The Dance (10 page)

“How did she have the wreck?” Hank shivered and scooted nearer to Seth. He pulled her close. Bryan glanced at them in the rearview mirror. Then he looked at Melanie to see if she was all right.

“She'd been to see her grandmother. Up in Connecticut. She was crazy about Grannie McMasters. Went up there lots of weekends, especially when she wanted to be alone. Her grandmother lived in the country.” Melanie turned around again. “Paulie was such a good driver. She didn't speed or show off in any way. She was a little absent minded, but …”

“It was a one-car accident,” Bryan said. “The police said Paulie was driving about ninety miles an hour. They said the brakes on the car must have failed, or that Paulie didn't try to brake soon enough.”

“Brakes don't fail on a new car.” Seth shook his head. “That's what helped me believe Mel when she first said she didn't think it was an accident.”

“Maybe the brakes were defective,” Hank suggested.

“She'd been driving the car for three months. Defective brakes would have showed up by then.”

“Are you saying someone tampered with them?” Hank asked.

“I just don't know. The police said there were skid marks, but that they were in an erratic pattern.”

“I'm sorry to ask this,” Hank said, “but could she have committed suicide? I've heard lots of one-car accidents are really suicide.”

“Mel and I have talked about that,” Bryan said. “We just don't think so. It wouldn't have been at all like her. She was starting to talk about all the other things she could do besides dance. She liked kids. She said she could teach and some day open her own school.”

“Okay,” said Seth, serious for once. “You're bringing a fresh approach to all this, Hank. Say whatever you're thinking.”

Hank sat up straighter and took a deep breath. “I—I don't see how you can think that Madame Leona killed Paulie just because she quit the ballet troupe. That's just too farfetched.”

“But you agree that Leona's a little strange, don't you?” Melanie asked.

“Sure. Eccentric. Obsessed with her work. But that's all I can say. I know Paulie's death was a waste, guys. She was so smart and so talented. I know you're all hurting over it. But could you just be looking for some reason it happened—someone to blame?” Hank did bring an objective outlook to the matter.

“I—I'm sure you could be right, Hank. None of us could say that out loud.” Melanie stared out the window for a few seconds, leaving an awkward silence in the car. Then she swung around.

“But what can it hurt to keep looking for something—anything? I'm in the troupe. I'm going to stay there.”

“I'm certainly willing to keep an open mind,” Hank said. “I think Nicol, Janell, and Anne are almost as strange as Leona.”

Seth pulled a notebook from his pocket. “I haven't let you do all the work, Melanie. I have this to add, thanks to some of my uncle's powerful, but discreet and helpful friends.” He licked his finger and found the page. “Leona Turva has no account in a Bellponte bank. I went to the Seaton Arms office. She had no references, but paid for four months rent and damage deposit—a lot of money—in lieu of references, on an apartment for her and one for Nicol, Janell, and Anne. She paid in cash.”

“How'd you find that out?” Hank asked.

“Bribery. Apartment managers don't make big salaries. And charm.” He grinned at Hank. “Then I asked my uncle to order a credit report on Leona Turva. I explained to him how important it was. She has no credit record.”

“So? Some older people don't like credit cards.” Bryan would never cease to be amazed at Seth's resources. His uncle seemed to know everyone. “And she banks under a mattress.”

“But she's running a business,” Melanie argued.

They were early, so they sat outside Julie Pedigren's apartment building. Melanie looked at her watch. “Let's go see what Julie thinks about Leona Turva.”

Bryan took Melanie's arm as they walked to the building. She looked up at him. “You agree with Hank, don't you, Bryan? I can see that. You think nothing will come of all this worry and time we're putting in.”

“Maybe I do, Mel. But I care about you. Even if you're chasing a wild goose, I'll go along. I want to be with you.”

Bryan didn't know whether to hope they found some tie with Leona to Paulie's death or not. But he could see Melanie becoming more and more obsessed with this investigation—and, he hated to say, with dancing in Madame Leona's exclusive troupe.

