2 Dancing With Death

by Liz Marvin

  Betty felt a sharp pain on her forehead. When she was safely on the other side of the snow mobile, she reached up. Her bangs were ragged and blood seeped slowly from a cut across her forehead where the bullet had just grazed her forehead.

  Betty looked at the blood on her hand in disbelief. She dimly heard two other shots ring out and a thud behind her as Harry fell to the ground. But she couldn’t do anything other than stare at the blood on her hand.

  And stare.

  And stare.

  “Betty,” Bill said from right in front of her. His tone was one of complete panic. She looked up at him in a daze, and his eyes widened when he saw the blood on her forehead. “Oh, God.” He took her face in his hands, brushing gently at the wound to make sure it wasn’t serious. When he saw it was just a graze he breathed out a deep sigh before pulling Betty into his arms hugging her desperately. “Oh, God,” he repeated. “I thought I’d lost you.” He kissed the top of her head, stroking her hair and holding her tight.

  Betty relaxed into his hold, bringing her arms up to clutch at his shoulders. It was over. And she was safe. Safe. And Bill was holding her.

  She didn’t want him to let go.

  But, after a moment, Bill pulled back. Officer Park appeared behind them. “He’s dead,” he said flatly. Bill nodded, unsurprised. Betty couldn’t find it in herself to be sorry. Harry had had a gun trained on her. She only felt relieved that it was over.

  The killer had been caught.

  End of story.

  “Miss Crawford,” Officer Park said, “while your help in this investigation was invaluable, I’m tempted to bring you up on charges! You could’ve been killed, and I expressly ordered you to stay out the investigation. In addition,” he snapped, “your actions in the golf cart were both foolhardy and reckless.” Officer Park’s voice grew louder, his face reddening. “I should write you tickets for reckless endangerment and leaving the scene of an accident, not to mention stealing and wrecking a vehicle! And where are your glasses?” He roared.

  Betty blinked at him. How did he know she needed glasses? Bill looked at her apologetically, pulling a glasses case from his jacket’s inner pocket. “I’m sorry,” he said, although Betty was unsure who he was apologizing to. “I didn’t give them to her yet.” He handed Betty the glasses, explaining, “Your optometrist got them sent up with Officer Park. They’re friends.”

  Betty looked at the glasses case in her hand.

  He’d handed them to her so… nonchalantly. As though it didn’t matter one whit that she’d suddenly developed an inability to see anything other than blurs past five or ten feet.

  Her objections to letting him know about her new disability… all that worry and panic she’d undergone on the car ride up… it seemed so pointless now.

  Bill turned to Officer Park. “Let me talk to her,” he said, “I’ll take care of it.”

  Officer Park nodded. “See that you do.” He took out his cell phone from his pocket and stepped a few yards away to make a phone call. Betty focused all of her attention on Bill, who was crouched on the ground in front of her.

  “Betty…” Bill began. He stopped. “Listen,” he said after a moment. “What you did this morning was reckless, irresponsible, and could have gotten you and other people hurt or killed. But,” he said, forestalling her protest, “I understand why you did it, and, in the end, you were right. We wouldn’t have caught Harry without your help, and we might never have known who the killer was. And all the actions you took you took in the heat of the moment in an attempt to do the right thing. You don’t deserve a ticket for today.”

  Betty leaned back against the snowmobile, relieved that Bill understood. She hadn’t been trying to get herself almost killed. That had just been an unfortunate side effect.

  “But,” Bill continued, his voice turning stern. “What you did on the way to the hotel does deserve a ticket.”

  “Wait, what?” Betty asked, shocked. Bill was writing her a ticket? She thought that he understood! But, the proof was right in front of her as Bill pulled his ticket book out of his pocket and started filling out the information. He continued to talk as he wrote, keeping his voice soft enough that there was no chance Officer Park could overhear.

  “You should never have gotten behind the wheel of that car if you couldn’t see to drive. You put your life in danger. You put your friends’ lives in danger, and every other driver on the road between Lofton and where we switched seats.”

