by Diana Orgain
Judging from that text, I shouldn’t expect a call anytime soon—no doubt Deb would sleep late and wake up nursing a giant hangover. I sighed. Sometimes I worried about her.
Instead, I texted Galigani, Can you find out anything from your contacts at the station? Deb out of commission with a migraine.
Galigani used to be on the police force, so his contacts were broader and deeper than mine. He’d encouraged me to foster relationships with some of the cops so that I’d have a proper network when I got my PI license and he truly retired.
Maybe I should spend some time getting to know Jones and his wife. They had a kid not much older than Laurie, and it’d be nice to have more than one contact feeding me information from the station.
And Nick, the ME. That was a relationship I wanted to foster too. Maybe I could find something Wonder Woman-themed for his wife. I added it to my list.
At 9:10, Galigani called, “Hey, kid, I got an update for you.”
I grabbed my legal pad to take notes. “Go on.”
“Todd and Monte’s stories matched. They said Monte had been trying to get Todd and Kim to come work for him—something about taking most of Tre Fratelli Danzanti’s ballet students—and that Todd had just earned a bonus by talking Kim into the plan. She was reluctant, I guess. Monte has a solid alibi for the morning of the murder, which is why he’s never been high on the list of suspects.”
“But he could have had someone else do his dirty work for him,” I said, scribbling furiously.
“Yeah, he doesn’t seem like the type to get his hands dirty,” agreed Galigani. “But their story provides a reasonable explanation for the conversation you heard. We’ll keep an eye on them, but it’s a dead-end for now.”
I sighed, rubbing my temples. “We’re running out of time. The fundraiser is in less than a week, and someone else might die if we don’t catch the killer by then.”
“Well,” said Galigani, “we’ll just chase down the leads as we uncover them. ‘Almost a week’ may not sound like much time, but it’s an eternity in the private investigation business.”
Jim and I got ready for our lesson, and I decided on the same 1950s-style maternity dress I’d worn to our first lesson with Odette. At first, I wasn’t going to do my hair and makeup, but when I looked in the mirror, I decided a little red lipstick couldn’t hurt.
And eyeliner would really make the ensemble pop.
I glanced from my phone clock to my curling iron and back again. My hair was looking frizzy today, and I was pretty sure I had just enough time to tame it into perfect 1950s ringlets.
Samantha Spade, Private Eye was back in business.
Unfortunately, Kenny wasn’t back in the babysitting business. He’d responded noncommittally the night before when I’d asked him about watching Laurie, and I didn’t feel like chasing him down yet again. Paula and Mom were running around busy with preparations for the fundraiser, so we were just going to have to take Laurie and hope for the best.
On the way to the studio, Jim and I stopped off at a print shop to pick up the final printed flyers for the event—I triple-checked to make sure public was spelled right. “I’ll hang these around town this afternoon and tomorrow,” I said, patting the thick envelope. “We need to get the word out.”
“The newspaper is doing quite a good job of getting the word out,” said Jim. “They’ve run three stories about the murder and the upcoming fundraiser.”
“Hope it’s true that there’s no such thing as bad publicity,” I said.
Laurie banged her rattle against the plastic of her car seat, fussing.
“Even Laurie’s worried about it.” I snorted.
Jim chuckled.
“You’re the marketing expert,” I said. “What do you think?”
Laurie dropped her rattle. I twisted around to pick it up and return it to her. She clutched it with a soft coo.
Jim whistled, thinking. “I’d rather have bad publicity than no publicity, as a general rule. If the killer is caught before the event, I think it will help turn people out for it. If the killer is still on the loose, people might worry it’s unsafe.”
“Well, we have to catch the killer before then, anyway,” I said, crossing my fingers for luck. “So no one else gets hurt.”
When we walked into the lobby of Tre Fratelli Danzanti, Petunia announced she and Dave were taking over our lesson.
I set Laurie on the gleaming wood floor in the corner of the room, hoping her ducky and a couple of other toys would keep her occupied. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but hopefully, it would give us at least some time to practice.
