A Tango Before Dying Read online

“I thought so,” I said as I noted that Carol was almost the same height as the woman in the video. The housekeeper was peering over my shoulder.

  “I don’t know why that big, ugly cart is sitting there. All the restocking’s usually done late in the evening. She is about the same size as Carol, isn’t she? Older, though, and she doesn’t have those gorgeous cat eyes like Carol.”

  “You know who she is?” I asked.

  “Not by name, but I recognize her. She was around here several times yesterday. I figured she was part of the Dance Competition crew—taking care of dancers’ clothes and shoes.”

  “What made you think that?”

  “I saw her carrying around a dress on another floor the day before yesterday. Around lunchtime, while I was inside the suite, she came in, grabbed a pair of shoes sitting near the front door, and took off without a hello or goodbye. She said, ‘Shoes need cleaning for tonight,’ or something like that and nothing else. I didn’t stop her because I’d seen her coming around, coming out of another room at the other end of the hall, and like I said, on another floor once the dancers began to arrive.”

  “If you see her again, will you give me a call?” I asked and handed her one of my business cards.

  “Will do. It’s great that Marvelous Marley World’s behind the Dance Competition. You work for The Cat?”

  “I do. Carol’s my assistant, so she works there, too.” They flashed the Catmmando Tom hand signal to each other. “Most people don’t ask us about working for The Cat. Do you have a friend or family member who works in Arcadia Park?”

  “Nah. I’m a good listener, though. I heard a couple of people talking about working at The Cat Factory for The Cat. I love that tomcat! My grandkids do, too. I can’t wait to tell them I helped out two ladies from Marvelous Marley World today.”

  “Let’s keep this quiet for now, okay? Please, don’t speak to the woman if you bump into her—just call me. We’ve got a big surprise for her and other people around here who have worked so hard to make this entire event special, despite the tragedy that occurred yesterday.”

  “Tragedies,” she said correcting me. “I’m not stupid. I’ve watched every episode of Murder She Wrote. I don’t blame you for snooping around and asking a bunch of questions after what happened yesterday. I’m not the sleuthing type, though, and I’m too close to retirement to risk getting shoved down a flight of stairs like Kevin Whitley.”

  “Smart thinking! You’re going to need to be in good shape to make the best use of an annual Arcadia Park pass we’ll get for you. You can take those grandchildren with you, too!”

  “Mum’s the word!” She shoved the business card I’d given her into a pocket. As we pulled that luggage cart into the suite, she hustled back down the hall to the room she’d been cleaning.

  A savvy, observant woman, I thought. I hope she’s also trustworthy.

  15 Houseguests

  It didn’t take long to gather the items from Madame Chantel’s suite and repack them. Carol paused a time or two to tell me about an item or a memory she recalled as we cleared the closet and drawers, stashing them in suitcases open and lined up on the bed. I felt uneasy being in the room where a murder had occurred. I’d sent a text to Jack, sharing the information we’d picked up about who the woman at the door might be and the fact she was the same woman who’d helped herself to Madame Chantel’s character shoes earlier in the day. He’d texted me back right away saying he was passing the info on to Julie Spencer.

  It made sense to me that Madame Chantel would have let the woman into her room, but then what? I couldn’t stop replaying various scenarios in my head. Murder by insulin overdose was no spur of the moment act that occurred because a conflict got out of hand. I couldn’t imagine Charlotte letting anyone come at her with a loaded hypodermic needle without putting up a fight.

  Had the killer come armed with a gun or, more likely, had she slipped the drugs to her in a glass of water or a cup of tea? That empty bourbon glass was sitting there yesterday, but I didn’t recall seeing a second glass of any kind. An imaginary video clip ran in my head. I envisioned the petite woman Madame Chantel had let into her suite calmly rinse a glass, wipe it dry, and put it back on the shelf behind the bar. Then the scene switched to the tray in the bathroom near where I’d been packing clothing and accessories I’d cleared from a dresser in the room.

  There were no glasses in the tray on the marble counter. Nor were there toiletries to indicate that Madame Chantel, or anyone else, had recently occupied the room.

