A Tango Before Dying Read online

“I’m glad Miles is quiet enough to let you fall asleep.”

  “He wasn’t at first. Carter stopped at a drive-thru on the way here to get food for us. When he came inside to eat dinner with me, Miles had plenty to say to him! I gave Miles a treat, but he was beside himself until Carter left.”

  “Well, it’s no wonder you’re tired after having to put up with that caterwauling.”

  “It didn’t bother me, but it got to Carter. Serves him right since he says he hates cats. I could have put them in your room, but Ella was hiding somewhere. Anyway, I figured Carter would leave sooner with Miles giving him the evil eye!” Carol chuckled.

  “Yes, I’m talking about you, Miles. You’re a good cat!” Miles must have been close to the phone because I heard him reply with a throaty meow.

  “He sounds happy now. The reason I called is that we’re going to be tied up here a while longer. It may be longer than I care to consider right now if we can’t get out of here before the gala ends.”

  “I probably won’t wait up. It was a great turnout.” There was a wistful tone in Carol’s voice when she spoke again. “My godmother would have been pleased.”

  “She would have adored your dance with Carter Whitley. That performance was straight out of a Marvelous Marley World fairytale—princess and all.”

  “Carter’s a great dancer, but he’s no Prince Charming. The guy’s a mess. He was up one minute about the performance tonight and then down the next. Miles must have sensed how much I wanted Carter to leave and that’s why he was yelling at him. I ate my food as fast as I could, thanked him for the ride, and told him I was exhausted. He still didn’t get the hint. I finally promised to see him in the morning, and he left.” Carol yawned, again, and I stifled one of my own. “I accepted his offer to drive me back to the center to pick up my car.”

  “That was nice of him, although I can take you to pick up your car. Carter must have plenty to do. I don’t know what he does for a living, but with his grandfather in the hospital, I’ll bet he’s on call for the next few days.”

  “Don’t count on it. That’s one reason I find him annoying. He works at his grandfather’s dance studio in the Phoenix area. Even though he doesn’t know me well at all, Carter griped endlessly about Kevin while we watched him rehearse with Charlotte. It bothers me even more that he’s upset about running a few errands tomorrow because his grandfather’s in the hospital. How much can he have on his plate while they’re away from the studio this week? I’d happily do anything Charlotte needed me to do if only she was still alive.”

  “I know you would. I’m sorry you had to put up with Carter’s complaints about his grandfather. That was insensitive after all that happened today.”

  “When Charlotte overheard him this morning, she chewed him out about it. He stormed off. I was surprised when Carter called asking to speak to Charlotte because he’d agreed to fill in for Kevin. I never imagined that would happen.”

  “Why is he so resentful toward his grandfather?”

  “I’m not sure. He rambled on about how tight Kevin is with money and about his ‘bent, ancient business practices’—whatever that means. What upset Charlotte was hearing him say that his grandfather has him trapped.”

  “Trapped, how?”

  “It has something to do with the trouble he’s been in. Charlotte told him he was lucky Kevin took him in and provided him with a way to make a living after his parents kicked him out and he had nowhere else to go. Do you know what he said?”

  “No.”

  “‘If I’m so lucky, how come I’m living with him, and you’re not?’ Wasn’t that awful?”

  “Yes. It’s unfortunate, too, because he’s obviously got talent. Charlotte could have been as much help to him as his grandfather if he’d decided to pursue a career in dance. After tonight, Max would be glad to help him, too, unless I warn him off.”

  “He doesn’t think very highly of Max, either, so he’ll blow that opportunity whether you warn Max or not. You know what? Since you’ve offered to go with me to pick up my car, I’m going to call Carter and tell him not to bother to drive all this way.”

  “That’s a great idea. That way, you won’t ever have to see him again. You’re obviously not going to figure him out or fix whatever’s wrong with him. Besides, you’ve got way more on your to-do list than he does. Not that you’ll have to do it alone. Jack and I will lend a hand.”

  “Thanks, Georgie. You married the last Prince Charming, didn’t you?”