  When he put it that way….

  Bill met her eyes squarely as he handed her the yellow sheet. “Friends don’t put friends in danger because they’re too vain to say they need help.”

  Betty took the slip, knowing he was right. She’d been stupid.

  She just couldn’t stand the idea of Bill knowing she had diabetes. She’d been certain that if he knew she was sick, he’d walk away from any chance of dating her without a second thought.

  Now, seeing how little Bill cared about her needing glasses, Betty wondering if she might be wrong. Bill wasn’t upset about her handicap, he was upset about her attempt to hide it. Might he be able to come to terms with her disease?

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t going to get an answer to her question now. While she’d been staring at the ticket lost in thought, Bill had gone to talk with Officer Park.

  Betty put the ticket in her pocket and grasped the glasses case. It was small and rectangular and brown. It seemed so inconspicuous to contain such an important item.

  She took a deep breath. Glasses. She hated the very idea of needing them, but it wasn’t like she had any choice. And now Bill knew, so there was no real point to hiding it any longer. If Bill knew, her other friends would as well.

  Would Bill and Wes be able to guess that she had diabetes? Would they... no. She had to stop that line of thought right there. That line of thought was what had gotten her in trouble in the first place.

  Betty opened the case and put the glasses on before she could think about it any more. Her eyes watered, and she pressed her fingertips against her lids. Then she opened her eyes slowly, letting her eyes adjust.

  The whole world looked different. Betty realized that she’d become so accustomed to not being able to see properly, that she hadn’t even missed seeing details. Now, the entire world seemed sharp. The trees behind her were no longer tall stalks with blurry blobs on top. Each branch was set in high relief. If she wanted, she could count the mountains of the range. She could see the shed, and noted for the first time that it was weather worn, the paint peeling away in short curls.

  And, in the door of the shed, right by the hinge, Betty could see a bullet lodged in the wood.

  Betty got up to investigate. It took a moment for her to adjust to her new vision, so she more stumbled than walked to the shed. When she reached the bullet, she reached out a fingertip to touch it, and stopped herself just in time. This was evidence, not something she could poke and prod at just because she was curious.

  Something shone in the sunlight and Betty leant closer. A strand of hair was caught between the bullet and the doorjamb. It matched her hair color.

  Betty reached up, feeling the ragged edges of her bangs.

  This was the bullet that had grazed her. Betty was sure of it.

  But, if this was the bullet then Harry couldn’t have shot it. He’d had the gun aimed right at her chest. If he shot and missed, the bullet would’ve wound up somewhere in the woods behind where the snowmobile had crashed.

  Betty broke a straight-looking icicle that was hanging from the roof edge of the shed, and positioned it to follow the path the bullet would have taken. She was careful to match the angle of the icicle to angle of the bullet, so that they formed one straight line.

  Sure enough, one end of the icicle pointed at the bullet and the other pointed in a completely different direction from where Harry had been standing. It pointed through the parking lot, to the tree line almost half a mile away.

  Betty felt a shiver of fear run up her body, joi
ning the very real shivers of cold. Someone had shot at her to kill, and it hadn’t been Harry.

  CHAPTER 30

  With the murder of Marissa solved, and the recovery of the Loving Cup, it was as though a dark cloud had been lifted from over the competition. The last of the competitive rounds had finished that morning while Betty was off solving crimes, and with the end of judging had come the end of a great deal of tension. Dancers who’d been strung tight as a wire, running on adrenaline and stress alone, were able to take a step back from the negativity of competition and simply enjoy themselves.

  At the end-of-competition party, Betty watched in bemused amazement at girls who’d been avidly insulting each other embraced and swapped stories of the past year, talking about everything from common dance acquaintances to births and marriages.

  And this time, when the dancing started, Betty could see every detail.

  The string quartet started off with a slow dance, as though to ease party-goers into the idea of dancing just for fun. Dancers of all levels crowded the dance floor, dressed in their most comfortable finery.