  “Forensics must have taken everything in here,” I said in a raised voice. Just then, Carol spoke, and I tried not to yelp.

  “There’s no need yell, I’m right behind you. You’re right. No toothpaste, vitamins, or any of the face cream or lotions she used. Her shampoo and conditioner are gone,” she added as she peered into the huge shower. “There aren’t even any of those tiny hotel bottles.”

  “That makes sense, I guess, if the forensic team members wanted to be sure she hadn’t been poisoned. Even after they found that injection site, they didn’t know how she’d died. Why not take everything?”

  “Her makeup bag is gone, although she was wearing stage makeup when I found her.”

  “Stage makeup? Wouldn’t that have been applied in a dressing room or the backstage area just off the ballroom?”

  “Usually, but she was going to go straight to the gala to greet guests, remember?” The video started in my mind again. Charlotte, dopey from the drink she’d sipped, was seated in a chair near the bed. The nondescript woman who’d been applying makeup stood poised above her with that needle. She strikes. Charlotte stands and takes a step or two before she sinks to the floor in her bedroom doorway.

  In some ways, the scenario was eerily like my latest nightmares. I didn’t share my dreadful ruminations with Carol, but I felt as though I understood how the murder could have occurred. Who was she? Why had she done such a horrible thing? A chill came over me, and I realized I hadn’t answered Carol’s question.

  “Yes, I do remember. I wonder if Kathleen or the organizers of the Dance Competition sent the woman in the video here, to your godmother’s suite, to do her hair and makeup.”

  “There’s only one way to find out—call and ask.” We wandered back over to the bed. Carol zipped and closed one of the large suitcases.

  “That ought to be easy enough,” I commented as I took Carol’s lead, and closed another of the suitcases we’d been using. “Maybe we can even get a name if I contact a member of the WBDA organizing committee.” Surely, the officious Judy Johnson or the uncooperative Glenda Hislop couldn’t object to a simple request for information.

  “On second thought, I’ll start with Kathleen.” Bettie Cummings’ name flitted through my mind. Maybe we could check for her at the conference registration table before leaving the hotel. Carol spoke again in a voice that grew thinner, and raspier as she went on.

  “She looked so perfect when I found her. Almost too perfect, as if the person who killed her had applied her makeup after she was dead. Maybe even posed her with her hands folded over her body the way they were as if she’d gone to sleep. Isn’t that disgusting, if it’s true?” The chill was back and brought goosebumps with it. Carol had grown pale and shaky as if she might throw up any minute. Someone else was going to have to find Bettie Cummings.

  “You know what? Let’s load the cart, haul everything to my trunk, and get the heck out of here.” We didn’t dilly-dally after that. The suite was beautifully appointed, but it’s as if malice hung from every corner like cobwebs. The parking lot didn’t feel any more comfortable—that was a crime scene now, too. “When we’re safe at home in Crystal Cove, I’m going to call Jack again and make sure someone follows up with Kathleen and Bettie about the identities of the women working in makeup and wardrobe. We’ll let the pros handle it.”

  “You won’t get an argument from me.” The drive home to Crystal Cove was a joyride in comparison with the time we’d spent in Madame
Chantel’s suite. Carol even managed to make a few phone calls—notifying Charlotte’s closest friends about her death before they learned about it in the media. She avoided answering their questions when they asked for details, but they agreed to spread the word. When we got home, Carol was still at it, so I called Jack.

  “I’m already a step ahead of you,” Jack said when I shared the epiphany Carol and I had experienced in Madame Chantel’s suite about a demented makeup artist toiling over Charlotte’s dead body like a mortician.

  “Really?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. Your husband still has more than a few little gray cells that are in good working order despite the gray hair on top of his head.”

  “Stop it! Your gray hairs aren’t on top of your head. They’re all neatly tucked into your sideburns where they add to your worldly-wise cop mystique.”

  “Worldly-wise to you, maybe, but I’m a bothersome old fossil to the Carter Whitleys of the world. It’s amazing he ever learned to dance. Carter does not take instruction from his elders well. I shouldn’t be surprised given the number of scrapes he’s had with law enforcement.”

