"What happened to your knee?" I asked.

"I twisted it getting out of bed so I decided to get it checked out. If I dance on an injury, I could wreck my knee and lose months of work."

"We're already surprised Don gets any work," sniffed Devon. "Yet, here he is. Fortunately, uninjured. Hip-hip-hurrah, no new dancer for me!"

"You're a mean jerk," said Don, smiling, and not nearly as cruelly as he could have said it. I got the feeling they were all used to moaning and complaining at each other, taking the insults and tossing them back as fast as they came.

"Who is still employing you," Devon pointed out as he turned back to us. "Do you need anything else? A signed confession, my phone number?" he produced a card and passed it to Solomon with a wink.

"That's all," said Solomon.

I thanked Devon for his time and we backed away with Devon shouting, "Call me!" after us.

"What do you think?" said Solomon, deadpan. "Should I call him?"

"Sure thing, doll."

Despite searching for the vocal coach, she wasn’t at the warehouse, but that didn't seem unusual since the band weren't here for her to work with. That left our final port of call with the security man on the door. When we found him, he was sitting on a wooden chair, a lit cigarette in hand, and regarded us both with more suspicion than when he let us in. I wasn't surprised; he'd probably seen us interviewing others and wondered why we were approaching him now.

"Call me Dan. Yeah, I know what you're here about," he said, as I started to tell him why we wanted to talk to him.

"What's that?" asked Solomon.

"You want to know where I was when that woman from the band died," said Dan, taking another long drag and flicking the ash onto the ground. He puffed out a thick stream of smoke and Solomon narrowed his eyes at him. "I was here on shift. You can ask anyone who came in and out. Or check this." He passed us a clipboard with several sheets of names. Solomon flicked through them as I asked, "Do you recall hearing anyone threaten Katya?"

"That her name? No, not that I recall. I remember she was loud and always reamin’ someone out over somethin'. She had a real nasty mouth."