We started by reviewing the rock step and triple step, and then went back to the Charleston. I breathed deeply, maintaining awareness of my center of gravity, and executed every step perfectly.
Jim, on the other hand . . .
I glanced at Dave, who was wincing as he watched Jim attempt the Charleston. After a moment, Dave said, “Alright, what if we try it like this . . .”
It was no use. Even when Jim got the steps right—and he stepped wrong about half the time—he wasn’t moving fluidly, and his face was all scrunched up from focusing too hard on the choreography.
And Dave wanted us to be exhibition-ready in a week?
It seemed like Dave and Petunia were thinking the same thing. “Well,” said Petunia when we hit the halfway point, “I hope this doesn’t come off the wrong way, but will you be comfortable having attention on your dancing at the fundraiser? It’s nothing wrong with you!” Her words spilled out more quickly as she tried to spare his feelings. “But you just look like you’re trying so hard, and I wonder if you’ll be able to relax on the day of the fundraiser.”
Jim nodded grimly. “I can do it. I’ll help wherever you need me to help.”
Dave and Petunia shared a long look, and finally, Dave burst out laughing. “I’m so sorry, Jim, I was actually making a joke when I said I wanted you to be part of the demonstration. Odette misunderstood, and when I found out she’d told you, I thought for sure you’d back out, and . . .”
Petunia’s eyes widened in horror, and she elbowed Dave. “Be nice!” she hissed.
But Jim wasn’t offended. His shoulders slumped in relief. “Oh, thank God. I didn’t know what you were thinking, but I didn’t want to let you down.”
“Kate, on the other hand,” said Petunia, “I think we could have you be an example for the beginners. Would you be interested in doing that?”
“Only if you’re not making a joke,” I answered with a wink.
“We’re going to teach beginners five dance steps in the hour before the fundraiser officially starts,” she said. “That’ll help people who don’t know much about dancing but who want to come to the event feel like they can dance a little, so they can relax and have fun.”
Laurie started fussing, and Jim said happily, “I’ll take care of her. Why don’t you learn the other two steps?”
Dave grabbed me in his arms and twirled me around the floor.
“Wow, you make dancing so easy,” I said.
He laughed. “Kate you a natural. Your only problem is you try to take the lead.”
We burst out laughing and Petunia called out, “You guys look like you’re having too much fun!”
“How’s it going with the investigation?” Dave asked.
“Well, during the course of the investigation, I found out something you should know. Can we go to your office and chat?”
A shadow crossed Dave’s face. “Of course. What is it?”
“Let’s go to the office,” I said. “Away from any listening ears.”
I motioned for Petunia and Jim to follow us. We all settled into seats in the office, Dave and Petunia on one side of the desk and Jim and me on the other.
“Listen, we don’t know for sure if this has anything to do with the murder or any of the other strange things that have been going on, but Todd and Kim aren’t loyal to you.”
“Shocker,” muttered Petunia under her br
eath.
“What do you mean?” Dave asked.
“Monte’s been trying to get them to come work for him,” I explained, pulling my legal pad out of the diaper bag and flipping to the relevant page of notes. “He was offering them a pay raise, plus a cash bonus. Kim was more reluctant than Todd, but it sounds like Todd talked her into it.”
“So, they’re quitting?” Dave leaned back in his chair, looking perturbed.
“Not just quitting,” I said with a sigh. This was the hardest part—no one wanted to hear that someone they knew was about to stab them in the back. Figuratively, in Dave’s case.
Perhaps literally, in Leo’s.
I continued, “Todd devised a plan with Monte to convince most of their ballet students to follow them to the new studio.”
Dave blanched. “That’s over half our revenue. We’d . . . we’ll go under.”
“That seems to have been part of Monte’s plan.” I bit my lip.
Dave shuffled the papers in front of him as if his hands needed to occupy themselves. “And Todd went along with this?”
“I’m sorry,” I said gently. “I know it’s hard to hear.”
