A Dangerous Dance

by Pauline Baird Jones

  “Extreme stress, severe trauma can cause the repression of painful memories and sometimes memory loss.”

  “For so long?”

  “There was, apparently, nothing in your life to remind you until now. Or maybe your mind wasn't ready to deal with it.”

  “I don't feel ready now!” she'd cried out. And she still didn't, but he'd assured her she was. Easy for him to say. He just had to sit and listen and collect his money. He didn't have to live it or feel it. More than anything, she wanted to turn back the clock, not have clicked on the link that took her to the web site with the story.

  She felt the lie of it, even as she told it to herself. She might wish she hadn't done the things she'd done in the past, but the truth was, she couldn't regret being whole again. It was only now, in that fifty-fifty hindsight that she could see that she had been less for not having all of herself in her head the last ten years.

  She heard the gentle whir of Henry's wheel chair behind her. Dear, dear Henry. Would he love the whole her as much as he'd loved the half her? It shamed her that she wasn't sure. Ten years of marriage should count for something, shouldn't it? Even counted against some forgotten truths? Would Henry have loved her with her missing parts? She didn't love him the less for his lost mobility. But that wasn't about his character.

  Her head drooped, even as she quickly closed the window on the computer screen. The wheel chair came closer until he was in her peripheral vision. His hand, less vigorous then when he'd proposed to her, but strong enough, gripped hers.

  “Won't you tell me what's wrong, Kate?” His voice was so gentle, her body shook with the pain of it. His anger would have been easier to take.

  “If these ten years are real, if you've been shaped by them, Kate,” her shrink had said, “then you'll be able to tell Henry the truth.”

  But what was truth? She hadn't just forgotten her past. She'd made up a new one and apparently believed it to be real. How was that possible? The shrink had a word for it. So did Kate. Crazy. If she was having trouble believing it and she'd lived it, how would Henry feel?

  “There's nothing you can't tell me, Kate.” his grip tightened on hers. “Now that I'm...less mobile, if you've needed...more than I can give you...”

  She whirled to face him. “No! Never that, Henry. Never that!”

  “Then what?”

  “It's so much worse than an affair.” She pulled her hand free of his, curled both into fists.

  “I love you.”

  “You won't for long.”

  “Can you trust me so little?” He looked hurt. He would be hurt either way. He held out his hand to her. “Kate?”

  She took a shaky breath, and then took his hand. Where to begin?

  “I...have...had a sister.” Through his hand she felt surprise jolt through him. And this was only the beginning.

  * * * *

  Titus would have yet another conniption, but Dorothy didn't care. For this visit, she didn't need any shadow but her own. It had been easy enough to get Vonda Vance's address. Those useful contacts of Magus's. The concierge got her a cab and he knew the address. The drive over was bumpy, but that was because of the city's infamous potholes. Any other time, she'd have enjoyed the drive through the city streets. She'd forgotten how interesting New Orleans was, with its mix of old and new, fast and slow.

  Vonda's apartment complex was not particularly attractive, but it wasn't a complete dive either. For some reason, this reassured her. At least her life hadn't been awful after her husband went to prison.

  There was still a police car out front, but none of the other trappings of a crime scene. Dorothy paid the cab and went inside. Vonda's apartment was on the second floor. Gravity pulled against her as she climbed the stairs, releasing her reluctantly. At the end of the hallway, she saw an open door. Inside a cop and a woman stood talking among the chaos of the tossed apartment. They both turned to watch her approach with a curiosity that increased as it became clear where she was heading.

  “I called earlier,” Dorothy said. “Did I speak with you?” She looked at the cop.

  He nodded, looking a bit flustered. He was young, painfully young to Dorothy's eyes.

  “You're Dorothy Merlinn?”

  The woman with him jerked at the sound of Dorothy's name. “You're the Wizard's daughter?”

  “I'm afraid so.” Dorothy gave her an apologetic look as she studied her.

  She was medium everything, build, coloring, height, weight and dress. The only exception was a pair of glasses hanging from her neck on a lurid, beaded chain. It was the kind of interesting incongruity that Dorothy loved.

  “I'm Leda Tasker. Vonda was a friend and coworker.” She tried to look suspiciously at Dorothy, but her curiosity kept getting in the way. “He said Vonda called you last night?”

  “She left a message at my hotel, asking me to call her,” Dorothy confirmed. “Have you heard anything...?”

