Line Dancing Can Be Murder

by Stacey Coverstone

  “Jackie has some news,” she said.

  “Good or bad?” I feared she’d gotten word that Milton had died.

  “She’s not thrilled,” Crystal said, “but Kim and I are excited.”

  Could that response have been any more cryptic? I had no idea what was going on. When we reached the restaurant and joined them at a table, Jackie looked pissed, like someone had told her the mansion, the cars, and all of Milton’s money had gone up in flames.

  “What’s up?” Donna asked.

  “Madison’s engaged,” Jackie said. “She called me on my cell about thirty minutes ago.”

  Madison was Jackie’s daughter from her second husband. She was a recent college graduate and had been dating a boy for two years that she’d met at school. They were both good kids, as far as I knew. Madison spent as little time as possible with Jackie, and when she did, they butted heads. But I figured that was typical of a girl her age. It was a good sign that she’d called her mother to give her the news rather than let her find out through the grapevine.

  “Congratulations!” I said.

  “That’s not all,” Crystal said, looking like the cat that slurped up all the cream. “Looks like there’ll be a wedding at the mansion before the leaves turn colors.”

  “A fall wedding? Why so soon?” Annette’s eyebrow arched.

  Jackie slapped her hand on the table. “Stupid girl is pregnant. She’s ruined her life now for sure. I should know. I’ve been there, done that, as we all know.”

  “Come on,” Kim said, calmly. “Madison isn’t stupid. In fact, I think she’s a very intelligent young woman who knows her own mind, and her heart. Her fella loves her, you’ve said so yourself. They’re going to be fine. Both of them are college graduates. They’ll make a great home for their baby, your grandchild. Think of it, Jackie. A baby! I’m so happy for them, and for you!”

  My gaze landed on Kim and then shifted to Crystal. Unlike me, the two of them had wanted children. Conflicting emotions of joy and regret crossed their faces.

  Jackie placed her head in her hands and whined, “I’m not old enough to be a grandma.”

  The five of us gazed at each other. Whether we’d admitted it out loud or not, each of us worried about what getting older meant in the scheme of life, love, and sex. This vacation was supposed to have helped us accept the inevitable with grace. I wasn’t sure any of us had evolved to that point yet. In fact, it seemed the opposite had taken place. The perfect storm of insecurity coinciding with meeting Keith had spiraled into a tornado, apparently leading to choices that made my friends feel worse about themselves, not better. I felt to blame since coming on this trip had been my idea.

  “Yes, you are old enough,” I said quietly, but firmly. My hand slipped over Jackie’s. “And I pray, when you get over the shock, you’ll wear the title of grandma like a badge of honor. A baby is something to celebrate, not to regret.” My gaze moved around the table. “I’ve been thinking. It would do us all good to make the Serenity Prayer our mantra. Do you know it?” I didn’t wait for anyone to answer before reciting it. “Oh, God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” I paused for effect. “The moral is, we should all stop fretting about the things that are beyond our control, like growing older, and be content. We’re only turning fifty, for God’s sake. We’re not stepping into the grave!”

  After a few moments in which Jackie blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes, the rest of my friends nodded at each other. Jackie straightened up in her chair. “How’d you get to be so damned smart, anyway, Teresa?”

  “Must be all that brain food I eat,” I joked. They all knew I loved my junk food.

  ~ * ~

  Later, Wayne drove us toward Rapid City, our stop for the night. It had been a long and tiring day. After watching a short video about Mount Rushmore, nearly everyone on the bus was napping. The chorus of snores and soft whistles didn’t bother me. My own eyes were closed, and I was about to drift into a sweet dreamland when I sensed a presence nearby. Then I smelled Keith’s cologne and heard him address Kim in a low murmur. She was sitting in front of me, also in the aisle seat. I pretended to be asleep while perking my ears.

  “I saw you in the gift shop today,” he whispered. “When you were looking at the jewelry.”

  “So?” she whispered back.