  There was scarcely a high heel in the bunch, but there were still plenty of sequins. The light bounced off dresses and sparkling ties, sending jets of light in an almost disco-ball like effect across the air. The dancers all moved in sync, twirling and dancing with abandon.

  It took Betty’s breath away.

  The string quartet drew out their final notes before taking a bow to polite applause.

  Emily Knolhart took the stage, graceful as ever. Her hair was done up in a bun, her floor-length gown glimmering.

  “Hello!” she said cheerily through the microphone. “How is everyone this afternoon?” A few scattered bits of applause and cheering answered her. “It’s been quite a competition, hasn’t it?” Miss Knolhart asked wryly. Laughter popped up throughout the crowd. “Well, I’m glad to say that, thanks to our fine officers and their friends, the Loving Cup will continue to grace the Legacy Trust Competition!”

  This time, the cheers were more solid.

  After a moment, Miss Knolhart held up her hand. “Yes,” she said, “they deserve your cheers and applause for much longer. However, we have prizes to hand out!”

  Betty looked about at the other faces in the crowd, confused. All the competition winners had been announced at an official award ceremony earlier in the day. What other prizes could there be?

  But, the entire crowd was watching a hotel staff member wheel out a tray laden with trophies and engraved knick knacks.

  Betty had no idea what was going on.

  “We’ve had to add a few new categories this year,” Miss Knolhart continued, “for some extraordinary people who weren’t able to fit into any old category. In fact,” the doyenne proclaimed, picking up the first trophy from the table, “our first winner is in one of those new categories. Eliza Bickens, will you please come forward and accept your award for “Most Shiny Shoes!”

  Betty laughed along with the rest of the crowd as Eliza walked forward to accept her prize, a huge grin on her face.

  The other prizes were a mix of funny and serious, ranging from “Best Comeback for an Injured Dancer” to “Most Twirled.” For Betty, the highlight of the ceremony was when Clarise and Wes won “Most Congenial Couple.”

  Betty thought Clarise’s face would split in half, she was grinning so hard. Betty clapped and whistled as they accepted their award.

  Clarise practically skipped back to Betty to show her their prize: a music box of a waltzing couple in evening wear.

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” Clarise gushed. “It’s perfect!”

  Betty admired the prize, agreeing that it was beautiful.

  A few prizes later, the last winner had been announced. But Miss Knolhart wasn’t finished.

  “And now,” she said her tone turning serious. “I have something to tell all of you.” She took a deep breath, the exhale sounding throughout the suddenly quiet room. “I’ve decided that this will be my last year hosting the Legacy Trust Dance Competition. I’m retiring.”

  At that, cries of dismay sounded through the crowd. “You can’t retire!” one girl cried out.

  Betty stared. These were the same people who, just a day or two earlier, had been bashing the doyenne for her pretentiousness and vicious attitude towards her competitors. Now, they were acting like her fan club! Betty shook her head. She didn’t think she’d ever understand dancers.

  After trying to speak into the microphone for a full five minutes, but being unable to make herself heard over the protests, the doyenne held up her hand, smiling. “Oh, all right,” she said. “You’ve convinced me. One more year.”

  The crowd laughed, and Betty realized that this, too, was a part of the tradition. And, no matter how much the crowd despised Miss Knolhart’s competition tactics, she was the host of the competition for a very good reason: she was one of the best ball room dancers of her generation. You didn’t have to like someone to admit they had skill.

  Betty saw Earnest Foone slinking out through the double doors, a sour look on his face. The public display of affection for his Miss Knolhart must have rankled him. Betty was glad to see him go. This new crowd was far too nice to be poisoned by his presence.

  All the competitors gathered on the ballroom dance floor for one last farewell dance. This one was a high-spirited flamenco, and everyone who’d participated in the workshop was invited to join in. But Bill didn’t know how to do the flamenco, so Betty asked him to come outside instead.