  Leda shook her head, worry pushing out everything else on her face. “They found a suitcase with her things and her purse in the bushes below her window with everything tossed around it.”

  “It seems she may have climbed down a fire ladder,” the cop added.

  Dorothy looked at the mess. “I take it this isn't normal for her?”

  “Hardly! Vonda was very neat!”

  Books were strewn about. Her CD cases had been opened, the discs dumped, the covers pulled out, and then thrown into a pile. Drawers were opened, the contents tossed. Cushions had been ripped open. The desk looked like a category five hurricane had hit it. Even the refrigerator hung open, the contents clearly searched, then dumped on the floor.

  “Do the other rooms look like this?” Dorothy asked, dully. If any letter had been here, it had been found. Someone had, so far, managed to stay one step ahead of her all the way.

  “But nothing seems to be missing,” the cop said. “Money was still in her wallet, TV and stereo still here.”

  Leda looked tense and her eyes were wide with worry. “Do you know what they were looking for?”

  Dorothy hesitated, wondering how much to say. She hated those mysteries where no one told anyone anything. “I think she had something she wanted to give me. I had the impression it had something to do with my father's murder.”

  “You think Verrol finally told her who hired him?” Veda asked. “You mean that idiot put her in danger like that? He's lucky he's already dead!”

  “He may have thought she'd want to know. Or that it would be financially beneficial to her,” Dorothy said carefully. “I'd have certainly paid her for it.”

  Leda looked fierce. “She wouldn't have wanted money, just justice. She was a good person!”

  “I would have wanted to help her, just the same,” Dorothy said. “I would have liked to know.”

  Leda calmed. “If she got down the ladder, she might be hiding somewhere, afraid to come out?”

  Dorothy glanced around, trying to imagine what she'd do in this place with a killer outside the door? She could feel the residue of fear now. She recognized it from last night. Also the enmity and the fear of the killer, fear of exposure and capture, perhaps?

  The search had a methodical look to it. He'd felt he had time. But then it had gotten more frenetic. He hadn't found anything. He was getting frustrated. She went over and looked in the bedroom. The curtain had been ripped back, as if by an angry hand. He'd looked out, realized she'd fled, taking what he was looking for with her. She couldn't have been gone long. Perhaps he'd seen her shadow moving in the apartment before he came up? Because just getting the letter wouldn't be enough. The information was inside her head now.

  Beneath the fear, Dorothy also felt resolve and courage. Vonda had shown presence of mind by going out the fire ladder. She'd have known why she was in danger and probably tried to secure the secret some way. But where would she put it that the killer wouldn't find, but a friendly would?

  “You didn't find anything in her stuff, I take it?” Dorothy asked.

  Le
da shook her head. “Whoever was after her found it, as well. It had been searched.”

  Great. “What about your mail box? Did you check it this morning?”

  Leda looked startled. “No!”

  She ran out of the room. The cop looked at Dorothy, then as one they turned and followed.

  * * * *

  He watched from the shadows as Dorothy, the cop and a woman ran out of the building, then to the front of the next. The woman stopped at the row of mailboxes. Did they think he hadn't thought of that? He'd looked in them all and found nothing.

  He saw their shoulders droop. They talked for a bit, and then started to walk, not back to Vonda's place, but around the building. They were looking at the ground. Did they think they were Indian scouts who could find footprints on cement? They turned the corner, out of sight. Curiosity had him starting the car. He had to keep his distance, but if he drove to the end of the complex, turned down the side, then around the corner to the rear of the complex.

  Now they were standing between two cars, looking at something. He couldn't see what. Dorothy, sharp-eyed and reckless, was now walking around the area, looking at the ground very carefully. She'd find it soon, damn it. Yes, she'd stopped. An exclamation, the other two hurried to join her, but she was already following the trail. Around the garbage containers. To the fence. She placed a foot on the ramp of the container and climbed up.

  Don't look, he thought. Let the cop look...

  She dropped down. Even from here he could see her white face. The cop climbed up to look at the body he'd dumped there, Dorothy put her arms around the sobbing woman.

  Three bodies in three days. Must be some kind of record. For both of them.

  * * * *

  Remy came as soon as his show was over. The crime scene had mostly been wrapped up, and the body removed. Titus had beaten him there, and was smoldering just off Dorothy's right shoulder. He wouldn't chew her out in front of Leda, but he made sure she knew how he felt.