  “Jack is a prince, but I doubt he’s the last one. I’m sure there’s one out there who just hasn’t found you yet. If you want to let it wait until morning, I’ll contact Carter on your behalf. Since he’s such a busy man, he ought to be relieved to have one less chore to do.”

  “If I text him rather than call, maybe I can avoid a long conversation. Thanks, Georgie…for everything.” She had the right idea about avoiding a long conversation with the miserable young man. If I had my way, though, there was going to be a long conversation in Carter Whitley’s future—with Jack or someone formally investigating Charlotte’s murder and the assault on Kevin. The moment Carol ended the call, I shared my concerns about Carter with Jack.

  “If his troubles have been legal ones, it won’t take much effort to find out. Let’s go visit Kevin Whitley tomorrow and see how he’s doing. You can be Max’s emissary, and I’ll go along as the good husband, not as a cop. If you rave about his grandson’s dance performance tonight, we’ll get a chance to see how he reacts. I can take it from there.”

  “I’ll do it. Not for Max, but out of concern for Carol. I’d like to get a better idea of how troubled Carter is and if he’s ever been threatening or violent toward anyone. Wouldn’t Kevin have said something if his grandson was the person who hit him over the head and shoved him down the stairs?”

  “Not necessarily. I’m surprised how far some families will go to cover for a disturbed relative—their offspring especially, but spouses, too.” Just then, Julie Spencer arrived with her partner in tow.

  “We’re back,” she said once she’d closed the distance between us. “Is this it?”

  “Yes,” the Security Associate replied. “You can see it sitting right up on top.” Most of the gala guests were inside, but we had a few curious onlookers who peered at the group of us gathered around a garbage can.

  “Good grief, how did it take so long before someone noticed this? Haven’t you or one of your coworkers been posted here all evening?” She asked the Security Associate. He nodded but didn’t have a chance to speak before she asked her partner a question.

  “Did the forensic investigator check this?”

  “It wasn’t here earlier,” Sergeant Jarvis replied.

  “Can that be true?” The detective asked.

  “I don’t remember seeing it either. There wasn’t any receptacle here earlier, Detective.”

  “Kathleen Fowler said a guest reported finding the hypodermic needle a little while ago. Could the person who found it have moved the container?” I asked.

  “That’s possible since it’s sitting in an odd location. It was a member of housekeeping, not a guest.”

  “Is that person still around?” Jack asked.

  “Probably.” When he took no action, Julie Spencer almost lunged at the Security Associate.

  “What are you waiting for? Get the person here, ASAP!” He dashed away and then passed through an opening in the wall—a door that was almost hidden from view. For some reason, I felt compelled to explain why the door melded into its surroundings.

  “Max prefers not to draw attention to maintenance or other ‘backstage’ areas.” I shrugged as Julie Spencer and her partner appeared unmoved. “I can explain if you want me to do it. To be honest, it makes more sense to me in the theme park. Oh, never mind.”

  While we waited, an elevator pinged, and a young man turned one way and then the other before he spotted us. He wore a jacket emblazoned with the word FORENSICS in big, bold letters, and carried a kit wi
th the same lettering on it. Guests milling about now began to murmur. I felt anxious that we were creating a stir. I suppose it was too late to call maintenance and ask for a portable room divider or tenting to shield the area from view.

  “Help me move that, will you?” I asked Jack when I spotted a large display board. Once the forensic investigator went to work, I was glad his efforts were hidden. He photographed the trash can and the area around it. Then, he removed the hypodermic, bagged, and labeled it, before lifting off the top of the trash can that held a clear plastic garbage bag in place.

  “I’m going to need to take the entire contents of this bag. We’ve got blood,” he added as he pulled it from the can. There wasn’t a lot, but the streaks were enough to evoke a reaction. My stomach roiled. I wasn’t alone.

  “Oh, no!” A woman exclaimed. We turned to see a member of housekeeping standing next to the Security Associate.

  “This is Lisa Tennyson. She’s the one who reported spotting that hypodermic needle.” Lisa Tennyson didn’t look well. Pale and shaky, she spoke in a thin voice.

