by Debra Webb
“Lieutenant Prescott, if you would keep these ladies comfortable while they wait for their turns, we’ll get this done.”
“Whatever you say, Chief.”
Prescott’s tone was pleasant enough but the irritation simmering in her gaze didn’t quite rise to the challenge. She was not any happier now than she’d been a week ago when word that Jess had gotten the position of deputy chief had flowed along the BPD grapevine like a bad Chianti.
Prescott’s subsequent assignment to Jess’s unit just seemed like bad karma for them both. Case in point, Prescott had wanted to start the interviews with the daughters before Jess even arrived at the scene.
No, the woman was not happy.
Jess shifted her attention to Andrea, the chief’s stepdaughter and the assistant teacher at this ballet school while she was home from college for the summer. “Andrea, if you would come with me to the conservatory, please.”
Relieved to escape the mayhem that would no doubt descend as soon as she was out of hearing range, Jess marched toward the conservatory. Andrea followed, still dressed in her black leotard and dance slippers.
The conservatory was a massive addition to the back of the house that had likely been used at one time as a sunroom and a place for entertaining. For the past thirty or so years it had served as a dance studio. First by Darcy Chandler’s nationally celebrated grandmother, then, more recently, by her and her famous husband whose name Jess still couldn’t pronounce properly no matter that Harper had repeated it to her three times.
When the door was closed, Jess took a moment to survey the space. Gleaming wood floors had replaced what had likely once been tile or stone. A soaring ceiling was surrounded by towering glass walls that allowed sunlight to fill the room. The view of the gardens was nothing short of spectacular. Talk about living like royalty.
With a gesture toward the one table surrounded by chairs near the garden entrance, Jess asked, “Why don’t we sit here?”
Visibly shaken, Andrea wilted into a chair. The nineteen-year-old dragged in a halting breath. “I can’t believe Ms. Darcy is dead.” She shook her head. “Every time I try to get on with my life something else happens.”
Jess had to give her that. The poor girl had been abducted by a couple who’d gone around the bend. Then, only last week, a serial killer had used her to get at Dan in an attempt to bait Jess. Now this. She imagined Andrea was ready to put this summer behind her. Returning to college for her sophomore year was likely looking better every day.
“I can certainly understand how you would feel that way.” Jess sat down on the opposite side of the table so she could keep an eye on the garden and any new arrivals. “Why don’t you tell me what happened here this morning? Start with when you arrived and go from there.”
Andrea moistened her lips and visibly braced herself. “I came at ten this morning and worked with the competition team. Then at noon we broke for lunch.” She glanced beyond the glass walls of the conservatory toward the French doors that led from the terrace into the main house. “That’s when Ms. Darcy went inside to make some calls.”
Jess fished for her pad and pencil to make a few notes. “How long have you known Darcy?”
“Her grandmother was my ballet teacher until I was ten. By then Ms. Darcy and her husband, Alex, had taken over the school. I was on the competition team until I left for college. Ms. Darcy offered me a position as assistant teacher when I came home in May for the summer.”
“Is Darcy’s grandmother still involved with the studio?” The Chandlers were one of Birmingham’s most prominent families, but between college and working for the Federal Bureau of Investigation at Quantico, Jess had lived away for the past two decades. She’d never been very good at keeping up with the city’s elite anyway. But you couldn’t grow up in Birmingham and not know who the Chandlers were.
“She lives at Southern Plantation. Even at eighty she attends all the local competitions.”
Jess knew the place. High-end, exclusive senior living for those with the proper bank balance and no desire to be troubled with overseeing a grand home. “Was the vic—Darcy—with you and the students most of the morning?”
Andrea nodded. “Except for going in the house to make phone calls, but she came back out a few minutes after that.”
“The six girls waiting on the terrace have been here since ten as well?”
