Figure Skating Mystery Series: 5 Books in 1

by Alina Adams

  Yet here she was. Crying. And out in public, in the driveway, where anyone could come by and see. Sabrina may have been at what she then believed was the pinnacle of her dislike for Lucian and his little aphorisms. But that didn't mean they hadn't been internalized with every breath she'd drawn since infancy. She yanked open the car door, grabbed her mother by the arm, and practically dragged her inside the house. Eleanor followed along meekly.

  But by the time they'd crossed their front stoop, Sabrina was already wondering if she'd imagined the whole incident. Because, once inside their living room, Eleanor had pulled herself together like the champion she was. The tears were gone. So was the inertia, as well as the daze. She was herself again. Crisp, chipper, efficient, and determined to act as if nothing had happened.

  "My goodness," she bubbled, removing her coat and moving to hang it up in the closet, making certain Sabrina couldn't see her face as she did it. "I must have fallen asleep at the wheel. Fortunately, I had the good sense to do so in my own driveway instead of on the highway somewhere. That would have been a mess, wouldn't it? Ah, well, all's well that ends well. What are you doing home so early, sweetheart?"

  'Teacher development. Half day," Sabrina answered automatically, determined not to buy a word of this, yet already questioning her own judgment.

  "Ah. I guess I'd forgotten."

  "Mother..."

  "Yes?" Now Eleanor was rotating the coats in the closet, brushing imaginary lint off the sleeves, still not looking Sabrina's way.

  "What just happened?"

  "You mean outside?”

  "Yeah..."

  "I told you. I fell asleep. It was a late night last night. Mrs. Gregory called and Lucian wasn't home, so I got to listen to the day's laments in his stead, and you know how she can be. And then, after your father left for the rink this morning, I just couldn't get back to sleep for the life of me, so... that's what happened."

  "I thought I saw you... Were you crying?”

  "I fell asleep," Eleanor reiterated firmly. "My eyes may have watered. I'm fine, Sabrina. Everything is fine. Come on. You can help me get lunch ready. Your father should be home soon. We don't want to keep him waiting."

  For the rest of the day, Eleanor acted as if nothing in the world were the matter. But Sabrina, for the first time in her life, refused to take it on faith. Something was clearly going on. Something neither Sabrina nor Lucian were supposed to know about. And the notion of knowing something her father didn't proved even more enticing to Sabrina than simply wanting to discover what her mother was hiding.

  The following day, Sabrina turned detective. She went off to school pretending everything was normal — after all, what was good for the goose (her in-denial mother), etc., etc… — but as soon as she was out of sight, Sabrina doubled back and took a seat in the row of bushes across the street from her house, choosing a spot from where she could see the front door and garage clearly. When Eleanor left for the morning, Sabrina snuck back inside. It was a situation she kept expecting to feel 007ish, but it didn't really. What with Sabrina having her own key and all. She was hardly picking locks and sidestepping complicated security systems here. Once in, Sabrina proceeded to look for... well, she didn't know what she was looking for. But she figured there had to be something. As she couldn't very well tail her mother on roller skates while Eleanor drove along in the car, this was the best plan of action Sabrina had managed to conceive.

  Sabrina figured that if whatever it was that Eleanor was hiding was a secret from Lucian as well as Sabrina, it probably wouldn't be in her parents' bedroom. And it wouldn't be in Sabrina's room or the guest room. (Even after half a decade, Sabrina still preferred to think of it as the guest room rather than Chris's room. That would be tantamount to tolerating his presence. Or admitting it was there.) The living room and dining room were communal spaces; the basement and attic were more or less open to all, though hardly anybody ever went in either. That left the kitchen as her mother's primary domain. They may all have eaten there, but Eleanor was the only one who cooked. It was also the room where she kept a rolltop desk in the corner by the window to sort and pay household bills out of the allowance Lucian gave her.

