2 Dancing With Death

by Liz Marvin

  Murders, especially of young and pretty women, were better than gold at insuring your hotel would stay afloat.

  Betty was just about to give up on the servers as hopeless for being a source of information, when a man cleared his throat very near her ear. Betty spun towards the sound, her heart in her mouth.

  The celebrity chef judge laughed heartily. “I didn’t mean to scare you!” he said. “I thought you saw me coming over. You were looking right at me.” Betty shook her head mutely. She hadn’t been paying any attention at all to the sights around her.

  In retrospect, that might not be the best way to stay safe in this situation.

  “I just wanted to come over and see how you were doing,” the chef continued. “I saw you get cornered by Mr. Vayne earlier. You looked pretty pale.”

  “Mr. Vayne?” Betty asked.

  The chef held his hand up to indicate a height of a few inches taller than Betty. “About yea high, grey hair, diamond cufflinks, and the manners of a baboon?”

  Betty laughed aloud. So, that was the name of the man with the senator nephew. She made a mental note to let Bill know the name. “He is rather awful, isn’t he?” Betty asked.

  “He’s a pompous twit,” the chef said seriously. “And you still haven’t told me if you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine,” Betty said nonchalantly. “He was just blowing hot air. He didn’t like some of the questions I was asking, and seemed to think that throwing his weight around would make me less curious. It didn’t work.”

  “Good!” the chef said. “It’s about time someone made him uncomfortable. What were you asking him about?” he winked at her, lowering his voice to a murmur. “I’d like to know what buttons to press with him too. If you tell me, I promise to make him squirm!”

  Betty shrugged, going back to watching the blurs. The round of dancing had been going for a while. She suspected it would end any second, and she didn’t think it would be the best idea to be overheard as people began making their way to the tables. So, she kept her voice low as she asked, “You know about the gambling?”

  “Of course!” the chef said. “They aren’t the best at hiding it, are they?”

  “No,” Betty agreed. “They aren’t. Well, I was just wondering if Miss Knolhart or her assistant had ever gambled with them.” Her eyes flicked back to the chef, and she noticed the way his expression had suddenly switched from jovial to thoughtful. It was clear that he realized the implications her question could have, and Betty respected him for it. “They didn’t like my asking,” she said. “Mr. Vayne pulled me aside and threatened to make my friend’s life difficult with his senator nephew. And that’s that.”

  “Are you investigating the murder then?” the chef asked slowly.

  Betty met his eye, looking for any hint of menace. Finding none, she decided to go with her gut. And her gut was telling her that, not only was the chef far from capable of murder, but he could keep his mouth shut if he wanted to. So when she answered, she answered with the truth. “Not officially,” she said. “But I’m friends with Chief Owens. He asked me to keep my eyes and ears open, and let him know what I find out.”

  The chef smiled slightly, and responded in a teasing tone, “Just friends? Are you sure about that? I saw you two dancing.”

  Betty blushed. “Well,” she said, “just friends for now. The sooner we solve this murder, the sooner we can see about anything else.”

  “Ah,” the chef said knowingly. “That’s it then. You’re helping your sweetheart.” He sighed dramatically. “Young love.”

  Betty elbowed him, grinning. “Don’t you start!” she muttered. “I don’t even know how he feels.”

  “Trust me, Miss…”

  “Crawford,” Betty supplied. “Betty Crawford.”

  “Well then, trust me Miss Betty Crawford, he’s interested.” His eyes swept her up and down, but unlike Mr. Vayne his gaze was approving. “How could he not be?” the chef asked, and Betty felt her face redden even further.

  She wasn’t used to men eyeing her like that.

  As though he sensed her distress, the chef returned to their previous topic. “I can tell you this,” he said, “I haven’t seen the doyenne or her assistant with the gambling group at all this entire competition. But I did see Marissa, that’s Miss Knolhart’s assistant, fighting with both Miss Knolhart and her new beau several times in the past few days.”