She nodded again. “There were eight others but they left at lunch.” Andrea shifted her gaze back to Jess then. “There are fourteen girls on the Alabama Belles competition team. The ones still here compete as the international team. They stay for lunch and then we rehearse until three when their mothers pick them up.”
“There was no one else here?”
“I didn’t see anyone. But I didn’t go back in the house until… Katrina found her… like that.”
“So Darcy served lunch to you and the girls after the others were gone?” At some point the vic was separated from her students for the last time. For how long? With whom, if anyone? Those were the answers Jess needed. Seemed simple enough, but getting straight answers from the witnesses after a tragedy like this was more often than not painstaking and complicated.
“We had a picnic,” Andrea explained. “We do that a couple of times a week. Usually on Mondays and Fridays. The mothers take turns bringing the food. Today it was Ms. Dresher’s turn. She dropped off the food just before noon. The girls and I brought everything outside for the picnic while Ms. Darcy saw her out.”
Jess jotted down the Dresher name and the fact that she’d delivered lunch. “Did Darcy join your picnic after seeing Ms. Dresher to the door?”
“She stayed in the house.” Andrea looked around the room as if maintaining eye contact was too uncomfortable. “She was still busy with phone calls. We had lunch and then came back in here to begin rehearsal.”
“What time did you become aware that there had been an accident?” The call had come into 911 about one fifteen. Judging by the ME’s estimation of time of death, Chandler may not have been dead very long when her body was discovered.
“We were about to start rehearsal but we needed the boas for our routine and I sent Katrina inside to get them,” Andrea explained, sadness clouding her face. “The girls had been playing upstairs earlier, before rehearsals began this morning, and two of them had left their boas up there. Some of the moms have appointments or whatever and drop their girls off a little early. Ms. Darcy lets them play in the upstairs den.” She chewed her lower lip a moment or two before continuing. “A few minutes after going for the boas Katrina came rushing back. She was in tears and shouting that something was wrong with Ms. Darcy.”
“When you say a few minutes, do you mean ten or fifteen? Five?”
Andrea shrugged. “I don’t know. The other girls and I were doing warm-ups and talking. I really didn’t pay attention.”
That was as good as Jess was going to get on the timing. “So you didn’t see Darcy alive again after she went inside the house with Ms. Dresher?”
“The next time I saw her she was… dead.”
Jess surveyed the girls waiting somberly with their mothers. All six wore hot pink leotards. Four had their boas hanging around their shoulders. Her interest lingered on the Dresher woman and her daughter Katrina. Harper had given Jess a who’s who rundown.
“Did anything out of the ordinary happen this morning?” Jess asked, focusing on Andrea once more. “Did Darcy seem upset about anything?”
Andrea shrugged again. “No more than usual.” She twisted her fingers together. “She and Mr. Alex are separated and things have been awkward.”
Instincts on point, Jess rephrased a pivotal question. “Did you see Alex today?”
“Not today. He…” Andrea fell silent.
Jess leaned forward a fraction. “It’s very important that we know as many details as possible if we’re going to understand what happened.”
“Ms. Darcy filed for divorce. They’ve been fighting for weeks.” Her slende
r shoulders slumped with defeat and disloyalty. “The rumor is he’s cheating on her with one of the moms.”
The image of Darcy Chandler lying on that cold marble floor, her skull likely shattered along with untold other internal injuries, filled Jess’s mind. The shoes removed and set carefully aside filtered in next. That part just didn’t fit, unless they were already there before Chandler’s fall. Maybe forgotten for some reason. But then where were the shoes she had been wearing at the time of death? Had to be those Gucci pumps. They matched her dress. A dress that she would have had to hike up in order to throw a leg over that upstairs railing. That, Jess would come back to. For now, she needed info on Chandler’s husband, the Russian.
“Do you have reason to suspect that rumor is true?” This was a small, elite dance studio. The likelihood of any secret staying secret for long was somewhere in the vicinity of zero.