  “What does that mean? Is he violent?”

  “He was in a roadside brawl during a road rage incident. The judge fined both men involved rather than giving either of them jail time because no one witnessed who threw the first punch. With all the speeding violations on Carter’s record, I’d guess he cut off the other guy although he claimed to be the victim. He’s also been in disputes with landlords, had so many unpaid parking tickets they towed his car, got in trouble for bouncing checks, and has an old shoplifting charge that was dismissed.”

  “If Charlotte even knew part of his history, it’s no wonder she scolded him about lacking gratitude toward his grandfather. Someone had to have paid off his fines for him and hired lawyers to get him out of trouble.”

  “We’ll see what the old gent has to say tonight. He’s a patient man to have bailed out Carter so many times. There Carter was, sneaking around in our neighborhood last night. That young man can’t learn, can he?”

  “Hmm, when Kathleen told me she overheard those two women talking about Kevin Whitley, one of them said almost the same thing about him. That’s not something you say about a man unless you’ve known him for some time.”

  “The women from makeup and wardrobe, right?” Jack asked.

  “You listen to me, don’t you?”

  “How else would I stay a step ahead of you? Julie agrees that the timing of the visitor’s arrival was perfect in terms of Madame Chantel’s schedule. You’re right that Charlotte would have had no qualms about letting the woman into her suite to fix her hair and makeup or accepting a spiked drink if her stylist offered her one. Maybe the cup wasn’t sitting around because she took it with her.”

  “Kathleen said the women laughed about the squabbling between Katrina and Charlotte, but their comments don’t seem very funny to me now. Maybe the woman who made that comment about Kevin being a slow learner knew that from personal experience with him.”

  “A romantic rivalry as a motive for murder is already on the list. Maybe you’re right and the mystery woman is the third member of a love triangle along with Charlotte and Kevin rather than Katrina. She’s off the hook for Charlotte’s murder, by the way. Collin Richards has provided her with an alibi for her whereabouts after she got onto that elevator with him until she showed up to help oversee the charity gala.”

  “Except for the brief detour she made to confront her ex-boyfriend on the stairs and throw a ring at him that she didn’t want anyway.”

  “True, but Charlotte was already dead by then. She confessed what went on in the stairwell, unless Kevin comes up with a different version of events.”

  “Even if she’s telling us the truth, Katrina was in the vicinity of the stairwell shortly before someone clobbered Kevin. Maybe it’s worth speaking to her again in case she caught a glimpse of the woman in the video hanging around. Support people can sometimes be almost invisible, but the mention of those character shoes might jog her memory. That’s true for Bettie with an ‘ie.’ Has anyone caught up with her yet?”

  “If she has, Julie didn’t mention it. I already sent a text suggesting she speak to Kathleen Fowler, Katrina Milan, and the organizers of the dance competition about the identity of a woman who might have gone to Madame Chantel’s suite to do her hair and makeup. If I call, I risk being told to butt out. The news Meg Burton gave you that the same woman absconded with Charlotte’s character shoes is important enough to risk being told to quit telling her how to do her job.”

  “Well, if she’s a step ahead of you, as she should be, she should have already figured out some of this. If not, she needs your help. She has to hear about those shoes.”

  “I’ll call her, and if she doesn’t pick up, I’ll leave a voice mail message, and then I’m heading home. Brett is waiting for me. He’s a much better sport than Carter, but he’s obviously uncomfortable sitting around in a police station.”

  “I’m not surprised, are you? He’s got to be worried that both the good guys and the bad guys are after him.”

  “That’s probably true. He’s a bit of an odd duck in a shirt printed with Marvelous Marley World characters, but polite enough. Next to Carol, he’s as obsessed with Marvelous Marley World as anyone I’ve ever met—including you.”

  “I know. It’s great, huh? He and Carol ought to really hit it off if they get to know each other a little better.”

  “I hope you’re not trying to play matchmaker.”

  “No, but I don’t see anything wrong with giving love a chance to bloom between two devotees of The Cat, do you?”

