Figure Skating Mystery Series: 5 Books in 1

by Alina Adams

  If Bex were going to get to the bottom of this case, she couldn't count on forensic science. She would have to keep talking to people until somebody made a mistake. And hope like heck that when it happened, Bex would be smart enough to catch it.

  Oh, and that said, the recognizable mistake should take place before the final day of the U.S. Championship. Because if it happened afterward, well, no one — i.e., TV — would really care.

  Hoping to get some insight into both Idan and Coop (not to mention Pandora and Ralph), Bex decided her next stop needed to be the one person who'd had a relationship with them all: Sebastian Vama.

  As Idan's assistant, Coop's trainer, one of Pandora's charity cases, and Allison's partner, Sebastian had not only enjoyed a unique relationship with each of Bex's suspects, but he was also privy to their relationships among each other. He knew everyone from a distinctive perspective. Which made him an invaluable interview for Bex.

  She got up bright and early the next morning, gambling that Sebastian would be putting Coop on the ice for his subsequent practice session. Somehow she had a hard time imagining Coop and Idan having a very productive workout at this particular point in time. Bex got to the arena a few minutes before his Senior Men group was announced to take the ice. But before she had the chance to corner Sebastian, Bex was waylaid by Craig. He called her name and waved her over. She really should have been tracking down Sebastian. So, of course, she walked right over when Craig called.

  "Listen," he said, "I know you're busy, but I have a quick question to ask."

  "Sure," Bex said, all the while wondering if he'd found someone else to share that drink with after Bex had to scamper off to annoy people.

  "Do you know Pandora Westby?"

  Bex nodded, suddenly very alert and vaguely uncomfortable.

  "She called me last night. She said she was watching Jeremy at the practice, and she would like to sponsor him. I guess she does this kind of thing all the time. I don't really know much about it. Do you think I should accept?"

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Pandora Westby," Bex repeated. Mostly because the simultaneous thoughts shooting through her brain were too nebulous and scattered to produce actual words.

  "Yes. She said she's been sponsoring skaters for years. Do you know anything about her? Is she on the level?"

  "Well" — Bex stuck to the facts she was certain of, despite the suspicions and rumors jostling her tongue for equal time — "she is a big philanthropist. I've heard a lot of champions say they wouldn't have been able to continue skating if it weren't for her."

  "Yeah. The numbers she mentioned on the phone were rather substantial. I won't lie to you, Bex, I could use the help. When Jeremy was just skating recreationally, I was barely affording the boots and the blades and the ice time and the coaching. Now that he's decided to seriously compete, I don't know how I'm going to swing the costumes and the travel and the hotels, not to mention the extra lessons. Pandora Westby could really make our lives easier. But I want to know what I'm getting into. I figured you'd be the go-to person for the straight scoop. You tell me: What should I do?"

  When Bex first started working in television, she'd been blown away by how she could scribble something down on a piece of paper, hand it to Francis and Diana, and they would, more often than not, read it on the air for millions of people to hear. It was mind-boggling to think that little Bex Levy, small, meek, and unimportant, unchecked by anyone greater and, well, more important, could just write something off the top of her head and hear it be pronounced, coast to coast, as fact

  The responsibility was heady and intimidating. But it was nothing compared to the panic that seized her when Craig basically asked her to decide the future course of his son's life.

  Of course, being a mature young woman, Bex replied to the request in a mature manner. She said, "Uhm... why don't I talk to a few people and get back to you, k?"

  As Bex suspected, Idan did not attend Coop Devaney's practice session. As she would have suspected, if Bex had given the matter any thought, the local and syndicated press was out in full force, gathering at the entryway to the ice and sticking microphones in Coop's face, demanding details about Allie's death and Coop's petition for custody of the baby she left behind.

  His mother on one side, Sebastian on the other, Coop appeared pleased to greet the cameras. In fact, in her report for Gil, Bex actually noted that Coop Devaney looked more tense before entering the arena, as he feared not being swamped by a media circus, than he did once he realized that, thank goodness, they were there and interested in him.