  “Really?” Betty asked.

  “Yes,” the chef stated simply. “But you didn’t hear it from me. And, you also didn’t hear from me that Miss Knolhart and Mr. Foone haven’t been here for hours. Isn’t that strange?” he asked lightly. “Miss Knolhart is supposed to be running this thing, isn’t she?”

  The music ended and the crowd began to disperse, wandering over in their direction. The chef pushed away from the wall. He gave Betty one last nod, and went to stand at his station at the table labeled with the latest new “dance inspired” dish. He left Betty with plenty to think about.

  But, before she could go and find Bill again, Clarise found her. Her friend started babbling about all the amazing sights of the day, from the dances to the outfits. And she was due to dance with Wes in little over half an hour.

  For the rest of the night, Betty was drawn into the competition.

  Every now and then, she managed to forget about Marissa’s body in the walk-in freezer and have a little fun.

  CHAPTER 22

  After the dancing was over, Betty met George in the entrance hall. While the rest of the guests went to shower and get ready for bed or the bar, Betty found herself sneaking surreptitiously through the unkempt hallways back to George’s tiny office. She felt like a teenager sneaking out after curfew. She knew for a fact that Bill wouldn’t approve.

  Then again, she was a big girl.

  And this was the internet.

  She couldn’t let her one chance to enter the world of cyberspace for the next couple of days just fritter away, could she? No, she had to grab the chance and hold tight to it with everything she had. Half an hour of internet seemed like a world of possibilities. As she waited for the computer to boot up, Betty lectured herself. No messaging boards. No chats. And absolutely no funny animal videos. She didn’t have the time to waste today. She was online to check her work e-mail and the research the area code she’d found earlier. That was all. Period.

  As she started the internet browser, Betty remembered exactly why dial up internet was the bane of her existence. The bleeps and bloops, the static white noise, seemed to go on forever. And then it turned out that number was busy, and the internet had to try and connect all over again. Betty was close to screaming before it finally kicked in, a web browser opening up and revealing an internet search engine.

  The clock was ticking, and with George fluttering over her shoulder and peeking out of the door every few minutes to make sure no one was coming down the hall, Betty rushed through her tasks. She made a mental note that, should the situation arise again, she needed to teach George how to be a better covert agent. Anyone who saw him at that moment would know instantly that he felt he was doing something improper.

  Betty thanked him effusively as she worked. It turned out that she’d been correct in her assumptions. There were customers having melt downs, and her inbox contained more than one frantic e-mail begging for status updates on their shipments. Betty realized, after coming across a news alert, that the storm hadn’t been contained to the mountains. All of North Carolina had been treated to a blizzard, and while the mountains had received the largest amount of accumulating snow, entire regions of North Carolina had been shut down. People in her state weren’t accustomed to dealing with such huge storms, and the roads still weren’t cleared or salted properly.

  Unfortunately, many of Betty’s customers were from out of state, and they hadn’t been impacted by the storm at all. Most of them had no idea why their shipments were late.

  Betty sent them all brief, patient e-mails, explaining her state’s weather woes and h
er lack of regular internet access. She let them know that, as soon as she was able, she would follow up on their orders. And, in the interest of keeping them all happy, she promised them all a 25% off guarantee for their next purchase through her company, plus a refund on their shipping costs for this one.

  There, Betty thought. If that doesn’t keep them happy, nothing will.

  After checking the time, Betty realized she only had a few more minutes. She entered the area code she remembered from the record book in a search engine. The results came back immediately, and they were nothing close to what Betty had been expecting.

  It was one thing place long distance calls, but regular calls to the Republic of Georgia? That had to rack up anyone’s phone bill. And, she remembered, all the calls had been long, drawn-out conversations.

  It could be nothing, Betty supposed. But she wasn’t about to dismiss it out of hand. In an investigation, anything that looked even slightly odd could be a clue. And the Republic of Georgia wasn’t known for its law-abiding citizens.

