Penelope walked on stiff legs, following them down the aisle toward the stage. She hadn’t fully shaken the jittery feeling that overtook her as she looked down at the woman’s bare back, her fragile spine showing just beneath the skin, her arm twisted unnaturally on the ground. Penelope dreaded going out and witnessing it all again, but she knew she had to do whatever she could to help.
Chapter 8
“Be careful where you step,” Detective Doyle said, pointing at debris on the ground in the alley behind the theater. They emerged from the back door and stood on the small metal landing. Three steps led down to the concrete below, but none of them made a move to be first to go.
“Please tell me again exactly what happened when you got to the alley,” Doyle said to Penelope. She gave him the rundown of events, from following the officers behind the theater, to finding their things, to the case tipping over. Doyle listened carefully and nodded when she was finished. He waved for them to come down the steps, and head over to the tent.
A thin green sleeping roll and a shopping bag full of dirty clothes had been pulled out from behind the row of cases closest to the wall and placed near the tent in the alley. Penelope remembered the other officer mentioning someone might be living in alley, just before they found the woman in the case.
“I’m not sure I can do this after all,” Abigail said. She stopped abruptly at the bottom of the steps and Penelope almost bumped into her from behind.
She turned back toward the door, and Detective Doyle placed a hand gently on her shoulder.
“This will really help, if we can get a positive ID sooner than later,” he said. “It won’t take long.”
“But what if it is Elspeth?” Abigail said, tears threatening to spill again.
“Then I will immediately begin working to find whoever did this to her,” Detective Doyle said. “You can really help her by doing this.”
Abigail nodded and steadied herself before ducking into the tent. Penelope stayed near the steps, just able to see the woman’s arm and a spill of red hair on the stretcher inside. The woman’s arm was delicately thin, the skin papery. Her palm faced up toward the sky, her dark red nails looking like drops of blood on the sheet. Penelope saw something faint on her wrist, a drawing or a tattoo maybe. Feathers, or a bird’s wing, possibly.
Arlena had offered to come with Penelope to the alley, but she’d told her that she was fine. And also to hurry up and finish up whatever she needed to so they could leave soon. She wanted to go home, curl up under a blanket on her couch and drink a glass of wine. Or two. She’d had enough of the city, and definitely the Vitrine Theater for one day.
The sound of Abigail’s cry stiffened Penelope’s spine. One of the EMTs had pulled back the sheet that had been draped lightly over the dead woman’s face. Abigail staggered and leaned into Detective Doyle. He gingerly tucked an arm around her shoulders, steadying her. Penelope took a few steps closer and gazed at the woman’s face. Her mouth sagged open and her eyes were open and glazed over, staring at nothing.
“It’s her,” Abigail cried. “It’s Elspeth.”
Penelope pressed her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes, as she listened to Abigail’s sobs. She knew that sound, and the image of the dead girl’s face would stay with her for a long time.
Elspeth had been beautiful, but her cheeks were hollow. The dark red lipstick, the same shade as her nail polish had lost its sheen, and flaked from her lips. There was a smear of blood on her chin, and her left temple. Penelope wondered if it was hers or if maybe she was able to get a swipe or two at her attacker and it was his. She had faded bruises on her left cheek and a darker ring of them around her neck.
Penelope tried to picture the struggle Elspeth had been through. She wondered who harbored that much rage, and what could have possibly triggered someone to unleash it on this promising young dancer.
“I know this is difficult,” Detective Doyle said softly. “But is there anything else you can think of that might help us? Any ideas about who might have done this?”
Abigail shook her head. After a nod from the detective, the EMT pulled the sheet back over her face, and then unfurled a large black body bag. He motioned for his partner to help him get it around Elspeth’s body.
“Where are her clothes?” Penelope asked. “Was she completely naked?”
“Yes,” Doyle said darkly. “We haven’t found anything yet.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at Abigail. “Do you remember what she was wearing when she left the theater yesterday?”