  Smiling the same cocky, flirtatious smile that prompted his ten-fourteen demographic to shriek "Super Cooper!" every time he took the ice, Coop waited until every cameraman had him perfectly centered and lit before launching into his letter-perfect statement about how devastated Coop was by Allie's death.

  "I only wish she'd come to me and we could have dealt with this issue together. I can't bring Allie back to life. She's in God's hands now. And I can't help identify or dispense justice to her killer. The Los Angeles Police Department is on the case about that. What I can do, however, is raise our child to be the kind of boy who would be a credit to his mother. Oh, and I also plan to do some volunteer work with other pregnant teenagers. Maybe hearing Allie's story will help them see that they're not alone, and that there are people out there who would like to help them. You can get all the details on my website, www.SuperCooper.com. Plus, the photos are cleared for publication."

  Coop smiled, excused himself, and stepped onto the ice. Sebastian took his place by the boards. Tess Devaney stayed around to answer any additional questions and hand out Coop's press kit for those who didn't get one in the media room.

  Bex settled in the front row, close enough to hear Coop and Sebastian's on-ice conversation if she really strained her ears and watched their lips. Unfortunately, at least one of her eyes kept being distracted by the sight of Craig, sitting a dozen seats over in the same row, monitoring Jeremy's practice with Toni.

  He was visibly unhappy with Jeremy's behavior, and Bex couldn't blame him. The boy seemed to be fighting every word Toni said. He trudged around the ice, arms limply by his sides, falling out of jumps instead of trying to save them, and signifying the spot where a spin would go in his program by twirling his finger above his head, Yahoo-style, instead of actually executing it. When Toni reprimanded him, Jeremy crossed his arms and sulked. When she grabbed him by both shoulders and forced him to look her in the eye, Jeremy yanked away and slammed the back of his blade into the ice, creating a crater. At that Craig leaped out of his seat, jumped over the barrier separating spectators from skaters, and seized his son's elbow.

  Bex wondered if Craig realized that such outbursts were simply not done at the Nationals. And then remembered that he probably didn't give a damn.

  "Apologize to Toni," Craig ordered.

  "Screw you," Jeremy said.

  "Get off the ice." Craig let go of Jeremy's elbow and pointed to the exit. "Now."

  "Whatever..." Jeremy rolled his eyes, made a dramatic show of turning around, then, as slowly as possible without actually coming to a standstill, glided in the general direction of the exit. If taking the long way — three quarters of the way around the rink — could be considered the general direction. He stopped at one point to exchange a few words with Coop, who whispered something in Jeremy's ear. The younger boy glared defiantly at his father the whole time, knowing Craig could hardly step onto the ice and drag him off. Looking calm, though Bex couldn't imagine he wasn't fuming, Craig jerked his thumb toward the exit. Jeremy continued his leisurely pace.

  Craig met him on the way out and, without a word, pulled Jeremy away from the ice. Toni followed. A few members of the press took note of the altercations, but seeing as how Jeremy was a nobody, continued their monitoring of Coop without investigating further. After all, if the combined Fourth Estate could pretend not to notice when the Novice champion's mother beat her with a filled water bottle
or the Junior Pairs champ cut herself with a razor in the corner after falling on a throw in the Short Program, they could certainly overlook a mere tantrum.

  Only Bex, who had spent a lot of time with Jeremy and never seen anything even remotely like this, was left wondering what in the world was going on. Unfortunately, at the moment her place was at the arena, with the Coop and Sebastian show.

  Unlike Jeremy and Toni, this practice session was all business. Coop ran through his Long Program twice, back to back. The first time he attempted — and landed — all of his triple jumps, as well as a quadruple Toe Loop. The second time, he left the jumps out but did do his trademark single Axel with arms outstretched (he called it "Flying the Coop"), to the squealing glee of the girls who'd gathered to watch.