  “Time’s up,” George said. “And security’s due to make its rounds down this hall any minute. We have to go.”

  Betty thanked him yet again for letting her use his internet, explaining what was going on with her business and the frantic customers as they walked back to the more populated part of the hotel. George told her that he was glad to help. And, he said, the wireless internet should return sometime that evening.

  After leaving George in the front hall, Betty set off to find Bill and tell him about the conversation with the chef and the area code discovery. She had to ask directions from more than one person, but finally Betty found him. Unfortunately, he wasn’t alone.

  CHAPTER 23

  When Betty came upon him, Bill was standing in an open doorway, his arms folded across his chest. He kept clenching and unclenching his jaw, and shifting from one foot to the other. It looked to Betty as though he was actively stopping himself from attacking someone. And, when she realized who he was with, she understood why.

  Officer Park would make anyone want to scream. But, Officer Park questioning both Miss Knolhart and Earnest Foone must have been a torturous combination.

  Then again, if this was what Officer Park called questioning, Betty could hardly believe he’d ever even earned his shield. He’d backed Miss Knolhart against the wall and was looming towards her, shaking a beefy finger as he loudly accused her of withholding information from the investigation.

  “Do you have anything else to add?” he yelled, spit flying from his lips. Betty was half surprised he wasn’t frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog. His face was so red he’d probably given himself a burst blood vessel. “Because this is your one chance lady. If I find out you know anything else, anything at all about anything involved in this case, and you haven’t told me, I’ll have you up on obstruction of justice and accessory to murder after the fact charges faster than you can blink! See what your celebrity status will get you then! A media circus, that’s what,” he continued sneering, “And not the good kind.”

  Miss Knolhart looked ready to burst into tears. Looking at her pale face, Betty was surprised that she was still standing. “Now see here,” Earnest said, coming to stand beside his wife. “That’s quite enough! You’re frightening her!”

  “Good!” exclaimed Officer Park. “She should be frightened! And for that matter,” he said, switching his wrath to the new target, “You should be too. You’re the one who was having an affair with a woman half your wife’s age. And then the mistress winds up dead. Isn’t that convenient?” he bit out. “It’s a little too convenient for me. I’d arrest you right now if I had a shred of proof!”

  “Marissa wasn’t half Emily’s age!” Earnest protested. Betty caught Bill’s eye with an incredulous expression. Of all the parts of the tirade that he could’ve been upset about, that was it? Earnest was doing a reality show on the woman! Didn’t he have the slightest clue how old Miss Knolhart really was? Then again… Betty noted the immense amounts of plastic surgery Miss Knolhart had gone through. Was it really possible she’d managed to conceal her age this long?

  “She’s seventy-one years old,” Officer Park told Earnest coldly. “Check the birth certificate yourself.” Even Betty was surprised at the number, but Earnest… well Earnest looked green.

  He backed away from Miss Knolhart, eyeing her with disgust. “Is that true?” he asked, his tone clearly begging for her to refute the statement. When she didn’t answer Betty saw him swallow convulsively, as though forcing down vomit. “You’re old enough to be my mother!” he exclaimed in shock, backing away from her.

  “Earnest,” Miss Knolhart begged, moving to follow him. “Please understand. I didn’t want to lie to you…” But Earnest was shaking his head, continuing to back away until he was on the other side of the hallway. He held up his hand when Miss Knolhart went to step closer. “Don’t,” he said. “Just… don’t.”

  Officer Park watched the entire exchange with his arms cross across his chest and not a shred of sympathy in his expression.

  Miss Knolhart seemed to crumple from within. In that moment, she was void of all artifices. In her sorrow, she looked ancient.

  Betty pitied her. And, in an odd way, she felt bad for the emotion. Though Miss Knolhart certainly deserved to be found out in her lie, she was the type of woman who wouldn’t want anyone to pity her, ever. And, though Betty had thought her a gold-digger up to this point, she could tell that the older woman’s emotions weren’t faked. Yes, Earnest had been a way to improve her flagging career, to recapture her glory days of dance. But it seemed that some part of her honestly loved him.