  “I don’t think you understand, Kim. I saw you,” he repeated.

  What was he up to now? I wanted so badly to open my eyes and tell him to crawl back into his hole and leave my friends alone.

  “It’s none of your business,” she said quietly. “I’ve asked you to leave me alone.”

  This was the second time I’d overheard a similar conversation between them.

  “It’ll be police business if I decide to give them a call.” He paused for effect, and I could almost hear Kim’s breath leave her body. “We need to talk,” he said. “Tonight.”

  I opened my eyes just a crack so he wouldn’t notice and saw him stuff a slip of paper into her hand before returning to his seat behind Wayne.

  Once, when we were basking in the afterglow of an enthusiastic romp, Phil had asked me, if I could have any super power, what would it be? He brought up silly stuff like that at the most inappropriate times, but that was part of his charm.

  Right then, as I speculated as to what Keith’s note to Kim said, I sure wished I had the ability to see through objects. Unless I didn’t let Kim out of my sight for the rest of the night, there was no way I’d learn what was going on with those two. I might have been regarded as a superhero by my friends, but I sure didn’t see how I was going to pull that one off.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Straw That Broke The Camel’s Back

  When I woke up the next morning, a deep chill enveloped my body like I’d been sleeping in a snowdrift. It was the last day of our tour before flying home tomorrow, and a sixth sense told me the day wouldn’t end well.

  “I can’t believe our vacation is almost over,” Donna said, while applying makeup in the bathroom mirror.

  “Have you had a good time?” Trying to shake off the icy thread winding its way up my spine, I held two shirts up and debated which to wear for our outing to the Crazy Horse Memorial and Mount Rushmore.

  Donna zipped up her makeup bag and ran a brush through her hair. “Yes, I have,” she said, answering my question with a smile. “It’s been wonderful. I’m so glad you suggested it and that I spent the money to come. It’s been worth every penny. Thank you.”

  Making my wardrobe decision, I slipped the pink tee shirt over my head and stepped into the bathroom to collect my toiletries. Now seemed like the perfect time to bring up the conversation we’d had a few days ago about her finances. “Remember when you told me Keith was helping you sort out your financial issues and you said you’d tell me more details at the end of the week?”

  She nodded and began brushing her teeth.

  I tossed our damp towels into a pile on the floor and wiped the counter with a tissue while waiting for her to finish with her teeth. When she did, I said, “Well, it’s the end of the week.”

  Donna walked into the bedroom and calmly, silently re-packed her suitcase. She’d always had a knack for ignoring a person if she didn’t want to talk. Even if she didn’t want to discuss this subject, there wasn’t much she could do to get away from me. I could be a pit bull when I wanted to be, and I was prepared to block the exit door with my body if she tried to escape before answering my question.

  Finally, she snapped her suitcase shut and sat on the bed. She laid her hands in her lap and fiddled with her wedding band. I sat next to her, breathing deeply and feeling I was about to hear another disclosure that would make me want to ring someone’s neck.

  “The thing is,” she began, “Keith told me about this job that will give me the opportunity to earn extra income. He has a couple of women friends who are involved, and he assured me the pay is
almost too good to be true. The best part is there’s no experience necessary. I just have to dress nice, be friendly to the client, and behave in a certain way.”

  My temper sparked. “Donna! Is Keith a pimp? Tell me you’re not desperate enough to turn tricks!”

  Her eyes enlarged. “What?” When her shock ebbed a moment later, she laughed and slapped my arm, a little harder than I thought was necessary. “You dummy. I’m not going to start hooking. Have you ever heard of mystery shopping?”

  Mystery shopping? That was pretty much the last thing I expected to hear. Mental fatigue hummed along my nerves. “I think so. Maybe. I’m not sure.”

  She filled me in. “It’s a perfectly legitimate tool used by market research companies or companies themselves to measure a store’s quality of service, compliance with regulation, or to gather specific information about products and services. As a mystery shopper, I’ll purchase a product, ask questions, register complaints, and behave a certain way, and then provide feedback on my experience. Then they send me a big check for my trouble. Easy peasy.”