  Sabrina started the snooping there. She learned very quickly that, in addition to being an impeccable figure skater, her mother was an even more methodical bookkeeper. Each category of bill — electric, gas, insurance, grocery, water, medical — that she'd recently paid had its own stack, filed in reverse chronological order. As for the bills waiting to be paid, prior to the first of every month Eleanor wrote out the appropriate check and slipped it in its reply envelope. The date the bill was due was then written in the upper right hand corner of the envelope and the envelopes lined up in order. That way, all Eleanor needed to do was cover the date with a stamp when the time came, drop it in the mailbox, and the next one would be there, waiting for its own departure. Eleanor did Lucian's billing of his students, too. She said Sabrina’s father had enough to worry about without needing to keep a ledger of who was paid up and who was in arrears.

  Sabrina leafed through the bills, finding nothing unusual, or at least nothing that looked unusual. She was so engrossed in the task at hand, she didn't even hear Eleanor come back home. Because, in the instant that she heard her mother demand, "What are you doing, Sabrina?” in a voice harsher than she'd ever used with her daughter before, Sabrina also found the invoice that explained pretty much everything.

  She meant only to show the piece of paper to Eleanor, to prove that she knew and that there was no more point in lying. But the anger at having been kept in the dark proved overwhelming, and Sabrina ended up all but hurling it at her, accusing, "You're sick. You're sick and you didn't tell me. You didn't tell anybody."

  Eleanor calmly bent down to retrieve the fluttering invoice, along with its litany of lab fees and other diagnostic minutia inadequately covered by health insurance. She said, "That's right. I didn't. I would have thought you'd have respected me enough to — "

  "This says it's been weeks!"

  "Months, actually."

  "They can fix it, can't they? It's not like that stupid movie with Ali McGraw. They can fix leukemia. You just need to get the right treatment."

  "Sometimes. It depends."

  "On what?"

  "A lot of factors."

  "Like what?" Sabrina could hear how petulant she sounded, how... adolescent. But right now, she didn't care.

  "How often you get the treatment, what kind of treatment it is, how you respond to it. There are a great many variables."

  "Well, you're getting the best treatment, aren't you? Aren't you?”

  “I am getting what I need under the circumstances."

  Something about the way she said it made Sabrina certain she was being put off. This was yet another "Discussion over" moment. But Sabrina wasn't having it. "What do you mean? You mean you're not doing everything you can? Why, Mom? That's stupid! Is it that we don't have enough money? Is that it?"

  "We have money, Sabrina."

  "Then what is it?”

  Eleanor hesitated, and in the hesitation, Sabrina understood. "This is something to do with Daddy, isn't it?” She didn't know how that could be possible, but she also knew it was true. Eleanor wore that particular look of devoted concern only when the issue at hand might somehow negatively impact on her precious husband. "What does Daddy have to do with — "

  "This is a very important year for your father. Chris won the Europeans last year. It's imperative that he win again this year if he's going to have a chance at a World medal, maybe even the actual title. And with the Olympics being next year, Chris absolutely has to position himself — "

  "This is about Chris?” Sabrina all but roared. "Chris Kelly winning the Olympics?”

  "I can't let anything distract your father right now."

  "Your dying would distract him!"

  "I'm not going to die. I'm doing well, my doctor agrees. Putting off the most aggressive treatment for just a few months
is a viable option."

  "So you could be getting more treatment right now, but you're not going to because it might somehow keep Chris from winning the Olympics? God, Mom, can you hear how stupid this is?”

  "Your father hasn't ever had a male Olympic champion. He hasn't had a World champion since I retired. He needs this. He's in danger of becoming irrelevant."

  "Chris Kelly is irrelevant! The Olympics are irrelevant! You have to get treatment!"

  "I'm getting it."

  "Sure, just not enough."

  "This is my decision, Sabrina."

  "Not if I tell Daddy." She'd never spoken to her mother in such a tone of voice, much less flat out threatened her. And yet that certainly felt like what she was doing now. "He'll make you get treatment. He loves you."

  "Yes," Eleanor agreed. "He does love me. He will make me get treatment. And he'll stay home from the rink to make sure I get it, and he'll skip Europeans and Worlds to make sure I'm well taken care of, and Chris will either give up completely or he will lose ground or he will find a new coach, and either way, Daddy will lose."