  “I have something to show you,” she said. She walked with him to equipment shed, explaining about the bullet in the door jamb on the way.

  When they reached the shed, the bullet was gone, along with Betty’s hair. But the bullet hole remained, and that was enough proof to lend credit to her story.

  Bill agreed that the angle was strange, and that the shot was unlikely to have come from Harry’s gun. He pulled out a pencil, repeating her experiment with the icicle.

  “You’re right,” he said. “The shooter was probably standing in the edge of the woods with a sniping rifle. Let’s go check it out.”

  Bill hopped on the snowmobile and gestured to Betty to sit behind him. He handed her a helmet before putting one on himself.

  “Hold on,” he said, and Betty leant forward, wrapping her arms around his waist. She tried not to think too much of it. After all, they were on a quick investigation trip. It’s not like they were on a moonlit ride with a picnic by candlelight waiting at the end.

  Still, as the snowmobile rumbled to life and jerked forward, she couldn’t help but lean forward a little bit so that her cheek was resting against the back of Bill’s shoulder. As she’d suspected, it was very comfortable. And, if he asked, she could always blame her lack of balance and claim she’d needed a better handhold.

  She closed her eyes as the snow sped by. Bill smelled of cedar and oranges.

  All too soon, the trip was over. Betty dismounted from the snowmobile reluctantly.

  With her new and improved eyesight, it didn’t take Betty long to spot the first bit of proof that someone else had been in this area recently. Track marks from cross country skis wove in between the bushes and tree trunks, just behind the edge of the forest. From the parking lot, the skier would’ve been invisible.

  “The shooter was probably a man,” Bill said quietly. “They were using men’s cross country skis.”

  Betty and Bill drove the snowmobile slowly along the tracks, keeping a sharp eye out for any deviations. After a few minutes of searching, they found the end of the tracks. A small area where the shooter had stood and shifted about was packed flat. They turned to look down at the view from the tree line at that spot, and saw that the shooter had had a clear view of the entire parking lot, including the shed and where Bill and Officer Park had been standing, with their back turned towards the shooter.

  They could’ve been gunned down very easily, Betty realized. So why had the shooter chosen her as a target?

 
“Whoever did this was a professional,” Bill said. “They weren’t sloppy about it at all. They even collected the bullet.” He looked at Betty. “I’m sure they were after Harry though. They probably just made a bad shot. Maybe they were startled by something.”

  Betty wasn’t too sure that they’d been after Harry. If the shooter was as good as Bill thought, then six or seven feet would’ve been a wide margin to miss by. From where they were standing, the shooter wouldn’t have been able to get to Betty once she’d ducked behind the snowmobile. If the shooter had been startled by anything, Betty thought it must’ve been her sudden movement to duck for cover. She told Bill as much. Bill laughed.

  “Not everyone’s out to kill you Betty! This is just a simple case of you getting grazed by a shot meant for someone with connections to the mob. That’s all!” he eyed the tracks again, before shaking his head.

  “Come on,” he said. “If you drive, I’ll call Officer Park on the way back to let him know what we found. He’ll check the scene to see if there’s anything we missed.”

  CHAPTER 31

  On the car ride back to Lofton, Bill drove. Clarise and Wes sat in the back seat, cuddled up together as they laughed and reminisced about the weekend. Theft and murder aside, they’d had a blast. They were already planning their next trip to a competition.

  Betty stared out the window at the snowy forest racing past. The clear blue sky and bright sunshine made for a cheery-seeming day, but Betty wasn’t in the mood to be giddy over the beautiful weather. She was livid.

  Every time she had a theory about a crime, Bill didn’t believe her until she was able to hit him over the head with proof. She was getting sick of it. The man needed to accept that sometimes, just sometimes, Betty’s instincts and guesses were spot on.

  Betty knew that someone had tried to kill her.

  What she didn’t know was why.

  And Bill didn’t believe her.

  That didn’t bode well for either her safety or her love life.