  “I…I can’t stand the sight of blood.” She was going down any second now! I rushed to steady her and turn her around before she fainted.

  “Don’t look at it. We were just wondering why you, or someone else, hadn’t noticed the contents and reported them sooner since the container’s sitting sort of out in the middle of everything.”

  “It was back there around the corner and against the wall next to the big bushy tree,” she said pointing toward a seating area. “When I went to empty it, I pulled it away from the wall like I always do. After I saw that thing in there, I dragged it over near where security has been hanging around all evening. I checked the rest of this area while I waited for one of them to show up. When he did, I told him I was afraid it might be medical waste that needs to be handled in some special way.”

  “When was the last time you emptied that can?” Jack asked.

  “I checked it as soon as I started my shift at two. It was clean as a whistle, so I didn’t need to change it. This space doesn’t get much use unless there’s a special occasion like the event tonight. That’s the reason I checked it again this evening. Otherwise, no one would have done anything with it again until tomorrow morning.”

  “Well, she’s solved the riddle of why it’s sitting where it is and why no one found it earlier. She’s free to go, isn’t she?” I asked.

  “Sure, get her name and contact information, Jarvis, in case we have another question for her after forensics has gone through it.” Detective Spencer’s partner nodded as he motioned for Lisa Tennyson to step over into the seating area.

  “Thanks, Lisa,” I said. “That was smart thinking to get a Security Associate involved.”

  “Yeah, sure. Involved in what ought to be my next question, but I really don’t want to know.”

  “So much for our suspicions that an angry, ungrateful Carter Whitley hit his grandfather on the head and shoved him down the stairs.” Jack nodded toward the bag that the forensic investigator was holding. “That’s a woman’s shoe.”

  “Not just any woman, but a dancer. It’s a ‘character shoe,’ and not from a starter pair, either.”

  “Character shoe—as in something a Marley World princess wears?” Julie Spencer asked wearily.

  “No. It’s a term for a shoe worn by lots of dancers from students to professionals. The name is taken from an old style of dance in the folk tradition,” I stopped since I could see the detective’s eyes glaze over. “Bottom line, they’re widely used for dance classes, chorus lines, auditions, and they can be worn for ballroom dancing, especially during rehearsal. If I could examine the shoe closely, I’d know for sure, but that looks like it’s made of real leather, not a substitute. The heel is slightly higher than one worn by a woman new to dancing and the t-strap looks like one I’ve seen on high-end character shoes.” I shut up.

  “My wife always takes a new interest seriously. I’m sure she knows what she’s talking about since she researched dance shoes thoroughly before she bought ours.”

  “Okay, so are you suggesting a woman—a female dancer—took off a shoe, whacked Kevin Whitley over the head, and tossed the shoe into a waste basket before making her escape wearing only one shoe?”

  “Not necessarily,” I replied after I mulled over the scenario she proposed. “Someone could have been carrying a pair of pricey shoes she planned to wear to the gala and decided to use one as a weapon. Kevin is lucky the heel on that shoe isn’t spikier, or that blow might have penetrated his skull and done even more damage than it did.”

  “Let’s not forget that whoever dumped the shoe also happened to be carrying around a hypodermic needle,” Jack added.

  “It’s not that far-fetched given that the two assaults occurred fairly close together. Why not dispose of the hypodermic needle sooner rather than carry it around?” I’m not sure the detective was speaking to us when she asked that question, or simply mulling it over in her own mind.

  “Maybe the killer was going to get rid of the needle somewhere away from here. After hitting Kevin with one of those shoes, the plan had to be changed. A bloody shoe had to be concealed quickly.”

  “The attack on Madame Chantel was premeditated. I mean you don’t just show up armed with a hypodermic filled with a poisonous substance without advance planning. The attack on Charlotte Chantel was carried out without a struggle. It took some skill to pull that off without alerting the murder victim that she was in imminent danger.”

  “Unlike the shrieking attack by Natalie Bucco on Charlotte Chantel, you mean?” I asked Jack.

