Eric laughed, a fake, hollow laugh. “I don’t think that’s true,” he said nervously.
I watched him closely. “Are you sure? It sounds to me like you might’ve had a good reason to avoid Ella.”
Something flickered in Eric’s eyes, and for a moment, I thought that he’d admit that, yes, he’d been avoiding Ella.
But almost immediately, the mask of politeness covered his face again, and he said, “That doesn’t sound like me. Ella and I got along perfectly fine. I wasn’t avoiding her at all.”
“You know,” said Ian, “it’s not a crime to be scared of someone or to avoid them for some reason.”
Eric’s eyes flashed in annoyance. “I’ve already told you guys, I wasn’t avoiding Ella. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
The hint was obvious, as was the fact that Eric wasn’t about to tell us if anything had happened between him and Ella. So Ian and I said goodbye politely and reluctantly and headed over to talk to some of the senior lawyers, just in case they knew anything about Ella that no one else did.
Unsurprisingly, it turned out that none of the senior lawyers had known Ella too well. None of them had worked with her in recent months, and they all told us pretty much the same thing—the people who knew Ella best in the office would be Sam, who’d worked with her closely during the past six months, and perhaps some of the associates.
Ian and I left the offices feeling rather dejected. We hadn’t come across any damning evidence, and although Keith and Eric had seemed slightly suspicious, we hadn’t been able to learn anything unusual from them.
“Perhaps this is just a mugging gone bad after all,” said Ian. “Perhaps we’re just chasing shadows.”
I shook my head. “No. I’m sure we’re chasing an actual killer—they’ve just covered their tracks very well. At some point, they’ll make a mistake, and we’ll find out what’s really going on.”
11
I stopped at the grocery store on the way home and picked up a massive tub of chocolate ice cream. Normally, my dessert of choice would have been cupcakes, but we’d finished all the ones that Ian had made, and I didn’t think he was in the mood to bake some more.
I would have preferred to attack this tub directly with a spoon as soon as I got home, but Ian said that he’d bring Snowflake over, and the three of us would hang out in my apartment and think about the case. I spooned out two scoops into a bowl for Ian, and a couple more scoops for myself.
Ian brought Snowflake over as promised, and while the two of us sat around gobbling up our chocolate ice cream, Snowflake decided that she was in a playful mood, rolling around on the floor and chasing her tail in circles.
“She’d make a good dancer,” said Ian as he watched her. “They should have a dance show for kittens.”
“I think they’ve got a show in Japan,” I said, “where they take kittens and give them tiny boxes to squeeze into.”
“That sounds like a fun show,” said Ian. “Although it’s probably not as exciting as Dance Party USA.”
As if on cue, there was a knock on the door, and I opened it to find Nanna standing there, looking at me expectantly.
“Ian texted me,” Nanna said. “He said he’d be here. It’s time we created that rehearsal tape. Time’s running out.”
I tried not to grimace.
In preparation for her dance audition, Nanna had come dressed in a flowing red dress and sturdy-looking red shoes. Her lipstick was a bright red, and somehow, her white hair seemed to gleam more than usual.
“You look great,” said Ian, beaming at her. “I’ve got some music on my phone, and we can watch a couple of old Dance Party USA episodes that I’ve saved. Gavin told me that they like audition tapes that show all kinds of dance moves, so I’m thinking we should do a routine that has a little of everything. Some salsa, some hip-hop, and maybe some waltzing.”
Nanna nodded sagely. “Maybe we should practice awhile, and then we can make the audition tape.”
I glanced around my living room warily. “Where exactly do you guys intend to practice your dancing?”
“We can push all the furniture off to one side,” said Ian. “We’ll have just enough space to do a quick routine.”
I grumbled a bit, reminding them that this was my apartment, not a dance studio, and why couldn’t they rehearse at Ian’s place? Or my parents’ house?
“You know how your mother will be,” Nanna said. “And I thought you wanted me to have a little fun.”
“And my place has too much furniture,” said Ian. “It’ll take much longer to clean out.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head, but I could see that there was no stopping those two. As they watched a couple of minutes of Dance Party USA on Ian’s phone, Snowflake retreated to her favorite spot on top of the refrigerator and began to lick her paws slowly. I ate some more ice cream, and then Ian announced that it was time to push the furniture to one side, and that I needed to help out.
Nanna stood on one side, directing us as we shoved the sofa near the TV and put the coffee table in my bedroom.
“This still doesn’t look very professional,” said Nanna. “But I guess it’ll have to do.”
Ian had chosen a Latin dance track for their audition soundtrack, and he began to play it from his smartphone.
“This is how we should break up the routine,” said Ian. “We’ve only got one minute, so I think we should do it in three parts of twenty seconds. Part one, we can start with the salsa. And then, we can do a little hip-hop, and we can end with the slow waltz. That way, we’ve got the tempo going on.”
“I was just about to suggest that myself,” said Nanna. “But I don’t know any hip-hop moves.”
“It’s easy,” said Ian. “You just move your hands around like this. You’re old, so you don’t need to do any of the more complicated moves. I can do something like this—” He lifted one leg and shook it in front of himself like he was doing the hokey pokey.