Abigail bit her lip as she stared at her friend’s face. “Jeans, I think. And a green sweater she borrowed from me. Boots. She wore her dance gear to work but she usually threw an outfit in her bag when she had something to do after rehearsal. So she wouldn’t have to go upstairs and change.”
“Upstairs?” Doyle asked.
“There,” Abigail said, pointing toward the street in front of the theater. Doyle led her from the tent and they rejoined Penelope at the stairs.
“You live right across the street?” Detective Doyle asked, motioning at the tall apartment building visible above the theater’s rooftop.
“All of us do,” Abigail said.
Doyle sighed.
“What’s wrong?” Penelope asked.
“Nothing,” Doyle said with a weak smile. “It’s an extra layer of possibilities, now. Someone might have known where Elspeth worked, or where she lived.”
“Or both,” Penelope said.
“Or it’s a random creep and it wouldn’t matter where she danced or lived,” Abigail said.
“Maybe,” Doyle agreed. “Tell me again what Elspeth’s plans were when she left the theater yesterday.”
Abigail closed her eyes and sighed before continuing. “She said she wanted to get some errands done, she didn’t say exactly what, then come home and make dinner.”
“Did Elspeth cook a lot at home?” Penelope asked.
Abigail shrugged. “I guess. She liked to cook. We have a small stove and oven. A mini fridge.”
“A lot of people rely on take out dinners in the city, because the apartments are so small,” Penelope said.
“That gets pricy,” Abigail said. “And the food is fattening. Elspeth said she had to control what went into her body, and who knows what a restaurant is doing to their food.”
Doyle glanced at Penelope then turned back to Abigail. “What kinds of errands do you think she was doing?”
Abigail shrugged again. “Dry cleaning, maybe? Food shopping. We didn’t get into the details.”
“So you guys are pretty close, I take it,” Doyle said.
Abigail paused, then nodded. “We auditioned together and made the Vitrine troupe. We’ve lived together for two months.”
“And how long did you know her before then?” he asked.
“We didn’t. We met at the end of the summer, in auditions.”
Doyle squinted at her. “So you could say you’re new friends, then?”
“Yeah,” Abigail said, a bit defensively. “It happens in this business. We bonded right away. This job, and lifestyle…you know what, you wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me,” Doyle said.
Abigail’s chin jutted slightly and her gaze hardened. “It’s different, dancing for a living. You sacrifice. Relationships are hard. Not every man wants to be with someone who has to focus on their work more than anything else.”
“Lots of people have difficult jobs,” Doyle said. “What makes yours different?”
“We do three shows a day sometimes, and we’re up on stage until our legs can barely move anymore.” She crossed her arms across her chest. “And it’s not just physical pain, there’s the mental pressure too. Weighing yourself every morning, squeezing your swollen feet into your character shoes, overcoming the stress and pain, making it through one more number. Then you watch yo
ur friends go out all night and eat and drink whatever they want, go out on dates, act normal, go away for the weekend. Splurge. We can’t do any of that. Me and Elspeth, we bonded over that shared experience of being driven. And being on our own.”
“It does sound like a lot,” Doyle said. “But you know what you’re signing up for, right?”
“I told you,” Abigail said. “You wouldn’t understand what it’s like, to have a dream, and then have that dream try and take you down night after night.”
“Detective,” Penelope said, shifting the subject. “How exactly did Elspeth die? I saw the marks around her neck.”
“We’ll know more after the official autopsy,” he said evasively.
“She was strangled,” Abigail said. “Obviously.”
“But where did the blood on her face come from?” Penelope asked.
Doyle sighed, and seemed to debate with himself whether to tell them anything more. “It appears she was also stabbed.”
“Stabbed?” Abigail whispered, crossing her arms.
Detective Doyle cleared his throat. “Did Elspeth have a boyfriend? I know you said the two of you didn’t date much but…it’s a big city, lots of opportunity to meet people.”
Abigail shook her head emphatically. “No.”
“How about you?” Doyle asked. “Seeing anyone lately?”