  “When something sounds too good to be true, it usually is,” I said. An uneasy feeling slid over my collarbone and settled between my shoulder blades. “What’s the catch?”

  “There’s no catch.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Exactly how is Keith involved?”

  She cleared her throat. “He’s the middle man. A restaurant or grocery store will hire him to hire the mystery shopper. He doesn’t earn enough being a tour director to live comfortably, so he does this on the side. He takes a cut from each job.”

  Something was rotten in the state of Denmark, or in South Dakota, as was more the case. “You’re going to do this in Harley’s Grove?” It didn’t make sense. There weren’t but a handful of downtown businesses anymore. None of them could afford that kind of service. “How does Keith find these clients in small towns like ours?”

  “Larger businesses in the bigger cities are the clients,” she clarified. “I’ll probably have to drive to Champaign or Bloomington. We haven’t worked out the details yet. But I’ll get paid to shop and dine, and all that was required was an up-front fee to join.”

  A red flag flew up in front of my eyes. “What kind of fee?” I barked. “And to whom did you pay this fee?”

  The lines around her mouth tightened. “You don’t have to bite my head off, Teresa. I wrote Keith a check. He told me there was only one position left in the organization. If I didn’t grab it now, another position might not open up for months. It seemed like such a good opportunity.”

  Not believing what I was hearing, I repeated my previous question. “How much money did you give Keith?” When she told me the amount, it took all my willpower not to throttle her. “How could you hand over your hard-earned money to a scam artist? Because that’s what Keith is, pure and simple.”

  “He’s not!”

  My gaze searched her innocent face. “Don’t you know anything about the Federal Trade Commission?”

  “No. Why should I?”

  “If you did, you wouldn’t have been such a gullible horse’s ass.” My mouth ran like a stampede of horses, but there was no stopping it now.

  Donna’s eyebrow lifted in defiance. “How dare you call me an ass, Teresa! What’s the FTC got to do with mystery shopping?”

  “The FTC regulations state that under no circumstances should anyone be forced to pay a fee in order to obtain a job in the United States, and that would include this ridiculous mystery shopping job.” I knew about the FTC because of an employee at the trucking company that had been scammed by a previous employer. My temperature rose like a kettle set to boil. “Keith has scammed you.”

  Slowly, her face grew ashen. “He wouldn’t, I’m telling you.”

  “Why are you defending him? Because he has a pretty face and a body like Adonis, and you’ve been lonely since Chad died, and you enjoyed the attention? You don’t know him from Adam, Donna. Keith would, and he did scam you! You’ve got to tell him you made a mistake and you want your money back. Or at least stop payment on the check.”

  Her lips quivered, and she looked like she was going to cry. “It’s too late. He’s already cashed my check.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He…he told me last night,” she stammered. “He said everything’s set. I gave him my email address, and he promised to contact me soon after I get home to give me my first assignment. I trusted him.”

  “A lot of women trusted Ted Bundy, too.” Instead of shrieking, I smoothed my face into a blank mask. “Keith has balls of steel to take advantage of a nearly penniless widow.”

  Donna’s eyes squeezed together, and she pounded her fist on the mattress. “You’re right, Teresa. I am a jackass. I feel so foolish.”

  I tried to put myself in her shoes and took a deep breath to calm down. “Don’t be. You weren’t the first to be swept off your feet by Keith and you won’t be the last, unless he’s stopped. He knew the right things to say and do to win you over. It’s not your fault.”

  “Did he win you over?” she asked hesitantly.

  “No, but I’ve been told I give off a vibe.”

  Donna didn’t seem inclined to ask what I meant by that comment. “I’ll probably never get my money back,” she said, staring blankly into space. Then the floodgates suddenly opened and tears splashed down her cheeks. “What am I going to do?” she sobbed. “I gave him everything I have left.”