  Betty turned on Officer Park, furious. “How could you do that?” she said angrily. “You…”

  “Betty,” Bill said, interrupting her. “Don’t.”

  “But Bill,” she said. “He… he doesn’t have any right!”

  “Technically,” Bill told her, “he does. And you shouldn’t get involved.”

  Officer Park huffed. “Finally! I thought you were a softie Owens.”

  Bill turned to look at Officer Park, his eyes cold. “I didn’t say she was wrong,” he said quietly. “You’re out of line. In fact, you’ve been out of line this whole investigation. And when I get back to Lofton, I’m going to have a serious conversation with your superior officer. But,” he said, cutting off whatever tirade Officer Park was about to begin, “You’re the officer in charge of this investigation, and until it’s over I have to put up with you.”

  “You’re damn right you do,” Officer Park said. As he continued to talk, Betty went over to Miss Knolhart, who had slid down the wall to sit on the floor. Betty joined her.

  “Are you okay?” Betty asked.

  Miss Knolhart looked at her blankly for a moment, before blinking and pasting a smile on her face. “Of course dear,” she said brightly. “It’s just a set back. Dancers deal with them all the time.”

  Betty was amazed. Miss Knolhart’s assistant was dead, her husband’s affair revealed and their relationship all but officially ended, and she still found the strength to pretend indifference. But now Betty could see through the façade, and she reached out to put her arm around the doyenne.

  “You can be not okay, you know,” she murmured. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  Miss Knolhart remained rigid. “Thank you dear,” she said, shrugging off Betty’s arm, “but I have a competition to run.” She stood, refusing Bill’s arm as he offered to help her up. Her back was perfectly straight, and she never once glanced across the hall at Earnest.

  Betty could respect that. She’d thrown herself into work to avoid dealing with an uncomfortable situation plenty of times. And, as long as Miss Knolhart was looking for a distraction and Officer Park’s attention was elsewhere…

  “Do you know if any of the competitors at the competition are from Georgia?” she asked. Miss Knolhart’s head jerked around, her eyes wide as she was caught off guard. “The Republic, not the state,” Betty rushed to a
dd.

  “I thought you didn’t know anything about ballroom dancing,” Miss Knolhart said. “How did you know that?”

  “Know what?” Betty asked.

  “Danya Felicity,” the older woman said. “She’s from Georgia.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “She was going to win this competition you know. She’d leave all the other dancers far behind. They’d eat her dust!”

  “Then why isn’t she here?” Betty asked.

  Miss Knolhart shrugged. “No one knows for sure. Rumor has it that her husband’s travel visa was revoked and she wasn’t allowed to come to the competition because of it. He’s her dance partner too, so she couldn’t dance without him anyways.” Miss Knolhart shook her head. “Poor girl. I don’t know what she was thinking marrying that man. He’s a good enough dancer, but…” Her eyes flicked to where the two policemen were still arguing quietly. “Let’s just say he’s not the most genial of fellows, and leave it at that.” She eyed Betty sharply. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Just something I head,” Betty said, thinking fast. “About a Georgian. I’m not sure what to make of it yet.”

  Miss Knolhart nodded, her eyes shrewd. “If your memory should suddenly jog,” she said, “be sure to let me know.” She sniffed disdainfully in Officer Park’s direction. “That man,” she said, “best get himself a good lawyer if he keeps up with this type of interrogation tactic.”

  Betty agreed, adding, “Just so you know, I don’t think you did it.”

  “That’s sweet dear,” the doyenne said. “Of course you don’t. How could anyone ever think I’d kill Marissa, no matter who she had sex with?” she laughed self-depreciatingly. “I’ve broken up enough partnerships to know I had it coming at least once in my life. Besides,” she said, raising her voice, “she was welcome to him. It’s not like he was that good in bed anyhow.”