Rockabye Murder

by Diana Orgain

  Man, oh man, I hoped Galigani—or his voicemail—was getting all this.

  “Did Monte know about the murder?” I asked gently, trying to calm her, worried she’d hurt Kenny in her agitation.

  “No,” she scoffed. “He didn’t have the stomach for that sort of thing. I told him that Leo died of a heart attack and I’d made it look like a murder to make the studio look bad, lose its students, be forced to close down. He was so uncomfortable. I’ve never seen anyone squirm like that. But he kept his mouth shut because he knew no one would believe that he wasn’t involved.”

  “Were you the one who hit Paula over the head?” Jim demanded.

  Odette smirked.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” Kenny said in a strained voice. “Kate’s mom told me Paula was wearing Kate’s jacket. And you’d made an excuse to go get coffee then too. What were the odds? And then again, right before the studio almost blew up. Why were you always getting coffee when bad things happened?”

  “Shut up,” growled Odette. “I just wanted to slow Kate down. She wasn’t even the target of the gas leak.”

  I furrowed my brow. “Who was?”

  Odette just smirked.

  Then it hit me. “Kim,” I said, my voice raspy. “You were targeting Kim.” The realization unfolded like a flower in bloom. “The coffee was never for Todd. You didn’t want to kill him. At least not yet. You wanted him to suffer the way you’d suffered, losing someone he loved.”

  That cold smile never left her face.

  Kenny locked eyes with me, and a look of pure determination crossed his face. He dropped his center of gravity low, getting his neck clear of the knife, and then stomped on Odette’s foot.

  Odette shrieked and lunged toward him. He fell backward, out of reach of the swooping knife, and scrambled away.

  A siren wailed nearby. Odette pulled up short, panic overtaking her features. Then she ran toward Jim, Laurie, and me.

  Jim lurched protectively toward us, pushing us out of the way. But Odette wasn’t aiming for us. She flew through the door into the house.

  “She’s getting away!” yelled Kenny.

  “Stay here,” Jim growled as he raced after her.

  Kenny tailed Jim and I trailed with Laurie at a safer distance.

  The front door banged open and closed. When I reached the driveway, cautiously behind Jim and Kenny, I saw the strangest sight. In the soft glow of dusk, red-and-white lights cast an eerie almost-flicker over the scene. Odette lay on the ground, unconscious. And Jo-Jo was holding a two-by-four and rubbing his head while he glared down at her.

  “Crazy lassie,” he muttered.

  First four cop cars and then an ambulance pulled into the driveway.

  “Jo-Jo!” I yelled. “Are you all right? Are you poisoned?”

  “Nah,” he said, his Irish lilt even thicker than usual. “She tried, but I knocked the needle out of her hand. Then she got ahold of a hammer and hit me over the head. Crazy, crazy lass.”

  “Hands in the air!” yelled a cop, hand on his gun.

  We all raised our hands, and I called, “It’s fine. The woman who’s knocked out is the culprit. She’s also guilty of the murder at that dance studio in the Mission District. Call Detective Deb Fisher. She’ll vouch for our story.”

  The cops confirmed our stories and then took our statements. Jo-Jo waved off the paramedics, saying he just needed to go home and sleep it off.

  “I’ll feel grand by tomorrow,” he insisted.

  An hour later, the police hauled a now-awake Odette away in handcuffs. The Black Swan shot a venomous glare at all of us, but saved the worst of her poison for Kenny.

  “You worthless idiot,” she screamed. “You don’t know a thing about loyalty!”

  They closed her into the squad car and drove off.

  Kenny sighed and brushed his hands on his jeans.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Dodged a bullet there, didn’t I?”

  “It can still hurt.”

  He tilted his head and thought for a moment. “It doesn’t. Nothing to give you closure like being held at knifepoint.” He glanced at his phone. “Oh! The dance! You’re running late!”

  The dance! In the commotion, I’d entirely forgotten. And I was supposed to help teach some of the beginners. I’d already missed that.