  Sebastian followed each move with a critical eye, making suggestions about where Coop might want to extend a gesture or take an extra beat in the choreography. It was clear to Bex that all of Sebastian's advice was for the artistic rather than technical portion of the program. Which was well and good for this one practice, but Coop couldn't continue with that sort of coaching indefinitely. In an endeavor where a fraction of a point could mean the difference between going to Worlds and sobbing at home, not to mention Gold and Silver, Coop needed a technical coach like Idan. And he needed one sooner rather than later.

  Tess Devaney obviously agreed, because the minute Coop got off the ice, she pulled him away for a quick confab, leaving Sebi standing alone at rinkside. Which was just fine with Bex. She was the only reporter on site who'd actually come specifically to talk to Mr. Vama.

  Bex caught up with him as Sebi was heading for the coaches' lounge and asked if she might have a minute of his time.

  “Time," Sebastian said. "That black and narrow isthmus between two eternities."

  Bex wondered if that meant "yes."

  "Charles Caleb Cotton," Sebi enlightened the simple-minded. "He was a British clergyman quite famous for his observations."

  "And a fun guy, I'm sure."

  They found a spot in the corner, away from ears both human and electronic. Sebi reached into the pocket of his vermilion warm-up suit. Bex thought he was about to offer her a cigarette, but what came out was a PowerBar. A touch of his exotic, multicultural air disappeared with the peeling of the wrapper and a hearty bite. Not that Anglo-Indians shouldn't be allowed to eat great-tasting, high-protein bars that helped you manage your carbohydrate intake and provided you with the energy to be great no matter what the challenge. But it just didn't seem very... cool.

  Because if there was one word to describe Sebastian Vama, it was cool.

  He walked as if he expected the rest of the world to adjust to his pace. He spoke as if everybody should be able to comprehend what he was saying — though he doubted they actually would. And he skated as if the judges wouldn't dare place him and Allison anywhere but first. The two had made a striking competitive pair. Both tall—well, for skaters, not necessarily human beings; Allison was five- foot-five and Sebi an inch short of six feet—long-legged, straight-backed, and dark-haired. They preferred to concentrate on Spanish, Gypsy, Greek, and Middle Eastern programs, where their colorful costumes, imperial attitude, and exotic appearance came together for the perfect image. Sebastian and Allie had more of a problem when it came to dances that required a lighter touch — the fox-trot, the waltz, the polka. This was one team that most definitely did not float on air or convey a spirit of light nonchalance. They managed to cover up their deficiency by — with Idan — choreographing waltzes or fox-trots so technically difficult, the judges were too busy trying to keep up with all the changes of handholds, twizzles in both directions, and gravity-defying lifts to penalize Sebi and Allison for a lack in conveying the dance's true character (supposedly a requirement). The only part of the competition where Idan's team couldn't get away with their subterfuge was in the compulsories, where no external choreography was allowed outside of the opening and closing poses. To Bex, Sebastian and Allie's scariest compulsory was the Killian. As a march tempo, it did require some intensity. But not nearly as much as they brought to it, seemingly without trying. Both would attempt to smile while they skated it, but considering their extreme demeanors, it came off more as a baring of the teeth. Sebi and Allison's Killian was... unnatural. Idan used to complain, "I have them practicing that dance more than any of the others, and still it is the one they always score in the lowest." Bex didn't think they'd ever won a Killian, even at Nationals, much less internationally.

  Not that any of it mattered now. The career that had looked so promising only a season ago was definitely over. Bex wondered if, before Allie's death, Sebi had held out some faint hope of her return and their triumphant reunion. She wondered if, as a result, Sebi might be even more motivated to help her find the killer.

  He asked Bex, "So, this is a bit of a mess, isn't it?"

  She guessed he didn't mean the crumbling PowerBar. "What can you tell me about it?"

  "Oh, where, oh, where to begin?" Sebastian sighed. "Did I know Allie was screwing Idan?"

  "Did you?”

  "I knew she was screwing somebody."

  "In addition to Coop?"

  "Ah, Coop ..."

  "Was that a yes?"

  "Coop is an interesting case."

  "How so?"

  "He's a very special boy."

  "Which means?"

