“What about Bob?” Aunt Lydia appeared beside me.
“I did find his car. Up on Logging Road. But I don’t think he had anything to do with Sunny’s disappearance.”
I stepped into the open doorway. “Why not?”
“Because his car was totaled, and he’s in pretty bad shape. Apparently someone ran him off the road, although what anyone else was doing up on that old gravel road, I can’t imagine.”
“Is he all right?” Aunt Lydia tapped her cane against the metal doorsill.
“Not really. Fortunately, he could still talk a bit when I got there. He told me he was run off the road by some vehicle he didn’t recognize. He lost control of his car, and it rolled into a ditch before it hit a tree. By the time the rescue squad arrived, Bob had lapsed into unconsciousness.”
“My goodness.” Aunt Lydia grabbed for my arm. “What next?”
“Is he going to be okay?” I asked, covering my aunt’s hand with my own.
“Not sure. He’s in the ICU right now, still unconscious. Bad head injury. Doctors might have to induce a coma to help his brain heal or something like that.” Brad shook his head. “This just gets weirder by the day.”
I clutched the bottom of my T-shirt with my free hand. “I’m sorry I suspected the mayor, but he just seemed to be a possible link to everything.”
Brad shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Actually, it was lucky you called me. If I hadn’t been out searching for him, Blackstone could’ve died in that car. That’s not a road many people use anymore.”
“Which makes it even odder that someone else was there, unless . . .” I gazed up into Brad’s solemn face. “He was being followed, wasn’t he?”
“Looks like it. Which just adds a new wrinkle. And we can’t ask him to clear up anything for some time. So now I’ve got to see if my team can puzzle it out without all the facts.”
I almost mentioned Kurt Kendrick but remembered that the sheriff’s office had cleared him. Although I had other reasons to suspect Kendrick, my theories were all based on hearsay and intuition. I had no real evidence to share. Not yet, anyway.
“I know you’ll do your best.” I offered Brad a smile. “You always do, it seems to me.”
In the porch light, it was impossible to tell if Brad was blushing, but he did clear his throat before speaking again. “Part of the job.”
“Thank you for coming to tell us this.” Aunt Lydia released her grip on my arm and motioned toward the back of the house. “Would you like some coffee before you go?”
“Thanks, but no time. Gotta get back out there.” Brad shoved his crumpled hat back on his head.
I reached up and flipped the bent brim down. “There. That’s better.”
He was definitely blushing. Poor guy. I made a mental note to talk to Sunny about giving Brad another chance. He really was a good guy under it all.
But Sunny had to be located first. Safe and sound. And Aunt Lydia was right—Brad and his team were probably our best chance to find her.
“We won’t keep you,” I told him. “Just let us know if there’s any news about Sunny.”
“I will,” he said with a tip of his hat. “Good night, ladies.”
I echoed Aunt Lydia’s good-bye and added, “Please know you have our support and trust. If anyone can find Sunny, I believe you can.”
That seemed to finally crack the ice between us. Brad offered me a warm smile before turning and heading for his cruiser.
Chapter Twenty-One
The next day was another Sunday. I toyed with the idea of attending church and even took the unusual step of blow-drying my hair rather than letting it air-dry. But after examining my face in the mirror and noticing the dark shadows under my eyes, I decided I wasn’t up to answering the sincere but intrusive questions I was sure to face about Sunny’s disappearance.
Besides, there was weeding waiting for me in the garden.
That’s what I told Aunt Lydia, anyway, when she appeared in the kitchen in an aqua silk dress and beige pumps.
“Suit yourself.” She spread some cream cheese on the bagel that she’d heated in the toaster oven. “I’d skip it too, but I’m supposed to be reading the lessons, so”—she waved the butter knife at me—“must fulfill my responsibilities.”
“As you always do. Admirably,” I replied while pouring syrup over my toasted frozen waffles.
“Just remember to take your cell phone while you’re working in the garden. What with everything going on, I don’t think any place is safe these days.”
“I will. And I’ll even be extra cautious and lock the back door.”
“Good.” Aunt Lydia examined me as she sipped her coffee. “You look tired. Not surprising, I guess. Maybe you should just rest today.”
“No, I need to be doing something, or I’ll spend the entire day fretting and waiting for a phone call from Brad. Maybe I can sweat off some of my anxiety over Sunny. And nothing clears my mind like working in the garden.”
“Okay. Although, I might suggest something more tasteful than those denim cutoffs and that T-shirt.” She squinted. “What does it say? Something about time . . .”
“‘Wibbly wobbly, timey wimey.’ It’s a Doctor Who reference.”
“Oh, that show.” Aunt Lydia pursed her lips. “So very strange. Anyway, the shirt’s ratty looking, whatever it says. And who knows if you might run into someone . . .”
I waved my fork at her. “Nothing about Richard, please.”
Aunt Lydia ate her bagel in silence. She didn’t speak again until she stood and carried her plate to the sink. “I really don’t understand you sometimes, Amy.”
I finished off the last bite of my waffles. “Don’t feel bad. I don’t understand myself a lot of the time either.”