“Not since I was at home,” Abigail said. “I broke it off with him when I got to New York. He couldn’t take the pressure of my career.”
“You and Elspeth were only friends for a short time,” Doyle said. “Maybe there was someone from her past she didn’t mention?”
Abigail looked at him, her expression hardening. “We live in a studio apartment,” she tilted her head in the general direction of the street. “She wasn’t seeing anyone. I would’ve known. We spent most of our time together.”
“But there were some times you were apart,” Doyle said.
“Not many,” Abigail said. “We both danced here. She was on the front line and I’m swing. I go out on auditions here and there but honestly…we were best friends. This is all a shock.” Abigail’s eyes glassed over and she put a fist to her lips.
Penelope put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.
“I understand. And I’m sorry for your loss,” Doyle said. “But it’s possible, is it not, for Elspeth to have…entertained someone while you were out at an audition?”
Abigail shrugged. “I suppose. But I think she would’ve mentioned it at least.”
“Where are you from originally?” Doyle asked.
“The Oneida Lake area,” Abigail said. “North.”
“Okay,” Doyle said. “Thank you for your help. Both of you.”
“You think you know what Elspeth was like,” Abigail said, nodding toward the tent, “but you don’t. She was here following her dreams. She wouldn’t have thrown it all away on some guy. The Elspeth I knew wouldn’t be out all night, that wouldn’t have been her choice.”
“Sometimes people get to this city and leave their old lives behind,” Penelope said gently.
Abigail shook her head. “No. Not her. She worked too hard to get to where she was.”
Chapter 9
After the EMTs wheeled Elspeth’s body away and eased her into the ambulance, Abigail and Penelope followed Detective Doyle back inside the theater. Abigail headed to the dressing rooms, mumbling that she had to use the ladies room.
The rest of the Big Apple Dancers were gathered in small groups around the stage, talking quietly with each other. Armand and Martha stood at one end of the stage, matching expressions of anxiousness on their faces.
Arlena sat in the first row, her chin propped on her fist as she jotted notes on a small pad in her lap.
“Can you show me Elspeth’s dressing room and locker? I’d like to take a look at the common areas also,” Detective Doyle said.
“Of course.” Martha waved him over and lead him through the curtain. “All the girls are out of there, except Abigail.”
“Let’s give her a minute,” Doyle said. “Ladies, were any of you close with Elspeth Connor?”
Several of the dancers shook their heads. A few remained still, looking like they were thinking about it. One of them raised her hand halfway.
“You knew Elspeth well?” Doyle asked.
“Um, not well,” the woman said. Her dark ponytail spilled over one of her shoulders, and she stroked it as she spoke. “We shared a dressing room. She was nice.”
“Did you know her before your time together here?” Detective Doyle asked.
“No,” the woman said, rubbing her nose. “Just from the show.”
“Did any of you do anything with Elspeth outside of the theater? Go for coffee or a drink?”
The dancer with the ponytail tucked one long leg behind the other and propped a fist on her chin, thinking. “We went for a coffee once. Just to the place down the street.”
“Great,” Doyle said. “What did you guys talk about over coffee?”
She bit her lip, then said, “How hard it was to stick the pivot turns in the third number.”
“The what?” Doyle asked.
The dancer dropped her ponytail and put one foot in front of the other and turned her body around to face the rear of the stage, her feet staying in place. She turned back to face Doyle and shrugged. “We practiced in the coffee shop.”
“I see,” Doyle said. “Did she mention a boyfriend?”
“Maybe,” the woman said. “It was a while ago, though. I can’t remember exactly. I just remember she didn’t know the name of the move I just showed you. But she knew how to do it.”
“Is that unusual?” Doyle asked.
The dancer threw a glance toward the curtain just as Martha reappeared from behind it. “Yeah. Especially if you’ve been to dance school, like she had.”
Doyle sighed. “Okay, so you think maybe, she might have been seeing someone.”