  But it was better to skip the dance—I couldn’t make Kenny babysit after what he’d just been through, and Dave and Petunia and Jack and Eddie would understand under the circumstances. So, I just waved my hand and said, “Oh, we don’t have to worry about that. Why don’t you go get some rest, and we’ll have a quiet evening with Laurie?”

  Kenny shook his head vehemently. “No way. You worked so hard on that dance, and now you’ve saved it from a crazy killer. You deserve to see everything that you’ve worked for.” He reached out for Laurie, and she happily went to him. “Miss Laurie and I will have a great evening.”

  “You sure?” Jim asked.

  “Go get ready!” Kenny said, laughing. “I’ll take Laurie over to my mom’s. We all watch a movie and eat kettle-style popcorn. That’s vegan and approved.”

  “Not Laurie,” I gasped. “She could choke.”

  Kenny shook his head. “Not Laurie, nah. She can have a mashed banana. That’s vegan too.” He plucked a sleepy Laurie out of my arms. “Plus, Ma’s been texting me. She saw the cops out front. So, we’ll all hang out together tonight. Safety in numbers.”

  Jim clapped Kenny on the back. “Thanks, Kenny, for keeping Laurie safe. You’re a good man.”

  At the mention of the word man, Kenny’s chest magically puffed up like a rooster and I hid a smile.

  Jim rushed off to get dressed, and I saw Kenny and Laurie to the door.

  “We won’t be too late, Kenny. Thank you.”

  After closing my front door, I raced to get dressed, reprising my film noir Samantha Spade, Private Eye look. After another case in the books, I’d earned it. As soon as I put on my lipstick, I looked in the mirror and said in my best Humphrey Bogart voice, “I don’t mind a reasonable amount of trouble.”

  “What’s that?” Jim called from the other room.

  “Nothing!” I replied, reaching for my curling iron.

  As I finished curling my hair, Jim came up behind me and put his hands on my waist. “You look sexy,” he purred.

  “So do you,” I said. “But sexy isn’t going to save you from a curling iron burn if you get your face any closer to my hair.”

  “Fair enough. You about ready?”

  “Just two more curls.” I held up two fingers.

  “I’ll start the car.”

  Chapter 21

  We pulled up to the dance at the same time as Galigani.

  “You did good, kid,” Galigani said when we got out of the car.

  “You got my call?” I asked hopefully.

  “Every word. Recorded it, too, and sent it off to McNearny before I came here. That will be enough to put her away, especially after they test the coffee stains on Leo’s shirt for vercuronium bromide.”

  I threw my arms around him. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

  He stiffened at first, then patted my shoulder. When I pulled away, a soft, fatherly smile lit up his face. “You’re made for this work, you know.”

  “Really?” Such a compliment from the usually understated Galigani warmed me all the way to my core.

  He grunted, and then added, “Don’t let it go to your head. Let’s go inside. I’ve had some time to think about what’s really important to me, and I’ve got a surprise up my sleeve.”

  “A surprise? How mysterious,” I said.

  Jim laughed and slung an arm around my shoulder, and the three of us walked past Hank’s hand-chalked sign and into the studio. The lobby was made up to look like a diner, with a chalked menu board that matched the sign out front. That must have been another last-minute idea from Hank.

  “Welcome to the dance,” said Kim from behind the front desk. She
gestured to the chalkboard with a wink. “Can I interest you in any of our house specials? Twenty percent off before the clock strikes midnight!”

  “Yeah,” said Galigani, “I’ll take you up on that.”

  Looking more closely at the menu, I realized it was a list of Tre Fratelli Danzanti’s dance classes.

  “What a great idea!” I breathed. Then I stared at Galigani like he had two heads. “You’re signing up for dance classes?”

  He shrugged. “Your mom likes to dance. I’m not any good at it and didn’t want to embarrass myself, but that’s why you take lessons, isn’t it?”

  He pointed to an item on the menu and pulled out his credit card. “Let’s do Intro to Ballroom for Couples.”

  “Group, semi-private, or private?” Kim asked.

  Galigani’s brow creased, and he looked pained. “Better go private,” he grumbled. “I don’t need to embarrass myself in front of everybody.”