Andrea scrunched her face as if it pained her to speak on the subject. “That’s what everybody thinks but I can’t say for sure it’s true.”
“Any idea which mother the others thought was the troublemaker?” Beyond Andrea, six of the mothers waited—all wealthy, all gorgeous, whether by nature or by design. Could be any one of them.
Andrea gave another shake of her head, her eyes carefully averted. She suspected someone but she wasn’t saying. Jess could push for that when and if the time came.
“Andrea, would you say you know Darcy as well as any of the other assistant teachers or students, or moms, for that matter?”
Hesitation slowed her response but she nodded with conviction.
“I know you’re upset,” Jess hedged, “but I want you to answer the next question without analyzing your answer first. I’ll ask the question and you say exactly what comes to mind in that instant. Okay?”
“O… kay.”
Jess reached across the table and patted her hand. “Thank you, Andrea. I know this is just an awful time for you, but you’re helping more than you know.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes as she nodded, her lips pressed tightly together.
“Here we go. Do you believe”—Jess watched Andrea’s face closely for the coming reaction—“Darcy was capable of taking her own life?”
“No!” Her eyebrows drew together as she underscored her answer with an adamant shake of her head. “No way. She would never do that!”
“Not even with her husband cheating and divorce looming?” Jess had no evidence that indicated one manner of death over the other at this time. Still, a nasty divorce slanted the already odd circumstances in a more disturbing direction. Were there financial problems to boot? Not from the looks of things, but looks could be deceiving.
“That’s impossible,” Andrea stated firmly, her eyes reflecting that certainty. “I heard her talking to him just before she went into the house to see Ms. Dresher out. She wanted to make him pay for his infidelity.”
“Did he stop by?” A few moments ago Andrea had said she’d seen no one other than the dancers and Chandler. Then she remembered Dresher. Cutting Andrea some slack, extreme anxiety often caused confusion. But if the Russian was here anywhere near the time of death, Jess needed to know.
“She got a call from him on her cell. At least I think it was him. Ms. Darcy told whoever it was that she was going to make them pay one way or the other. Then she had to go because Ms. Dresher showed up with lunch.” Andrea flattened her palms on the table and stared directly into Jess’s eyes. “She was really angry. If you knew Ms. Darcy you would know she’s not the kind of person who would admit defeat and just kill herself. She would fight.” Tears spilled past her lashes. “No way did she do this on purpose.”
Jess nodded. “Thank you, Andrea. Anything else you think of, you call me immediately.”
The door opened and Chief of Police Daniel Burnett walked in. As if it hadn’t been only yesterday when Jess had last seen him, naked and sprawled in her bed, her entire being went on alert like a GPS locking in on a destination.
He looked damned good for a guy who’d been beaten and stabbed less than a week ago. Her throat tightened at the memory of those long hours they’d spent entwined in each other’s arms on Saturday night… and Sunday morning.
“Jess.” He nodded to her, a flash of remembered heat in those blue eyes, before shifting his focus to Andrea. “You okay, sweetie?”
The girl burst into tears as she jumped out of her chair and ran into his arms.
That was Jess’s cue to move on. “I’ll give you two some privacy. I have interviews to conduct.”
In view of the time and the emotional state of the girls and their mothers, not to mention Prescott’s scowl, Jess opted to share the load. She usually preferred to question potential witnesses herself but that didn’t make sense in this situation.
With a BPD uniform keeping the remaining daughters and mothers company, Prescott took one of the girls and her mother to another venue in the garden while Jess interviewed Corrine Dresher and her daughter, Katrina, in yet another. No wonder they’d needed such a fancy gardener. This place was like a maze, with dozens of lovely little seating areas created from nothing more than nature’s glory.
“When you entered the house to get the two missing boas,” Jess asked the girl when they were settled, “did you hear anything at all? A door? A phone? Footsteps?”