She also looked tired. There were dark circles under her eyes. All the things she'd said about Paulie were showing up again—in Melanie.

ten

O
N THE SIDEWALK
, looking for Julie's number, Bryan brought up another possibility. “Melanie, you said Paulie had wanted to dance all her life, wanted that career. Isn't there a possibility that quitting left her depressed? That maybe under other circumstances she'd never have committed suicide, but she might have done it accidentally?”

“You're saying she had an unconscious death wish?” Melanie was willing to talk about the possibility.

“Something like that.”

“What about the police saying her brakes failed?” Seth pointed out.

“Maybe that was a gentle way of telling her parents that Paulie failed to apply the brakes. Maybe the erratic skidding showed she changed her mind, but it was too late.”

Melanie stared at him. “There would be no way to know that.”

They were quiet until they found Julie Pedigren's small row house. Now that Bryan had heard the entire story again, with some added information, he didn't know what to think about it. He
did
tend to agree with Hank, but Melanie had such strong opinions, too. He hated to think that he and Seth were just being wishy-washy. If they'd had a best friend killed, they would feel differently, he was sure.

They found Julie waiting, and in no time the foursome were seated in Julie's Victorian-style living room. Julie had probably just gotten home from work. She wore an oriental housecoat and was lighting a cheery fire.

“I made some spiced tea.” Julie spread cheese, apple slices, black olives, and salted cashews on a crystal plate. “I know dancers are always hungry.”

“Oh, Julie, you shouldn't have gone to any trouble,” Melanie said. “At least let me serve it. You sit down.” Bryan hurried to help Melanie pass cups of the sweet-smelling tea.

“I am exhausted.” Julie curled into an overstuffed, well-worn chair with a cup of the steaming liquid. “I've hardly had time to shop properly in two weeks. Fortunately I usually have snack food.” She smiled. “I miss you in my classes, Melanie.”

Playing hostess, Melanie smiled thanks to Julie, then she warmed her hands on the cup and looked around. The small room overflowed with paintings and framed photos, all of English pastoral scenes. “Nice house.”

Julie had seen her looking. “It's not the Seaton Arms—I heard you went there the other night—but it's me. Leona says she'd gladly trade her fancy apartment for my cozy house, but I'll keep the house.”

“It is quite a contrast, but I agree with you. I certainly feel more comfortable here than at Nicol's.”

“That's an understatement,” said Hank, laughing.

Small talk out of the way, Julie looked at Melanie. “Now what did you want to talk to me about, Melanie?”

“Julie,” Melanie looked around at Bryan and the rest of the group. “Will you tell us everything you know about Madame Leona—her background.”

Julie took a few seconds to look at each of her visitors, but she didn't ask why they wanted to know. “I know only what Ilene Greenway told me. Leona Turva is well off. Very. She probably doesn't need the school to make a living. She's traveled a lot. She's a superb dancer—or was. Ilene said Leona was once a member of the Budapest S.S.R. Ballet, which is no small achievement, and she owns the Arbuthnot Shop next to the theater.”

“Do you know anything about the three women she brought with her to Bellponte?” asked Bryan, remembering Mel's stories.

“Nicol, Anne, and Janell?” Julie studied what was left of her tea. “I met them. It was all the contact I cared to have. They were pretty cool to me. The one named Nicol seems very bright and friendlier than the others. She speaks and smiles, at least. I can never get over those eyes when I see her. I've never seen anything like them. That blue-gray like translucent ice. If they were any lighter—”

“They'd seem to vanish?” Melanie asked.

Julie blinked. “Yes, Mel. Yes … That's how they impressed me.”

Seth grabbed a handful of cashews. “Sounds as if you don't feel entirely comfortable at the school, Julie. How come you've stuck around?”

“When I knew Ilene Greenway had sold, I planned to quit. But I got a letter from the Dance La'Vousier in Paris. From Leona Turva. She asked me to stay, to keep my classes intact. For my trouble, she sent a check for twenty-five hundred dollars.” Julie shrugged and smiled. “So I stayed. I do feel pretty settled in here. That was in late July, I think.”

“A check—she sent you a check?” Seth asked.