Turning and leaning back against the deep porcelain sink, Aunt Lydia huffed. “Sorry, but I must say something. I know I only met him once, but it was pretty clear that Charles Bartos was bad news. Now don’t make that face at me. I saw how you behaved when you were dating him—always starving yourself because Charles thought you were getting a little pudgy. Not wanting to plan things with me or your friends because Charles might call. Always worrying whether your hair looked right, or certain clothes made you look fat, or whatever. Totally submerging your own personality to please a man who, frankly, wasn’t worth the powder and shot it would take to blow him up. Let’s face it: you allowed Charles to treat you like dirt for months before he finally dumped you for that violinist. Put up with all his nonsense without a peep, but now you want to give Richard the cold shoulder for heaven knows what reason. I just don’t get it.”
“Learned from my mistake.” I dropped my gaze and furiously stirred my coffee. “And don’t want to make another one.”
“Okay, fair enough. But I don’t think Richard is a mistake. That Charles fellow, yes. I could tell in an instant what he was. Nothing but a raving narcissist.”
My spoon clattered to the table as I stared at her. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Aunt Lydia’s stern expression softened. “Would you have listened?”
I took a deep breath before answering. “No.”
“That’s honest, at least. Oh, look at the clock. I must be off.” She crossed to me and laid one hand on my shoulder. “Of course you should take as much time as you need to figure things out, dear. Just try not to drive Richard away while you’re at it. Because even if you don’t want to date him, I think he’d make a very good friend.”
“You’re right.” I patted her hand before she withdrew it. “In fact, there’s something I need to do this morning before I go outside.”
Aunt Lydia paused in the archway. “Oh, what’s that?”
“Watch a video online.” Seeing her raised eyebrows, I added, “Richard asked me to. One of his choreographed pieces. Not sure what’s up with that, but I promised I would see it.”
“So you must. Our family prides itself on keeping its promises.”
“I know.” I smiled at h
er before she turned away. “Go on. I’ll lock up as soon as you leave.”
“Make sure you do,” she called back to me as she disappeared into the hall.
I waited until I heard the door open and close before I walked out of the kitchen and down the hall. After securing the locks, I ran upstairs and brushed my teeth before heading into the library and grabbing my tablet from its charging station.
Carrying the tablet into the sitting room, I sank into the comfort of the suede sofa and searched for the dance video Richard had mentioned.
Dimensions, he’d called it. I entered the title and his name. A link to the video popped up immediately.
It was an amazing piece. Set to the song “In the End” by Snow Patrol, it incorporated dancers of all shapes and sizes, including some large people who moved more gracefully than I expected. Beginning as a series of repeated gestures and movements, the piece grew into an astonishing tapestry. All of the dancers performed the same steps at one time or another, but their distinctive physiques lent those repeated movements a unique quality that lifted the piece above most contemporary dance I’d seen.
As I glanced at the description under the video, I noticed a link to an interview with Richard. I clicked on it, hoping it would give me a deeper understanding of what this choreography meant to him.
I watched the interview once in stunned silence, then had to dash to the bathroom to grab a box of tissues before watching it again.
Turning off my tablet and laying it on the side table, I stared blankly at the dark television screen hanging on the far wall. After several minutes of reflection, I jumped to my feet and ran into the hall, where I snatched my house key from the ceramic bowl on the side table. Shoving my feet into a pair of sneakers I’d dumped by the front door, I left the house, somehow remembering to lock up before hurrying off the porch.
Standing uninvited at Richard’s door, I leaned on the bell.
He opened the door after only the second ring, wearing gray workout pants and a loose white T-shirt. As usual when he was at home, his feet were bare.
“Amy, anything wrong? You look like you’ve been crying. Not bad news about Sunny, I hope?”
“No.” I took a deep breath. “May I come in? I need to talk to you.”
“Sure.” Richard looked puzzled as he stepped back to allow me to enter the house. “Have a seat,” he added as he locked the door. “Hope you don’t mind if I grab my coffee from the kitchen before I sit down. It’s made, but I haven’t poured any yet. Not sure I can be coherent without it.”
“Of course I don’t mind.” I plopped onto the sofa. “Take all the time you want.”
“Do you want some?” he called out as he headed for the kitchen.
“No, I’m fine.” I leaned back against the sofa cushions, fighting an urge to leap to my feet and pace the room.
Richard returned, carrying a steaming mug. He balanced the coffee cup on a short stack of dance magazines on the coffee table and sat next to me. “So what’s this all about?”
I looked up and over his shoulder, focusing on the bookcase that held Paul Dassin’s research. “You know how you told me to watch your dance thing online?”
“‘Dance thing’?” Richard quirked his eyebrows. “Oh, you mean Dimensions.”
“Yes. Well, I did. And your interview too.”
Richard sat back, stretching his arm across the seat behind my head. “I see. What did you think?”
“It made me cry. Ugly cry, which is why I look like such a mess. But I had to come and talk to you right away, because”—I sniffed back another sob—“because . . .”
“Because?” Richard lowered his arm onto my shoulders.
“Because I have been so stupid, making assumptions while all the time you’ve had that in your past, and I had no idea, and here I was, wanting to put the brakes on anything between us just because I was scared and insecure, and . . .”