The door burst open, and Kim ran in, breathing heavily, her dark hair flying out behind her in a ponytail.
Dave studied her with an inscrutable expression, and Petunia just turned her attention to the paperwork on the desk.
Kim pulled up short when she saw Jim and me, but she addressed Dave. “Todd’s leaving Tre Fratelli Danzanti, but I don’t want to,” she blurted, her lower lip trembling. “He kept telling me we needed to, that he needed the money to pay his mom’s medical bills, and I’m sorry his mom is sick, but I can’t do this.”
Chapter 13
Dave’s face softened as he gazed at Kim. “What changed? Kate says you agreed to leave and take the students with you. You have to know that would ruin us. We’ve worked hard building our client base.”
Kim looked stricken. “He manipulated me into saying yes, but he lied. He said his mom needed a treatment that insurance wouldn’t cover, but I found a letter at her apartment dated three weeks ago that said the treatment had been approved. I . . . I told him we were through. He can’t lie to me like that. And worse—he did it for a payday.”
I hazarded a glance at Petunia. She seemed thoughtful but guarded. Like she was trying to figure out whether to believe Kim or not.
“Why do you want to stay, Kim?” Petunia finally asked.
Kim looked down at the floor. “It’s a good gig,” she mumbled. “And you’re always fair with us.”
Petunia chewed her lip for a moment, then nodded as if satisfied.
Shifting from foot to foot—and still managing to look perfectly elegant—Kim said, “I can teach the classes myself. He tried to make me think I couldn’t, but the students love me, and I know what I’m doing. He won’t be able to take hardly any of the students if I don’t go with him. Certainly no more than two or three.”
They talked for a couple more minutes, but I let my mind wander. We hadn’t absolutely cleared Todd, but I was starting to think it didn’t add up. What would be the point of killing Leo? If Todd and Monte could halve Tre Fratelli Danzanti’s revenue just by taking the ballet students, why escalate to murder?
“Kim,” I said as she turned to leave, “I’m going to ask you something, and I need you to be completely honest with me.”
She hesitated, then nodded.
“Did anyone at the studio know about Todd’s plan to leave?”
Shaking her head, she said, “Not until you overheard Todd on the phone. I insisted he keep it totally secret. I . . . don’t think he was sloppy when he let you overhear. He was running out of patience, and I think he wanted to force the issue. He wanted you to hear that phone conversation so that I’d be forced to stop delaying and make a choice. I’m so angry at him I can’t see straight, but he’s not a killer. I’d bet my life on it. I was with him the whole morning of the tenth.”
I mentally crossed Todd and Kim off my list. It was possible that she was lying about all of this, that this was an elaborate ruse to deflect suspicion, but I didn’t think so.
“Thank you,” I said. “This was very helpful.”
When the door closed behind her, Jim said, “Well, that resolved itself quickly, didn’t it?” His phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen. “Oh, that’s a client,” he said, handing Laurie off to me.
What I wouldn’t give for a reliable babysitter. I bounced Laurie on my left knee and set my legal pad on the desk. Might as well ask about Hank. I couldn’t come up with a solid motive for him, since I didn’t have any evidence that gambling had caused problems between him and Leo. But means and opportunity made for a compelling case now that Todd and Monte didn’t seem like high-priority suspects.
“Can you guys tell me about Hank’s relationship with the studio?” I asked. “I’m just following up on everyone who was here that day.”
“Sure,” said Dave. “He’s been in and out for a couple of years, I guess. Does that seem right, Petunia?”
“Yeah, I think so.” She clicked and unclicked her pen. “I can look it up in our records.”
“Small world that he knows your mom,” said Dave.
With a chuckle, I said, “That’s San Francisco for you.”
Laurie grabbed my legal pad off the desk, and I pried it from her fingers and set it back down, out of her reach.
“Funny that you ask about him,” Dave added, glancing at his phone screen. “He’s going to be here later today to help Paula hang her decorations.”