Katrina’s face pinched with visible effort as she thought hard on the question before answering. “It was quiet. I could hear the grandfather clock ticking. Then I saw Ms. Darcy on the floor.”
“Did Ms. Darcy say anything or move at all?”
Katrina shook her head. “I thought she was asleep, but her eyes were open.”
“Did you try to wake her up?”
The girl’s eyes widened as she nodded. “I shook her and called her name but she didn’t say anything.” Katrina touched her ear, then her lips. “There was blood. So I ran to get Andrea.” Big tears rolled down her cheeks. “Did I do something wrong when I tried to wake her up?” She turned to her mother. “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I really didn’t!”
“Can’t you see how upset she is?” Ms. Dresher demanded. “You’ve held these girls here for more than an hour and we just want to go home. This has been horrifying for us all.”
Jess reached for patience. This mother was, as far as they knew, the last person to see Darcy Chandler alive. The daughter was the one to find her body. Anything either of them remembered could make all the difference. “I understand, ma’am. I have just a few more questions and I promise you can go home then.”
Ms. Dresher dabbed at her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to these girls. Haven’t they been through enough?” She huffed an exasperated sound. “Just do what you must so we can go home and mourn this terrible, terrible tragedy.”
“All righty then.” Jess focused her attention back on the daughter. “Katrina, I like your boa. Is it the only one that’s white?” The other girls had black boas, at least the ones who were wearing theirs. Jess made a mental note to check upstairs for the two that were missing.
Katrina’s stricken expression brightened. “I’m the best. Whoever performs the best the previous week gets to wear the white boa. Mr. Alex picks the superior performance each Saturday. This time he picked me. I get special privileges all week, like being Andrea’s helper.”
“Did you see Mr. Alex today?”
She wagged her head. “Ms. Darcy said he won’t be our teacher anymore.”
The split between Chandler and her husband appeared to be common knowledge as Andrea had indicated.
The girl peered up at her mother. “Who’ll be our teacher now?”
Both erupted in tears.
Jess managed to get a few answers out of the mother. She’d brought the lunch, veggie pizzas and vitamin water, as Andrea stated. Chandler had seemed fine when she’d walked Dresher to the door on her way out. She had gotten a call on her cell but Dresher could not speculate as to the identity of the caller. The two women had hardly exchanged a d
ozen words during her brief visit. Darcy Chandler was alive and well and ranting at her caller, Dresher insisted, when she departed the premises. Some minutes later, Dresher couldn’t say how many, though she willingly showed Jess the call list on her cell, she received a call from her daughter who was hysterical and who had just gone into the house and found the body. That call had come from Katrina’s cell phone at one-oh-two, which narrowed time of death considerably.
Darcy Chandler had fallen between twelve fifteen and one o’clock. And based on what they had so far, she had been alone in the house… just Darcy and those damned shoes.
Even though the ME had taken the body away, Jess suggested that Ms. Dresher and her daughter not exit through the house. The child didn’t need any further trauma, and no one needed access to the house until Jess had another look around.
The rest of the interviews went the same. No one saw or heard anything. Darcy Chandler seemed distracted but otherwise fine. No one admitted to knowing any additional details about the divorce but all appeared upset at the idea that the teaching team had been torn apart. And all showed more concern about who would take over the girls’ dance instruction than the fact that a woman was dead. Extending the benefit of the doubt, Jess supposed the lack of compassion could be chalked up to shock.
By the time the interviews were completed and Jess returned to the conservatory, Annette Denton had arrived to take her daughter, Andrea, home.
Jess composed a smile for the woman who was Dan’s most recent ex-wife. That part might not have bothered Jess so much were the woman not totally gorgeous and entirely elegant. Everything about her was perfect.
“Annette.”
The other woman gifted Jess with a forlorn glance. “This is just devastating.” To Dan she said, “I can’t believe she would fall like that. She’s been a dancer her whole life. Balance is everything.”
“You knew her well?” Jess inquired.