  While Kim rang him up, I asked her, “So, how are sales going? Dave said you guys were pretty booked out even before tonight.”

  She practically glowed as she replied, “We’re going to hire a half a dozen new teachers to keep up with demand. And”—her smile grew almost devious—“I talked to an investigative journalist today about Todd and Monte’s underhanded scheming. He thought it was a great story to run alongside coverage of the murder. By the time the press is through with Dare to Dance, I think we’ll be buying them out.”

  I high-fived her, and then Galigani, Jim, and I headed into the hall, toward the crooning of jazz music. The dance hall was packed with couples, some expertly lindy-hopping like trained pros and other struggling to execute a basic rock step. But the energy was electric, and everyone looked like they were having a blast.

  Nearby, Paula and her husband David were dancing a respectable triple-step, and I ran to them and tapped David on the shoulder.

  “Mind if I cut in?” I asked, grinning. I grabbed Paula’s hands and spun her in a circle. “It looks perfect!”

  We collapsed into a fit of giggles, and she called over the music, “Did you really catch Odette? It’s all over?”

  “It’s all over.”

  Her shoulders slumped in relief. “Thank goodness.” Then she perked up. “Oh, did you see the food table?” She herded me to the edge of the room, and on the way, I spotted Deb dancing with a pretty thirtysomething brunette. I waved at them as we passed, and Deb grinned at me. “Yo! Great job on the case! It’s nice to be off duty!”

  I knew Deb well enough to recognize the signs that she was already halfway to inebriated, and I suspected she was making considerable use of the cash bar. I made a mental note to call her a cab at the end of the night.

  At about the midpoint of the dance hall, three long tables were heaped with food.

  “My gosh,” I said to Paula. “Mom didn’t do all of this, did she?”

  Paula said in my ear, “When he heard how many tickets we’d sold, Hank paid for a caterer to supplement the food, so we could have enough for everyone without cutting into the studio’s profits. And he paid them extra to put all the stuff your mom made front and center to showcase her talents.”

  Sure enough, in the center of the middle table, three small white pillars supported platters of the food Mom had made—funky, fun molded Jell-O desserts, salmon dip, and a pineapple upside-down cake with a maraschino cherry tucked inside each pineapple ring.

  In front of the pillar was a little plaque with a photo and bio of Mom.

  That was really sweet of Hank.

  I thought of Vicente’s gambling allegations and pursed my lips. I was going to have to check into that.

  But even if it turned out Vicente was one hundred percent wrong and Hank hadn’t threatened anyone at poker night, I was always and forever Team Galigani.

  Cheers rang out behind us, and we turned to see a circle open up around Dave and Petunia, who were improvising a lindy-hop routine that would have been right at home at the international championships. Petunia, of course, wore a floral dress, and two dozen flowers were pinned in her thick, curly black hair. But what I noticed most was how radiant she looked. Their dancing took my breath away.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Mom and Hank dancing. I searched the crowd for Galigani but didn’t see him.

  Jim joined Paula and me, and the three of us watched Dave and Petunia finish out the song. They struck the final pose, and we cheered along with the watching crowd. Then a quieter, slower song started, and Dave pulled a ring box out of his pocket, grabbed Petunia’s hand, and dropped to one knee.

  I didn’t have a hope of hearing the proposal over the whoops of the enthusiastic onlookers, but tears brimmed in Petunia’s eyes as she screamed, “Yes!”

  Dave slid the ring on her finger, then jumped to his feet and dipped her. Their lips met in a passionate kiss, and when he righted her, he held up his hand and yelled, “We’re getting married!”

  That’s when I saw Galigani on the far side of Mom and Hank. My breath caught in my throat. What was Galigani holding? It looked like . . . a ring box of his own.

  Galigani looked at Dave and Petunia, then at Mom and Hank, and slipped the ring box back into his pocket. He caught me staring and shook his head. “Not now,” he mouthed. “Later.”

  I jerked my head toward Mom and Hank and trained an intense look on Galigani. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing even from this distance. Then he approached Mom and Hank. He tapped Hank on the shoulder, and Mom’s smile was radiant as he reached out and took her hand.