“Oh?” That came as a surprise, but he was probably hoping to talk to my mom. He’d said as much to Galigani and me.
“Hank’s loaded,” said Petunia in a conspiratorial whisper. “He’d be a nice catch for your mom.”
I was unmoved. It didn’t matter how rich Hank was, I was Team Galigani all the way. So I just responded with a polite smile.
“He gave us a loan about a year ago when we needed a little help covering payroll,” said Dave. “We got that paid off, what, six months ago? He’s a big lover of the arts. Supports local bands. Has his name on a box at the symphony. Invests in dance studios. That sort of thing.”
Invests in dance studios? An idea started to form at the edges of my consciousness. What if . . .
Jim popped his head back in the office with an apologetic grimace. “Hey, Kate, can I take you and Laurie home now? That client just set up a meeting in an hour, and they want me there in person.”
Frustration bubbled in my chest. If Jim couldn’t watch Laurie, that meant I couldn’t follow up on my hunch—it didn’t feel safe to take my baby snooping around Monte’s studio. But Jim’s career was really taking off, and his meetings were an important part of that. So I plastered on a smile and said, “Yeah, definitely.”
We ran into Paula in the parking lot on the way out. “Kate!” she called, hope lighting up her face. “Where are you off to?”
“Back home,” I said. “You need me?”
She grinned. “Can I borrow your coat? I realized I left my sweater at home, and it is cold in the studio. They keep it a comfortable temperature for people who’ve been dancing for an hour.”
I laughed and shrugged out of my black coat. It was two sizes too large for Paula, but somehow it looked effortlessly fabulous over her skinny jeans and peplum blouse.
“Hey, I kinda like this,” she said, glancing down at it.
“I am lending it,” I exclaimed. “I still remember how you stole my polka dot sweater in tenth grade.”
“Borrowed . . . for an extended period of time,” she corrected with a wink.
On the way home, I texted my mom to ask what she was up to.
Trying a new recipe, she replied. How about I bring some over?
Well, at least she wasn’t planning to be at the studio while Hank was there. Sounds great, I typed.
What culinary shenanigans were in store for me? I was afraid to find out. But it couldn’t be wors
e than savory popsicles.
Mom’s recipe turned out to be an ambrosia salad—canned pineapple, canned mandarins, marshmallows, whipped cream, coconut, and a small army of maraschino cherries.
“You have to try it, dear,” said Mom, setting the bowl on my counter. “It’s quite good, if I do say so myself.”
I eyed the concoction skeptically and shifted Laurie to my other hip. The 1950s was a great decade for lipstick, but an odd one for food.
Laurie did not share my cynicism. She plunged her hand into the bowl and helped herself to a slurping bite before I could react. She gnawed on her whipped-cream-covered hand with a contented gurgle.
Mom and I burst out laughing.
“Well, it’s got one fan,” I said, pulling a bowl down from the kitchen cabinet and helping myself to a scoop of the strange-looking dessert.
“Well?” asked Mom, anticipation written all over her face.
“Pretty good,” I said as soon as I swallowed the first bite. “I like it more than the baked Alaska, actually.”
We chatted as I ate, and I helped myself to a second serving.
“So,” I said finally, “what’s going on with you and Hank?”
“You know, same old, same old. Hanging out and having fun.” She pulled out a bowl of her own and spooned some ambrosia salad into it.
Alarm bells rang in my head. What happened to Mom being in love with Galigani and not wanting to date Hank? “What about Galigani?” I asked, trying to keep myself from sounding petulant.
“Well, I don’t think Galigani wants anything too serious right now,” said Mom.
“Have you asked him about that?”
We headed into the living room and settled on the couch. Mom took Laurie and set her on the rocking horse.
She didn’t even notice that I’d hidden the howling chipmunk bus.
“We talked earlier today,” said Mom, “and he’s just fine with me seeing Hank some. I was disappointed at first—things have been going very well, and I thought we might be making something official soon—but then I realized he was right. There’s no rush. Neither one of us are going anywhere.”
