Dead On The Dance Floor. Heather Graham
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a doorman to let them into one of the new hot spots when the line was down the street.
The only good thing in his opinion was Lincoln Road, where some good foreign and independent films occasionally made it to the theater, a few of the restaurants were authentic and reasonable, and every canine maniac in the city felt free to walk a dog.
“Come on, the beach isn’t really that bad. Okay, it’s not as laid-back as your precious Keys, but still…And as for Suede, there was an investigation not long ago. A runaway-turned-prostitute was found about a block away, just lying on the sidewalk. Heroin overdose. So Narcotics did a sweep, but Suede came out clean. Hell, maybe the girl did get her drugs from someone at the bar. You know as well as I do that dealers don’t have to look like bums. And there’s money on the beach. Big money people pop in at Suede. But as for the management and the club itself, everything came out squeaky clean. In fact, they’re known for enforcing the twenty-one-and-over law on drinking, and there was a big thing in the paper a few months ago when one of the bartenders threw out a rock star, said he wasn’t serving him any more alcohol. It’s a good club, and like I said, students and teachers see one another and dance, maybe have a drink or two—it gives the school a real edge, because people can use what they learn. But outside of that, teachers and students really aren’t supposed to hang around together.”
“Why?”
Doug sighed as if his brother had gotten old and dense. “Favoritism. Dance classes are expensive. Someone could get pissed if their teacher was seeing someone outside the studio and maybe giving that student extra attention. Still, it’s a rule that gets broken. You need to come down there, Quinn. Could it really hurt you to take a few lessons, ask a few questions, make a few inquiries—get into it in a way I can’t?” Doug asked.
Quinn winced. “Doug, one day, I’d like to take up skydiving. I’d like to up my scuba certification to a higher level. I’d like to speak Spanish better, and I kind of always wanted to go on safari in Africa. Never in my life have I wanted to take dance lessons.”
“You might be surprised,” Doug said. “Quinn, please.”
Quinn looked down at his hands. He’d thought he would clean up the boat and head out to the Bahamas. Spend two weeks with nothing but fish, sea, sun and sand. Listening to calypso music and maybe some reggae. Listening to it. Not dancing to it.
But this seemed to matter to Doug. Really matter. And maybe something had been going on. Doug wouldn’t be here if he didn’t have a real feeling about it. Better he find it out before the police, because Doug would be a natural suspect.
He looked up at Doug, ready to agree that it wouldn’t kill him just to check the place out and ask a few questions. Then he hesitated. “I need a break,” he said honestly. “I’m not even sure you want me handling a case that means so much to you.”
Doug shook his head angrily. “Quinn, you know better than to blame yourself for anything that’s happened—lately. You do your best with what you’ve learned and what you know. And sometimes knowledge and laws work, and sometimes they don’t. I still have faith in you—even if you’ve lost it in yourself.”
“I haven’t lost faith in myself,” Quinn said. Shit. Beyond a doubt, he was sounding defensive.
“No?” Doug asked. “Good. Because I’ve got some news for you that I think will change your mind about this case—among other things.”
Quinn looked at him questioningly.
“Your girl took lessons at the Moonlight Sonata studios. Right up until last November.”
Quinn frowned. “My girl? My girl who?”
“Nell Durken. I managed to sneak a look in the file cabinet at Moonlight Sonata, and Nell Durken’s name is there, right in the record books.”
Quinn hadn’t known a damn thing about Nell Durken’s dance lessons. But then again, he hadn’t known all that much about her, really. She had just hired him to find out what her husband spent his time doing.
So he had found out.
And the bastard had killed her.
“Actually,” Doug continued, “Nell was one of their advanced students. Then, last November, she just quit going. Never mentioned it to you, I guess. Curious, though. The records indicate that she was gung ho—and then just gone. Makes you wonder, huh?”
“Fine,” Quinn said flatly. “I’ll do some checking. I’ll take a few fucking dance lessons.”
CHAPTER 3
“Hey, how’s it going?”
Ella Rodriguez tapped on Shannon’s half-open door, then walked the few feet to the desk and perched on the corner of it. Shannon sat back in her desk chair, contemplating a reply to her receptionist.
“I don’t know. How do you think it’s going? Personally, I think we should have shut down for the week,” Shannon said.
“We shut down for three days,” Ella reminded her. “That’s about what most corporations are willing to give for members of the immediate family when someone has passed away.”
“Her pictures are all over the walls,” Shannon reminded Ella.
“Right. And teachers and really serious students are going to miss her—one way or another—for a long time. But you have some students who aren’t all that serious, who never want to see a competition floor, and who are getting married in a matter of weeks, left feet and all. They need the studio open, Shannon.” Ella had short, almost platinum hair, cut stylishly. She had a gamine’s face, with incredible dark eyes and one of the world’s best smiles. She considered herself the least talented employee in the studio, but whether she was right about that or not, her warmth and easy charm surely accounted for many of their students.
Except that now Ella made a face that was hardly warm or charming. “Shannon, I’m well aware you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead. But truth be told, I didn’t like Lara. And I’m not the only one. There are even people who think that her dropping dead on the dance floor was a piece of poetic justice.”
“Ella!”
“I know that sounds terrible, and I’m really sorry. I certainly didn’t want anything to happen to her,” Ella said. She stared at Shannon. “Come on, you’ve got admit it—she couldn’t possibly have been your favorite person.”
“Whether she was or wasn’t, she was a dynamic force in our industry, and she started here. So this was her home, so to speak,” Shannon said.
“We’re all sorry, we know she was a professional wonder, and I don’t think there’s a soul out there who didn’t respect her talent.” Ella met Shannon’s eyes. “Hey, I even said all that when the detective talked to me.”
“You told him that you hadn’t liked Lara?” Shannon asked.
“I was dead honest. Sorry, no pun intended. Oh, come on, he was just questioning us because he had to. You know—when someone dies that way, they have to do an autopsy, and they had to question a bunch of people, too, but hell, everyone saw what happened.” Ella arched a brow. “Did you tell them you had adored her?”
“I was dead honest, as well—no pun intended,” Shannon said dryly. “Well, for all of the four and a half minutes he questioned me.”
Ella shook her head. “What did you expect? There’s no trick here. Her dance is on tape—her death is on tape.” Ella shivered. “Creepy. Except Lara probably would have loved it. Even her demise was as dramatic as possible, captured on film for all eternity. She got carried away, and she died. A foolish waste. There’s nothing anyone can do now. But you closed the studio in her honor. Now we’re open again. And you’ve got a new student arriving in fifteen minutes.”
“I have a new student?”
“Yeah, you.”
Shannon