  Sebi sighed again and circled his arms in the air dramatically. "Alas, there are no words." Sebastian Vama was also, quite obviously, another very special boy. Only Bex wasn't in the mood to encourage him.

  Trying to move the conversation along, she asked, "What about you?"

  The arms came crashing down. Obviously, when Sebi wasn't setting the cryptic agenda, his gift for spectacle abandoned him.

  "What?" he asked. Neither quote nor allusion in sight. He even mislaid a trace of his English accent. (Bex always found it suspect. Yes, his father was Indian and his mother English, but Sebi had been born and raised in Plano, Texas.)

  "How do you feel about what happened to Allison?"

  "Crushed. Mortified. Disgusted. Need I go on?"

  "Any idea who might have done it?"

  "Not a one."

  "You were pretty angry when she broke up your partnership."

  "Correction: I was incensed. I was enraged. I was livid and irate and most beside myself with rancor."

  "Sounds like a motive for murder to me."

  "Oh, please. Committing murder, that is so, so banal. My goodness, the crime rates in the country are staggering. I assure you, Bex, I would never perform any task that might lump me in with the common folk."

  "Where were you when Allie was killed?"

  "Here... there... everywhere. Wandering about the arena in a carbon-monoxide-induced stupor."

  "Why do I get the feeling you're not taking this seriously?"

  "Because, my dear Bex, this is all such a joke. Come now — two fathers fighting over a child? It's biblical! And farcical."

  "Who do you think the baby's father is?"

  "I'm sure I have no idea save a certainty that I am not the culprit."

  "But you do think Idan could be the father."

  "There is no reason why not. Well, save for Pan possibly cutting his balls off with a sharp blade from her divine crystal collection whilst he slumbers in revenge for the transgression. But you know us lads: The mind often isn't the organ making choices."

  "You spent hours on the ice with Allie. You must have known something about her personal life. Do you think she was sleeping with Idan and Coop at the same time?"

  "Hmmm..." Sebi said.

  "Care to clarify?"

  "Not really."

  "Force yourself."

  "Well..." Sebi managed to turn four letters, two of which were the same, into four distinct syllables. "You see, the thing about Cooper is..."

  "Yes?”

  "He's not like the other fellows, you see. Cooper has certain... inclinations that, according to Mama Tess, at least
, the couch-potato people watching back home might not accept from their Wheaties-box Golden Boy. Which is why, no matter how hard I try — and believe me, I've made the effort; I have an inquisitive mind and it most certainly likes to know everything — I just cannot picture our Cooper impregnating my little Allie. Sorry, Ms. Levy, better luck next time...."

  After dropping that tantalizing tidbit, Sebi, grinning maliciously the entire time, proceeded to play stupid and refused to answer any more follow-up questions, no matter how many times and how many ways Bex found to ask. She finally let him go because it was either that or hit him over the head with Bartlett's Familiar Quotations. And Gil frowned on Bex roughing up participants if there was a possibility they might be needed on camera later.

  Her next stop was Francis and Diana. Bex found them in the hotel gym, side by side on the treadmills. They wore matching baby blue track-suits and Nike sneakers that let out a little swoosh of air with every health-affirming step. In addition, Diana sported her wedding band, her diamond engagement ring, and a sparkling, jeweled clasp to hold up her French Twist. Their treadmill strides were as well matched as their on-ice strokes had once been, and their mutual focus was on the digital readouts analyzing their heart rates, respirations rates, and, for all Bex knew, market rates. She didn't exercise much.

  Francis and Diana, on the other hand, took their workouts so seriously, they insisted on staying perpetually in that zone "on the edge of one's breathing." Meaning that going any faster would make them short of breath. Also meaning that conversation was impossible.

  Bex supposed any normal person would have waited to come back another time. But she had a very full day ahead of her, including several practices to watch, a meeting with Gil, and with Craig, too, to talk about Jeremy and Pandora Westby. So instead of inquiring when might be a good time to return, Bex told the Howarths, "I'm going to ask you some questions, okay? Just nod your heads when I'm on the right track."