“That doesn’t look like hip-hop to me,” said Nanna.
“It’s the newest thing,” Ian assured her. “Now let’s get started with the salsa. Tiffany, you can videotape us using your phone.”
I raised one eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Don’t most of the contestants send in professional-looking videos?”
“Gavin told me it’d be okay,” said Ian. “He said the producers just need something to catch their eye, it doesn’t have to be all that polished.”
Nanna and I exchanged a glance, her looking excited, me looking wary. I wasn’t entirely sure that their idea of entering this dance show was a particularly good one, but I didn’t want them to be too disappointed.
“Everything’s different these days,” Nanna said to me. “In our day, we didn’t even have reality TV shows. Aren’t they wonderful?”
I smiled and nodded, even though I wasn’t such a big fan of reality shows myself. But Nanna’s having fun was all that mattered.
“We need to start recording,” said Ian. “Tiff, you stand there, and Nanna and I can dance here. I’ll play the songs from your laptop, and we can put it on the kitchen countertop.”
I stood in my position dutifully, and Ian set everything up the way he wanted. He told Nanna to walk forward from one side of the room and he would approach from the other.
“Tiff, you can start recording—I’ll edit out the bits that we don’t need. It might take a couple of tries.”
I pressed record on my phone, and Ian started the playlist and began to prance forward from his side of the room, while Nanna did the same from her side. Both of them were horribly off rhythm, and I was pretty sure that neither of them could do the salsa.
When they met in the middle of the room, Ian held Nanna’s hands, and they both began to sway their hips and step from side to side.
When Ian tried to move in one direction, Nanna completely misread his clues and started to move in the other. In the end, they both just kind of capered around the middle of the room, holding hands
and swaying their hips. Occasionally Ian would let go of one of Nanna’s hands, wave his own hand in the air with a flourish, and yell out, “Opa! Opa!”
I was pretty sure that the move had nothing to do with salsa, and thankfully, after a while, Ian decided it was time to move on to the hip-hop portion of the routine. He let go of Nanna’s hands, dropped to the floor, and began doing the worm.
I turned the camera down so I could videotape him, and then I panned over to where Nanna was standing still, moving her arms in front of her face as if she was doing a very bad, geriatric version of the robot. When Ian got tired of doing the worm, he turned onto his back and used his feet to propel himself around in a circle, and then he jumped up and began twerking.
Nanna stared at him in surprise, and I did my best to hold in my laughter, afraid that the spasms rocking through my body would make the camera shake.
Finally, it was time for the waltz portion of their dance routine, and the two of them stood in the middle of the room and swayed back and forth. They were both barely moving and looked like they were exhausted and just killing time till they could go sit down.
When it was all over, Ian turned to me and said, “That must’ve been really cool to watch.”
I looked at him incredulously, then glanced at Nanna, who was watching me hopefully. She looked as though she had no idea how bad the routine had been.
The two of them were clearly delusional, but for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to hurt their feelings and tell them how terrible it had been.
Instead, I said, “It was so interesting to watch.”
“A couple more rounds, and it’ll be perfect,” said Ian.
Nanna nodded. “We haven’t even rehearsed. I’m sure by the third time, the video will look really good.”
I stood there, unable to think of a polite way to discourage them from entering the dance show, and videotaped them as the two of them went through their routine another seven times. My stomach hurt from all the effort of holding in my laughter, until finally, after the seventh time, Nanna declared that she was tired from all the exercise, and that she needed to put her feet up.
She sank down on my sofa, and Ian brought the coffee table out from my bedroom.
“This show is exhausting,” Nanna said. “Maybe I’m too old for all this.”
“No, you’re not,” said Ian loyally. “I’m sure you’re a better dancer than all those other younger contestants.”
Ian transferred the videos from my phone to the laptop. He said he’d edit them by tonight and email them off to the producers. We were just going to discuss how best to edit the videos, when there was a knock on the door.
I opened it to see Gavin standing outside, a hopeful smile on his face.
“I thought I’d drop by,” he said.
I glared at him but stopped myself from saying anything too rude. If I hurt his feelings, Nanna and Ian might blame me for not getting a chance to enter Dance Party USA.
Ian peered at Gavin from behind my shoulder, and said, “Come in, come in. We’ve just finished videotaping our entry.”
“That’s great,” said Gavin with enthusiasm that was clearly faked. He looked at me and said, “If Ian and Nanna are done with their audition, maybe the two of us can stay here and hang out.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively, and I rolled my eyes.
“I was just leaving,” said Nanna. “Tiffany, don’t you have a shift to go to now?”
I shot Nanna a grateful look for coming up with an excuse for me, and nodded. “I do. Gavin, you’d better leave.”
“I’ll just stay for a few minutes,” he said, settling down on the sofa. “I’m sure you’ve got a few minutes.”
“She does,” said Ian, and when I shot him a deadly glare, he quickly added, “But we need to spend that time working on Tiffany’s new case.”
“What new case?” said Gavin.
“It’s a really important one,” said Ian. “Tiffany needs to spend all her time working on it.”