“Oh yeah,” the woman said with a quick nod. “We’re all seeing someone.” Martha gave her a stern look and the dancer’s cheeks reddened.
“Only,” Doyle said, “we heard your line of work doesn’t allow much time.”
“That’s just an excuse if you want to get rid of a guy,” she said with a laugh. “Junie over there is married. We’re not robots, Detective.”
“What’s your name?”
“Robin.”
“You from around here?” Doyle asked.
“No, I’m from LA, actually,” she said.
“How long have you been in the city?” Doyle asked.
“A year next month. I’ve never gone a week without a gig, dancing in musicals. I’m not one of the ones who have to wait tables between jobs,” Robin said with a small sniff and rub of her nose.
Martha spoke up from her place beside the curtain. “It’s okay to come back now, Detective.”
“Is it okay for us to leave?” one of the dancers called out from the group on the stage.
Detective Doyle sighed and said, “Okay, yeah. Thanks for your help. Not you, Mr. Wagner. I still have some questions for you.”
Armand smiled and nodded. “Of course, Detective.”
Abigail and Doyle went back to the dressing rooms and Penelope followed the other dancers off the stage.
“I think I’m free to go, too,” Penelope said.
“Good, that’s enough excitement for one day,” Arlena agreed. “Armand?” she called to him.
Armand hurried down the steps and took Arlena’s hands in his.
“We’re going now,” Arlena said. “Please call me if there’s more I can do to help with anything,” she waved a hand toward the stage.
“I apologize for such a dramatic first day,” Armand said. “What you must think of us now.”
“You couldn’t help what happened,” Arlen
a said. slinging her purse over her shoulder. “I’m just so sorry about the poor girl. I hope they figure out who did this.”
“Yes, it is tragic,” Armand agreed. “Martha is beside herself with worry for the girls already and then to have something like this.”
“If you think we should table our documentary plans…” Arlena began.
“No,” Armand said. “We shall proceed as planned.”
“Will Elspeth’s death delay the show?” Penelope asked.
“The extravaganza will go on as planned,” Armand said quickly. “We have six sold out weekends, beginning this Friday. We can’t disappoint the fans.”
“That’s only a few days from now,” Penelope said.
“And we’ll be ready,” Armand insisted. “You know what they say. ‘The show must go on.’”
Chapter 10
The next day, Penelope woke before the sunrise. She stared into the darkness of her bedroom, then closed her eyes and toyed with the idea of going back to sleep. Elspeth’s face flashed through her mind, her lifeless eyes and the dark bruises at her throat. Penelope pushed the image away and focused on what had to be done that day in order to be ready for Thanksgiving. She had shopping to do, and she really wanted to get a replacement buche de noel for her mom. It was their tradition to eat one for breakfast the Friday after Thanksgiving, and make their Christmas lists together over coffee. She could still picture her mom slicing off pieces of the cake and dipping it into her hot chocolate at the kitchen table. It was their welcome to what her mom called the real Christmas season.
Downstairs in the kitchen, Penelope pressed the button on the Keurig machine, then turned on the light over the stove. She wasn’t ready for the brightness of the overhead lights just yet. She unplugged her iPad from its charger next to the refrigerator and swiped it open, setting it on the island counter with her coffee, and a pen and paper from the island drawer. She slid up on a stool and began making her lists.
She started with the guests, Arlena and her boyfriend Sam Cavanaugh, who was supposed to be arriving later that day after being away for over a month on a film set in Toronto. She jotted down Max’s name and a question mark next to it. She never knew who Max would show up with, it all depended on who he was dating at the moment. Penelope ran through the faces of the young actresses and non-actresses who had at one point or another been connected to Max, until they began to blur together. Randall Madison, Arlena’s father would be joining them along with his steady girlfriend, Sybil Wilde, who they had all met on a film set in Indiana. They’d met her son and daughter, too, who had also worked on the film. Penelope smiled, as she jotted their names down.
MURDER WITH ALL THE TRIMMINGS Page 5