  "You think he'd rather lose you than some stupid Olympic title?"

  "I'm doing what I think is best, Sabrina. For everybody."

  "I'll tell him." It was her only weapon, and Sabrina intended to keep firing it until her mother saw how ridiculous this all was.

  "If you do," Eleanor said, showing the steel that propelled her to podium after podium as she "put her pain in her pocket and went," "I will never forgive you."

  Sabrina didn't want to believe that it was true. But she was also too much of a coward to find out. And so she kept her mouth shut.

  And so, while her father was at the World Championships in Italy with two-time European champion Christian Kelly, Eleanor died.

  Sabrina wasn't the one who called to tell him in Rome. It was actually Toni who did the deed; Sabrina was too shell-shocked. And too angry.

  Sabrina didn't know what he and Toni talked about, or what Lucian said or did or thought in the next twenty-four hours. All she knew was that Lucian didn't call home to find out how Sabrina was doing. And when he was interviewed live on television the next day prior to Chris's Long Program, he flung one arm around their perennial houseguest's shoulder and told everyone watching, "This wonderful boy is the only reason I had for getting up this morning."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SKATINGANDSTUFF.COM MESSAGE BOARD

  FROM: GoGoGregoryl Posted at 9:44 AM

  I think Gina is a couple years older than Sabrina—Lucian's daughter is still in college or just out.

  FROM: SuperCooperFan Posted at 9:56 AM

  GUYS, GO LOOK AT GOOGLE NEWS RIGHT NOW!!!!

  FROM: LuvsLian Posted at 9:57 AM

  OMG!!

  FROM: SkatingFreak Posted at 9:57 AM

  Do you think it's true?

  FROM: LuvsLian Posted at 9:58 AM

  Of course it's true, it's on the news! Do you think they'll still do the show?

  FROM: GoGoGregoryl Posted at 9:59 AM

  Oh, I hope so I've already got my flight booked they've just got to go on with the show it would be very inconsiderate to the fans IMHO who've already made plans and taken time off from work and spent a ton of money to be there if they don't.

  * * *

  The police arrived a few minutes after Toni finished breaking the news of Lucian's death. They said they needed to speak to Gina and Sabrina in private, and pretty much shuffled everybody else out of the house. Before she was unceremoniously tossed onto the driveway, Bex managed to ask her old friend, the officer in charge, "Does this mean you're finally ready to officially declare this a murder investigation?"

  He sighed. He shook his head. He said, "This is not a murder investigation, Miss Levy. We simply need some paperwork signed." He completed the unceremonial tossing onto the driveway.

  Toni, Chris, and Gabrielle were already there. They waited politely for Bex before preparing to disperse to their respective cars. Chris appeared to still be in a bit of shock, because it fell to Gabrielle to ask an obvious question no one had yet to voice (well, except Bex, tactlessly, earlier in the day). "So, is the tribute show off, then?"

  It really was an excellent question. And not as trivial as it seemed. Sure, Lucian, the honoree, was dead. But ice time had been booked, tickets sold, publicity done, and most important, television crews dispatched and prime-time space allotted. This event had taken on a life of its own. It wasn't something that could easily be canceled at the drop of a hat. Nor was it necessarily something that should be.

  Toni, Chris, and Gabrielle looked to Bex for the answer.

  She said, "I'll call Gil Cahill and ask."

  Bex hitched a ride back to the rink with Toni. By the time they got there, the news of Lucian's death had already been leaked, and the usual early morning quiet of a practice session with only the sounds of blades slicing ice and sleepy coaches urging equally sleepy students to "Pull in harder" or "Push out stronger," had been replaced with a cacophony of rumor, speculation, and innuendo. The warmly bundled mob descended on Toni as soon as she stepped through the rink's doors, demanding answers and details. While Toni tried to make out who was asking what and who deserved to be answered versus who definitely begged to be ignored, Bex slipped away into the coaches' lounge, requisitioning the rotary phone for her own usage.

  She called Gil in New York and appraised him of the situation. Her boss said, "Of course the show's going on! You think I'm going to take a bath on this?"