Julie thought about Seth's question. “Now that you mention it, it was an international money order.”

“Why do you think Ilene sold the school, Julie?” asked Melanie. “She and my mother were friends. Mom can't believe she left. Dance was her life, and she had told my mom that she loved it here. She'd planned to stay until she retired.”

Julie shook her head. “I was surprised. The money, maybe. She said Leona had offered her a lot. That coupled with several annoyances.”

“Like what?” asked Bryan.

“Well, Leona bought the Arbuthnot Shop first, it seems. We didn't know who the owner was at the time, but it came out later. The noise of the remodeling was terrible. Ilene complained about it time after time. We had plaster coming off the walls in the studio from that brick wall they have in common. Even Mr. Brandish complained about the dust and dirt and having to work all night repairing our walls.”

“That was only temporary,” Melanie said. “Not a reason to leave. What else happened?”

“Ilene came back to work one day after lunch to find her terrier dead. It was lying in the middle of the studio floor.”

“I remember that.” Melanie poured Julie more tea. She seemed on the verge of tears. “But wasn't he really old?”

“Not that old. And he hadn't been sick or anything. Ilene was distraught. He was her only family. She even let the vet do an autopsy. He was puzzled, and he found nothing. He said it must have been a heart attack. There wasn't anything to suggest foul play.

“Ilene was so depressed. I stayed with her that night. The next day I bumped into Leona as I was leaving the school. She was headed for Ilene's office.”

“You think Leona put pressure on Ilene at a weak moment?” Bryan thought of how strong and intense Leona was.

“That's all I can think. When I came to work the next day, I found Ilene gone and Leona the new owner, but she was gone, too. Voska seemed to be in charge, and you know how easy she is to talk to. She told me to continue with business as usual. By the end of the week, I had the letter and the money from Leona.”

There was a moment of silence while they considered Julie's story. Then Bryan spoke. “You don't think Leona had anything to do with the dog dying, do you?”

“I don't know what to think, Bryan. Surely not.”

“Ilene just disappeared?” Melanie asked. “She didn't leave you a note? Have you heard from her since?”

“I got a scribbled postcard from London. She'd mentioned that she'd always wanted to go there. But I didn't understand her not telling me she was going—much less that she'd sold the school. We were pretty good friends.”

“Are you sure the postcard was from her?” Hank asked.

Julie looked as if she'd never questioned that it was. “I—I guess so. It looked as if she'd written it quickly, and it didn't say much. I think I still have it at the studio. It was postmarked in London. I know that. I tried to read the date, but it was smeared. You don't think—” Julie couldn't finish the sentence.

“I can think anything where Madame Leona is concerned.” Bryan reached for some cheese. “I don't like the woman.”

Julie thought of something else. “A lot of people didn't know Ilene was married once. Her ex-husband lives in Syracuse. I think he still carries a torch for Ilene. He called me last month, asking about Ilene, asking me if I'd heard from her. The last time he'd talked to her was in September. He seemed worried. I gathered Ilene did keep in touch with him.”

There was another pause in the conversation. Then Melanie changed the subject.

“And Paulie—we actually came to talk about Pauline McMasters.” Melanie shifted in her chair. Bryan could tell she didn't feel really comfortable questioning Julie.

“What a waste of a talented life.” Julie shook her head. “She stopped in to visit just before she—just before—I was busy. She seemed anxious to talk to me. Afterwards, I felt bad, of course. I could have given her a few minutes. I knew she wasn't getting along with Leona. I heard one blow-up they had. But Paulie, despite being a fine dancer, was never easy to work with. She didn't respond well to pressure, and she needed a lot of approval, a lot of attention. Leona isn't one to pamper anyone, even a good dancer.”

“That's true,” Melanie added. “As smart as Paulie was, as talented, she didn't have as much self-confidence as she should have had. I was always having to talk her into trusting herself. And she was very superstitious. She was always talking about luck—good luck, bad luck. She carried charms and—”

“Oh, I'd forgotten.” Julie jumped up and hurried out of the room. The whole group looked at Melanie, but she shook her head to indicate she didn't know what Julie had forgotten.