  We stared at each other for several long moments. Then I patted her hand. “Try not to worry. I’ll figure something out.”

  ~ * ~

  After breakfast, Wayne drove us into the Black Hills to our first stop, the Crazy Horse Memorial. Keith stood in the front of the bus wearing his usual khaki shorts and tee shirt talking into his microphone.

  “South Dakota is famous for Mount Rushmore, but it’s also making room for a second colossal mountain carving that, when finished someday, will dwarf the four presidents. The sculpture in progress is of the Lakota warrior, Chief Crazy Horse, astride a stallion with his arm and pointed hand stretched out over the horse's mane. The monument, taller than the Washington Monument and well over two football fields wide, has been sixty-four years in the making. Sculptor Korczak Ziolkowski began the project in 1948. His wife and seven of their children took up the project after her husband's death in 1982. By the late 1990s, the face of Crazy Horse had emerged from the mountain carving. The last decade has been spent roughing out the horse's head, which is twenty-two stories high.”

  “That’s a huge undertaking,” Crystal whispered into my ear. “I doubt Crazy Horse will ever be finished. The sculptor’s family will all be dead someday, and that’ll be the end of it.” When she noticed my gaze riveted to Keith, she elbowed me in the rib. “Did you hear me, Teresa?”

  My gaze jerked toward her. “Sure. You were talking about dead people.”

  “No, not exactly.”

  I lowered my voice. “Crystal, have you ever hated someone so much you wanted to kill them?”

  There was no hesitation on her part. “Yes. My ex-husband.”

  “I guessed that much. Anyone else?” When my gaze flicked back to Keith, her eyes followed and I felt her tense beside me.

  “There have been people who’ve caused me so much pain that I’ve wished them dead at the moment,” she confessed, “but everyone thinks stuff like that at one time or another. It’s just a reaction when you’ve been hurt or you’re really angry. No one really means it.” We both stared at Keith for what seemed like an eternity before Crystal quietly added, “Everyone has some kind of darkness inside them. What separates us from animals is not acting on that darkness.”

  The depth of her statement surprised me. “I might be able to commit murder, if given the right provocation,” I blurted.

  Her mouth gaped. She whispered, “Are you insane? What would be the right kind of provocation?”

  The memory of something that happened to me a long time ago emerged like a creature
rising up from the dark lagoon. My heart thundered beneath my tee shirt. I stuck my hands under my thighs to keep Crystal from seeing them shake.

  “We’re all responsible for our actions,” I finally said. “People who do wrong by others should get what they deserve.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Truth Is Revealed

  We had just unloaded at Mount Rushmore when Mike made an announcement to the group. “I just got a call on my cell phone from our son in Atlanta. Anna and I are grandparents of a healthy bouncing baby boy! He weighed in at twenty pounds and seven inches!”

  Anna laughed and playfully smacked his arm. “It’s the other way around, Mike! By your measurements, he’s either a worm or an extremely large pumpkin.”

  “Whatever,” he said, excitedly. “I gave up smoking cigars years ago, so it’s chocolate covered cherries for everyone!”

  They’d been waiting since yesterday morning to hear that their daughter-in-law had given birth. Mike had bought the candy at a shop in Deadwood in anticipation. As he eagerly passed the chocolates out, Keith explained the remainder of the day’s schedule.

  “You’ll have two hours here at your leisure, and then we’ll drive through Bear Country USA, a wildlife park, on our way to the hotel. Tonight, for those who wish to, we’ll return to Mount Rushmore for the evening lighting program, which is really spectacular. If you need to do some last minute shopping, check out the gift shop (he pointed in the general direction), and there’s a café where you can grab lunch and a snack bar which serves some really good ice cream for you folks with a sweet tooth. But before you all break off on your own, let’s gather for a group photo to commemorate our time together.”

  All forty of us followed him and Wayne to a spot along a low wall where the backdrop for the photo was a clear view of the four presidents: Washington, Jefferson, Teddy Roosevelt and Lincoln.