  “Exactly. Madame Chantel would never have let the woman into her suite after the way she carried on at lunch. She knew and trusted whoever killed her. Poisoning’s typically a weapon of choice by women. The dance shoes point to a woman, too, but anyone could have walloped Kevin with a shoe.”

  “Those are all good points, both of you. Even an organized killer can unravel and throw planning out the window. Tomorrow, when we speak to the people working upstairs at the registration desk and ask if they saw anyone with Kevin Whitley, we’ll use the ‘character’ shoes as a probe. Maybe that’ll help us identify someone—especially if a man was walking around carrying a woman’s dance shoes.”

  What sort of man would do that? I wondered. Then I flashed on the wild-eyed, mustachioed Versailles Fox who’d confessed he’d been in Madame Chantel’s suite not long before she was killed. Had his devotion to the woman pushed him to take that tango too far? Had he killed her, stolen her shoes, and then used them to assault a man he believed to be his rival and the reason for her rejection?

  Before I could speak up about Brett Henson, an image of an angry Carter Whitley sprang to mind, too. How angry was he with Madame Chantel’s reproach? Had it touched off enough fury in him that he killed her and then attempted to kill the grandfather toward whom he’s long been contemptuous and resentful?

  “When we get home, I’ll ask Carol if her godmother had a pair of character shoes with her. If she did, you might want to send someone to her suite to see if they’re missing, or maybe you’ll find the mate to that shoe,” I said suddenly.

  “Who would steal her shoes? Why were you suspicious of Kevin Whitley’s ungrateful grandson?” The detective asked, her eyes narrowing as they moved from me to Jack, and back to me. “What haven’t you two told me?

  11 Fancy Footwork

  I almost nodded off in the car on the way home except that the events of the day kept intruding. We’d managed to leave before the final performance of the evening which I’m quite sure was as well done as everything else. Katrina Milan is a superb choreographer, and Kathleen Fowler had helped keep everything moving despite all the fancy footwork that they’d employed to handle unexpected trouble today.

  Apparently, the sniping between them hadn’t undermined their ability to work together. I could say almost the same thing about Detective Spencer and her partner. The way she ordered him around
didn’t make them the best cop buddies I’ve ever seen. Since I became involved with Jack, I’ve met quite a few at gatherings with his colleagues.

  A whiff of sea air drifted in through Jack’s window that he’d rolled down a little. I could hear the pounding of the waves above the dull roar of traffic at this hour. We were back in Crystal Cove. Jack seemed preoccupied or maybe just tired.

  “You aren’t worrying about Julie Spencer, are you? She seemed more appreciative than exasperated about the additional information we shared with her. I’m sorry our wily waiter pal escaped, but LAPD hasn’t had any better luck locating him.”

  “That’s certainly true. I’m not sure how they missed the opportunity to interview him since if we have the timing right, a coworker dropped off the card from Madame Chantel around the same time the police paid him a visit.”

  “Maybe they didn’t miss him, and he simply hid until they left. Even if she holds Brett’s getaway against us, Arcadia Park security handed Natalie over to them. That will save them time trying to hunt her down. That has to be a point for us.”

  “I’m not worried about her. We’re not treading on anyone’s toes—as in crossing jurisdictions. She was happy to have the lowdown on Carter Whitley, too. That, plus the information Brett disclosed to you before he ran for it, isn’t a bad day’s work considering we aren’t officially involved in the investigation of Madame Chantel’s death or any of the other crimes committed today. If we’re keeping score, I’d say we earned several points today.”

  “Let’s not forget she learned something new about dance shoes, too.” Jack laughed as he pulled through the gates into our community. I relaxed at the sound of his laughter, glad that his sense of humor remained intact after another day absorbed by Marvelous Marley World wackiness and depravity. “Poor Carol has some unpleasant tasks ahead of her tomorrow. She’s got to track down family members and try to figure out what they want to do about funeral arrangements.”

  “What family does Madame Chantel have left?” Jack asked as he turned onto the block where our house sits.