  Well, no, she most certainly hadn't thought that, but... "We're going to put on a show to honor someone who isn't around to be honored?"

  "Absolutely! This makes it even better! With a live honoree there's always a danger of them doing or saying something stupid to taint the whole thing. A dead guy... A dead guy is gold, Bex!"

  She sighed and said, "And I suppose you expect me to figure out who murdered him before we go live with the show at the end of the week?"

  Gil had a habit of demanding such tight turnarounds. At the World Championship in San Francisco, he'd wanted Bex to discern who'd killed the judge who gave first place to the Russian diva over America's sweetheart in time for them to reveal it live during the Exhibition Show. At the U.S.A. vs. Russia made-for-television competition he'd wanted the same information about the coach who'd been poisoned, and at the last Nationals, it had been find out who fathered the baby of a former Ice Dance champion now swinging from a belt in the costume room — oh, and who strung her up that way as well. Bex had delivered all three results (plus solved an earlier mystery featuring a kidnapped Jeremy and his dead mother) as requested. For the first time since Gil started sticking her with these macabre assignments, she finally felt confident enough to believe she could do it.

  "Are you nuts, Bex?" Gil asked.

  "I — what?"

  "There's no murder here. Old guy takes a tumble and cracks his skull. Kind of hard to ferret out a conspiracy."

  "But — "

  "Look, Bex, I gave you a chance to produce some pieces for this special because I thought you were ready for a shot at the big leagues. But if you're just going to use it as an opportunity for self-aggrandizement..."

  "Wait a minute, I'm not — "

  "No one likes a show-off, Bex. This isn't about you. Stop trying to be the center of attention all the time. It's really unattractive."

  "I thought you'd want —"

  "What I want is a tear-jerking tribute show with a line around the block of world-famous skaters sobbing about their sainted, dead coach and how much he meant to their lives and careers. You got that? I don't want any nasty insinuations from you to mar the genuine beauty of the moment. Understand, Bex? Beauty? Moment? Tear-jerking?"

  "But, Gil — "

  "If you can't deliver the damn tears, Bex, I'll send someone up there who will. You following me?"

  "Yes, Gil..."

  "Excellent."

  "Well, hello, stranger."

  Bex had to confess. In all th
e fracas over Lucian's mur — Lucian's death; she needed to remember that it was Lucian's death — she'd forgotten a key detail of her trip to Colorado. Craig was there, too. Not just in the vicinity but, at that moment, actually physically at the rink with Jeremy. Not just at the rink, but standing in the doorway of the coaches' lounge, arms crossed against his chest, peeking in, smiling and observing. "As soon as I heard there was a death in the skating community, I had a feeling I'd be seeing you. How in the world did you get here so fast? I thought Lucian only fell this morning?”

  Oops. This was going to be a little awkward. Bex admitted, "I flew in last night. I'm producing features for the tribute show."

  Craig cocked his head to one side. "You were coming to work the tribute show? And you didn't let me know?”

  "I was going to...."

  "Oh," he said. Bex had no idea how to interpret the interjection.

  "I really was. It's just it all happened so fast. Gil called me right after you left my apartment on Sunday, and then I had to get ready to fly out at a moment's notice and — "

  "It's okay. The whole point of this week was supposed to give you space. I'm sorry if I sounded like — "

  "You didn't."

  "Well, I'm sorry anyway. Hey," Craig said, smiling that sincere smile that always made her melt, "feature producer. That's awesome. You've been working so hard to get that promotion. Congratulations."

  "It's not exactly a promotion," she admitted. "More a dry run. If I don't screw up too horribly, Gil might start thinking about thinking about promoting me. Sometime."

  "In any case, I'm happy for you."

  He turned to leave, and suddenly, more than anything, Bex wanted him to stay.

  "Craig!"

  "What?”

  "I — I really was going to tell you."

  "It's okay. You've got work to do."

  "Not really." Bex wasn't sure why she said that. At first, she assumed it was just another desperate attempt on her part to keep him from walking out. But, as she started with her babbling, she realized that what she was really craving was for somebody to hear her out "I mean — Gil doesn't think Lucian was murdered."