  “I guess not. Just promise me the three of you won’t spend the entire weekend watching Marvelous Marley World cartoon epics and singing the theme songs.”

  “Promise! Carol and Brett might not mind, but I’m at my limit when it comes to The Cat and The Cat Factory. You and I still have that visit with Kevin, so we won’t be hanging out with them the entire evening. I hope Kevin’s able to recall who hit him. Or maybe help us sort through his list of ex-girlfriends to suggest which one he regards as most likely to have tried to do him in by hitting him over the head with another ex-girlfriend’s shoe!”

  “By the tone of exasperation in your voice, I’d say you’re ready for that soak in the hot tub, my love. I’m going to follow Brett to his condo, escort him inside, and let him grab what he referred to as a ‘weekender’ bag. I’ll have him leave his car there and ride to Crystal Cove with me. On the way to our place, I’ll take another crack at trying to figure out how he caught the attention of Charlotte’s killer and provoked the clumsy attempt to frame him by planting those whiskers.”

  “It was awful quick thinking to peg Brett as the fox and then dig up those fake whiskers. Maybe Natalie and the murderous ex-girlfriend are in it together. She could have nominated Brett as the patsy once she saw him get off the elevator on Charlotte’s floor. If she was in on it, that would also explain how she knew Charlotte was dead as soon as she did, and why she was so quick to publicly blame Brett. She hasn’t come forward with anything new, has she?”

  “Not a thing. Her lawyer arrived, agreed to babysit her until Monday, and she’s been released on bail. We’re not likely to hear more from her until then.”

  “Why would a judge do that?” I asked.

  “Her lawyer made the case that she’s on medication for a serious mental health issue and her recent outbursts are due to a problem with her meds. He argued she needed immediate medical attention under the care of a qualified psychiatrist.”

  “After the way she behaved yesterday, I can believe an explanation like that. It sounds like we’ll all be home before dinnertime. Are you up for the idea of grilling steaks outdoors? Carol and I can run to the store and get the good ones you like. Our house guest isn’t a vegetarian, is he?”

  “Don’t know, don’t care. Buy the steaks. Make one of your wonderful salads and let him eat it alo
ng with a baked potato with sour cream. Problem solved!”

  “Okay, Carol has already been making calls. She’s going to try to reach Charlotte’s lawyer and answer your question about a Will. We’ll fill you in about it this afternoon.” After ending the call, I changed into workout clothes and went to find Carol.

  “Sorry that took longer than I thought it would. Are you ready to go to the clubhouse fitness center with me?” Carol was sitting in a comfy chair in the great room with Ella on her lap and Miles perched on one arm of the chair.

  “Yes—I’ve already changed my clothes, see?” She lifted a foot to show me she’d put on a pair of cross-trainers sporting the Marvelous Marley World logo. “I’m afraid I didn’t pack a swimsuit for the hot tub.” She’d put on leggings, and a sweatshirt which also bore the Marvelous Marley World logo.

  “We can grab a suit for you at the spa shop in the clubhouse. My treat since you’re going to have to cover the bill for the repairs to your car.” Carol shook her head.

  “I don’t believe that’s going to be a problem. According to her lawyer, Dennis Clemons, my godmother left almost everything she owned to me. Her condo needs to be sold, but she’d already decided to sell her dance studio and has a buyer.”

  “Why would she have done that?” I wondered for a moment if Charlotte had been ill after all.

  “Apparently, she wanted to go back onto the competitive dance circuit for a year or so and then retire. When she called to tell me about her plans to attend the Dance Competition here in LA, she said she had important news for me. We never had the chance to talk about it.” Carol’s face grew pouty, her lip quivered, and then the tears flowed. I rushed to comfort her which sent both cats flying.

  “I’m sorry, Carol. I’ll bet she would have loved to share her plans with you. She loved you—like a daughter—so it’s not too surprising she made provisions for you in her Will.”

  “She told me that when my mother died a few years ago. They were best friends for decades, and she promised Mom she’d take care of me. I had no idea what that meant. I’m not as rich as a Walmart Walton, but I’m going to have more money than I ever imagined. What am I going to do with it?”