  Hank looked disappointed, but a moment later, his niece dragged him into the throng of dancers.

  Dave and Petunia ran up to us, and Petunia was practically glowing. Dave pulled Jim into a hug. “You’ll be my best man?”

  “Of course,” Jim said. “I’m so happy for you guys. You deserve this.”

  Then Dave looked at me and said, “Detective Fisher said you solved the case!”

  “Just in the nick of time,” I replied.

  “Look over there.” He pointed into the crowd, and I spotted Jack and Sharon dancing. Sharon was every bit as radiant as Petunia.

  Petunia squealed, “We made enough to pay for the fertility treatments and then some. They have a real shot at having a baby!”

  “And”—Dave looked at me and fist-pumped the air—“there’s a whole lot left over. The deal was half of the fundraiser proceeds, after whatever we raised for Jack and Sharon. Between the ticket sales and the proceeds from the cash bar, we’re going to owe you a pretty big paycheck.”

  “Oh!” I exclaimed. I’d forgotten about the financial agreement—I hadn’t expected there to be much, if any, money left over, but all the publicity had made the event a smashing success.

  Eddie pulled Dave and Petunia away to congratulate them, and Jim looked at me and exclaimed, “Hey, that’s really going to help us with hiring the nanny.”

  “I’m getting paychecks from clients just like you told me to!” I declared triumphantly.

  Another slow song played, and Jim pointed up to the ceiling and said, “I think even my rhythmless self can handle this one.” He held out his hand. “May I have this dance?”

  “You may,” I said with a soft smile.

  Jim took my hand and pulled me close, my baby bump cradled between us. We swayed to the music, and the world seemed perfect. When the last notes of the song faded away, he pulled me into dip and kissed me until my head spun.

  To Do:

  Interview nannies.

  Check into Hank’s gambling.

  Find Wonder Woman thing for Nick’s wife? What do nerds like?

  Help Galigani figure out how to propose to Mom.

  Offer Jo-Jo hazard pay.

  Land another paying client.

  Ready for more?

  Book 9 from Maternal Instincts Available Soon…

  Click here to get your copy now.

  Preview of A First Date With Death

  Book 1 in the Love or Money
Mystery Series

  The bungee-jumping harness bit into my shoulders and legs as I looked over the railing of the Golden Gate Bridge. To say the water looked frigid was an understatement. The whitecaps of the bay screamed out glacier and hypothermia.

  “You’re not in position,” Cheryl, the producer, yelled.

  I felt the camera zoom in on me. They needed an extreme close-up of my every facial expression so they could broadcast my terror to the world. Magnify my embarrassment and mortification.

  One of the techs said something to Cheryl and she shouted, “Cut!”

  The cameraman lost interest in me.

  “Why am I doing this?” I asked Becca, my best friend and the assistant producer on this godawful reality TV show, Love or Money.

  “To find your dream man,” Becca answered.

  “I found him already, remember? Then he left me at the altar.”

  A makeup artist appeared at my elbow and applied powder to my nose.

  “Dream men do not leave their brides at the altar,” Becca said. “Clearly, he was not the one.”

  I studied the woman brushing powder on my face. She had beautiful chocolate-colored skin, a straight nose, and eyes so dark and intense they looked like pools of india ink. She looked familiar, but before I could place her, she turned and walked away.

  “I thought you always liked Paul,” I said to Becca.

  “I did until he left me at the altar,” Becca replied.

  “He left me.”

  “Me, too. I was standing right next to you in a stupid tulle and taffeta dress. Anyway, enough about your horrible fashion sense—”

  I laughed.

  “Even if you don’t find your dream man here,” Becca continued, “focus on the cash prize. You need it.”

  She was kind enough not to add “since you were fired,” but I felt the sting anyway. If anyone had told me, six months before, that I’d be on a reality TV show looking for love and/or money, I’d have called them 5150, a.k.a. clinically insane. But here I was, ex-cop, ex-bride-to-be—with a broken heart and broken career—looking to start over.