“None of that,” Richard said, pulling me close. “It’s not something everyone would know. Not a household name, remember?”
“Yeah, but your friend . . . she was a very close friend too, wasn’t she?”
“Karla? Yes, she was.” Richard adjusted his arm so I could lay my head against his shoulder. “We started out in dance together in an after-school program when we were just kids. When we were both accepted into the conservatory, we were so thrilled”—Richard caressed my arm with his free hand—“so excited to continue to learn and work together. We used to partner all the time. Set solo choreography on each other, practiced duets, challenged one another . . . it was never romantic, although I knew her body as well as my own. And I loved her more than anyone. She was my muse.”
I tilted my head to look up at him. “You said in the interview she was the best dancer you’d ever known.”
Richard’s pensive expression brightened at the memory. “She was. Had the most incredible aptitude. Beautiful technique too, but it was more than that. Karla could interpret emotion better than anyone I’ve ever seen, before or since. She got to the heart of a piece, pulled out its essence, and displayed that through every little movement. Even the tiniest flick of her hand could tell a story or express more emotion than other dancers using every trick in the book. She was a marvel.”
“But you also said she was tall and big-boned.”
“Like a glorious Amazon.” Richard stared at the ceiling. “That’s what I called her. My amazing Amazon. She always liked that”—he dropped his chin toward his chest—“until she didn’t.”
I slid my right arm behind his back, hugging his waist. “Until she couldn’t get into a company. That was the problem?”
“Yeah. She was perfect just as she was, but she stopped believing that. You see, she and I always dreamed about dancing for specific companies. We talked about those troupes incessantly, studied their videos, and attended their performances whenever we could. So as graduation approached, we made our list and spent extra time training for those auditions. It was such hard work, but also an exciting, glorious time, and then”—Richard leaned in, resting his head against mine—“Karla was rejected by every one of them.”
I lifted my hand from his waist and smoothed his dark hair. “Because of her size.”
“Because they couldn’t see past it. They didn’t notice her innate talent, her drive, her technique, her expressive ability, her utter brilliance. All they saw was her height and build. Not right for us, they said, but Karla knew what they meant. Not the right size or shape. That was all that mattered in the end.”
I had heard this already from his online interview, but it didn’t matter. I knew he needed to say it again.
He needed to say it to me.
“I told her it didn’t matter.” Richard straightened. “I said we’d start our own company, or I’d create solos for her, or something. We’d find a way. But she confessed that one of the people auditioning had pulled her aside to suggest she go into teaching and give up performing. Told her that she’d never make it in the professional dance world. It would be impossible, given her build. That was a lie, but Karla believed it.”
Sensing the sudden tensing of his body, I pulled back my arm and slid away.
He turned to face me, his eyes shadowed with pain. “That was the worst of it, you see. She believed that lie more than she believed in me.”
“She left you a note?” I had to concentrate to keep my voice calm.
“In the studio where we always practiced. Where we’d shared so much joy. Yeah, there was a message for me, taped to the barre. Not a suicide note, thankfully, but still a good-bye.” Richard sucked in a deep breath.
“Which involved you in the investigation into her disappearance.”
He nodded. “That’s how I knew what could happen after we found Doris Virts. With the deputies and all their questions and procedures.”
“So Karla left dancing completely?”
“And my life. She told me not to look for her—she was going to disappear and would never dance again.
Of course, I did try to find her but without success. I suppose she changed her name or something.” Richard rubbed his jaw with the back of his hand. “She eventually contacted her family to let them know she was okay. So at least the investigation into her disappearance ended. But her family wouldn’t tell anyone from the dance world where she was. Not even me.”
“That had to be heartbreaking.”
“It was, especially since I felt partially to blame. You see, I had gotten into one of our dream companies.” As Richard lowered his hand into his lap, his fingers clenched into a fist.
“It was about her, not you.”
Richard’s glance pierced right through me. “I did learn that in time. Anyway, at first I thought I’d see her again. I couldn’t picture a world where she’d give up dance completely. She loved it too much. So I always imagined running into her at a dance event, or a performance, or finding out she was teaching at some studio. But I never have. I guess she made good on her promise.”
“Which is very sad for the dance world, as well as for you.”
“It is.” Richard closed his eyes for a moment. “The note wasn’t the only thing, you know. She also left a message for everyone who walked into that studio. She covered the mirrors in lipstick, using harsh words like ‘too big,’ and ‘fat,’ and much, much crueler phrases. She wrote it all out—her hatred for those who told her those things. And worse, her hatred for herself.”
He hadn’t said that in the interview, only that his friend had run away and left the dance world. “I’m sorry, so sorry,” I murmured, feeling like there was nothing else to say.
Richard grabbed me by the shoulders. “So you understand why I don’t want to hear nonsense about body size and all that?”
I nodded. “I also get why you created Dimensions. You wanted to prove them wrong, didn’t you?”
He slid his hands down my arms. “In a way. But more importantly, I wanted to demonstrate that all bodies are beautiful, that all movement is magic, and that there are so many different ways to express reality—so many different ways to see. I wanted to show them how to see.”
A Murder for the Books Page 22