I walked to the door and held it open, and then I looked at Gavin, who glared at me and muttered something under his breath. As he left, he said aloud, “And here I was, trying to help you guys get on Dance Party USA.”
Nanna shot me a panicked look, and I quickly said, “And we’re all very grateful for that. If Nanna and Ian manage to enter the competition, that’ll be great.”
“Maybe the two of us can watch them onstage together,” suggested Gavin.
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I didn’t want him to have an excuse to sit next to me and grope my thigh again, but I did want him to try to nudge the producers in the direction of helping Nanna and Ian get through to the first round. Before I could say anything too rude, Ian said, “I’m sure Tiffany would love that.”
“And I have to get to work on my case now,” I said. I hoped Gavin would get the obvious hint and leave—soon.
“Maybe you shouldn’t work on so many cases,” said Gavin. “Maybe your mother’s right. Maybe you should work a little less so that you’ve got time for a relationship.”
I rolled my eyes at him, but just as I opened my mouth to let him know that any relationship I’d spend time on wouldn’t be with him, Ian began chatting about how excited he was to be entering Dance Party USA, and how grateful he was that Gavin was helping him and Nanna.
On that happy note, I said goodbye to Gavin and closed the door firmly behind him.
“If I never saw that guy again,” I said, “I’d be perfectly happy.”
12
My shift started early that evening, and as I stood in the brightly lit pit, dealing out cards to the blackjack players sitting in front of me, I let my mind wander.
Ella’s death bothered me—as did the fact that nobody in her office seemed to know too much about her. Even if everyone was busy and competitive, surely at some point the co-workers would commiserate about their shared situations? Perhaps everyone in that office lacked that camaraderie, or perhaps for some reason, Ella was particularly unfriendly or avoiding her coworkers.
And what about Keith and Eric? I was convinced that both of them knew something about Ella, or had some kind of history with her—they just weren’t willing to share it. Perhaps one of them, or both of them, had had an affair with Ella—in which case, their friends would know. I made a mental note to look up Keith and Eric’s friends and ask them a few questions.
Then my mind wandered over to Ian and Nanna’s audition tape. I smiled to myself. Their dance routine was truly terrible. It was the worst and most hilarious dance routine I’d ever seen, bar none. And I’d seen drunk bachelor party groomsmen doing the Macarena. I had no doubt that the two of them wouldn’t get selected to audition onstage, and I needed to come up with some way of consoling them.
On my break, I checked the messages on my phone. There was a text from Ronan, asking if he could postpone our interview by a few days—the day after tomorrow was really not that convenient for him.
I sent him a curt reply—there was no way I was going to postpone our interview. He needed to make the time work, and if he didn’t want to, I was perfectly happy to go to the press and let them know that Ronan had been lying about his alibi, and his involvement with Ella. That garnered a quick reply back from Ronan—he would make it work.
The rest of the shift passed in kind of a daze. I tried to focus on the cards, but every now and then a hilarious image of Nanna and Ian trying to dance would pop up into my mind, and I had to stifle my laughter and try to concentrate on the players sitting in front of me.
The look on Nanna’s face as Ian had started twerking had been priceless, and I imagined what the producers of Dance Party USA would think when they saw the video for themselves. I could imagine the staid, grizzly old producers doubling over in fits of laughter; I only hoped the video didn’t get leaked and become viral and a permanent embarrassment for Nanna.
I was in a pretty good mood as I walked back home from my shift in the early hours of the morning. It was dark and ch
illy outside, but when I stepped into my apartment building, it was well lit and felt like home—cozy, warm and welcoming.
I unlocked the door to my apartment, flung it open, and was about to step inside nonchalantly, when I noticed the envelope sitting in the middle of my living room floor.
I froze. I’d encountered this situation in the past, and it was definitely not good.
I was absolutely sure there had been no papers on the floor when I’d left the house, and there were no papers lying around on my coffee table or kitchen countertop that could have floated over to the middle of the floor.
The only way an envelope could get to the middle of my living room floor was if someone had pushed it under my front door.
The last couple of times that had happened, the envelopes had turned out to contain creepy, threatening messages from dangerous killers who wanted to physically remove me from cases I was investigating.
My heart pounded loudly. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I glanced around.
Maybe whoever had sent me the envelope had also broken into my apartment and was lying in wait for me.
I thought back to unlocking my front door—the key had turned easily. There didn’t seem to be any signs of breaking and entering. The apartment was silent—I strained my ears, listening for sounds of breathing, or maybe even quiet footsteps as the intruder waited for me. But there was nothing.
No telltale noises, no indication that someone else might be in my apartment.
I knew I needed to do a walk-through of my tiny place. I decided to leave the front door open, just in case someone jumped out at me and I needed to run away. I forced myself to walk inside quickly, before I could change my mind. I checked under the sofa, looked in the kitchen, and peered into my dark bedroom, cursing myself for not turning the light on before I left.
I couldn’t see anyone. I flicked the light on in my bedroom. There was nobody standing there out in the open. I checked under the bed and behind the curtains, and then I flung open the closet, just in case anyone had decided to hide in there. I checked in the bathroom, pulling the shower curtain aside.
Dancing With Danger in Las Vegas Page 7