  Dorothy saw him and started toward him, then stopped. Where did play acting stop and reality begin? She didn't know. Fortunately, he closed the distance, wrapping her in a warm, comforting embrace. Over his shoulder, she could see a photographer snap a picture. She was glad he was there. Because he was, she could lay her head on Remy's shoulder without him misunderstanding it.

  Remy didn't say anything about her solo foray into detecting, for which she was grateful. She was a grown-up, even if Titus refused to treat her like one.

  “You're having an interesting week, aren't you?” Remy murmured against the top of her head. This massive understatement had her pulling back to look at him. Because of Leda next to her, she didn't smile, but she knew he saw it in her eyes for a moment.

  She turned to Leda, whose eyes were red and swollen from crying.

  “This is Leda Taster, a friend of Vonda's.”

  “I'm sorry about your friend,” he said, shaking her hand. “She was always nice to us back then, even when we weren't always nice to her.”

  Leda's eyes filled up with tears. “She was a good person. She didn't deserve this.”

  “How...” Remy stopped, as if he realized there was no tactful way to ask the question.

  “She was shot,” Dorothy said.

  “Then discarded like old rags,” Leda finished.

  “You said her apartment was trashed?”

  Dorothy nodded. “It's hard to tell if the killer found anything. I know we didn't.”

  Dorothy wanted to burrow back into his arms. It was painfully hot, but she was so cold, it felt like she'd never be warm again. She couldn't get the image of Vonda's dead, staring eyes out of her head. She wasn't aware she was fidgeting until Remy caught her restless hands in his.

  “What's this?” He held up the plastic tape dispenser she'd been fussing with.

  For a moment, Dorothy couldn't remember, then, “I found it. On the ground over there. I forgot I had it. Someone must have dropped it.”

  As soon as she said the words, her thoughts jumped on them. Someone? It looked fresh, like new. There was no dust or anything to indicate it had been there long. What if Vonda had dropped it last night? She could feel excitement spike inside. She looked at Remy, could tell he had reached the same conclusion, but he shook his head.

  He was right. If they found anything, they'd just have to turn it over to the police. Much better to get a look at it first. Luckily, Leda seemed oblivious to any nuances or enlightenment. Dorothy patted her back and handed her another round of tissues, while the police slowly, ever so slowly, withdrew from the scene.

  “Leda,” Dorothy asked, as if it didn't matter, “when you checked your mail box, did you feel down inside or just look?”

  Leda blew her nose before answering. “I don't know.” She frowned. “I think I just looked. Why?”

  “Would you mind if we checked again? I have an idea.”

  “What—?” Leda began. Dorothy held up the tape. “What? Oh. Oh!”

  “Do you think she was able to hide it from who killed her?” Titus asked, interest bumping out his annoyance with her.

  “I think,” Dorothy looked at Leda, “that she was a very brave person. It took guts for her to call me. I'd like for her death to mean something. That's what I think.”

  Leda smiled, a shaky smile, but the first real smile Dorothy had seen from her. “Me, too.”

  It didn't take them long to be back at the bank of mail boxes. Leda opened hers and felt around inside. Then, shook her head. “Nothing there.”

  Titus started to step forward. “What about one of the others.”

  Dorothy couldn't stand by anymore. “I'll check.”

  She and Remy started at opposites ends of the row, feeling inside each box. The one right next to Leda, she felt something taped against the inside of the outside. Clever girl. No one would see it unless they stood on tip toe to look in. And she almost hadn't felt it taped so securely to the side. She scraped at the tape until it gave way and pulled it free.

  It was a zip lock bag. With an envelope inside. All three drew close as she turned it over. It was addressed to Vonda Vance and the return address was Verrol's, with Leda's name and a note to her added to the outside.

  “That's Vonda's handwriting,” Leda said.

  “Maybe we should go some place more private,” Titus said, his hungry gaze on the envelope.

  Dorothy understood. He'd waited a long time for justice to catch up with the man who killed Magus, too. It was partly what kept them together. They both needed to move on, but couldn't until they knew.

  “No one can see us from the street,” Remy said. He took the package and pulled the letter free of its envelope, then unfolded it. She and Leda each grabbed a side, so they could read with him. Titus watched tensely, as they all read the words Vance wrote to his wife:

  * * * *

  My dearest Vonda,

  If you're reading these words, then I'm dead. I want you to know that you are the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you so much and I'm so sorry for what I put you through. I know you want to understand how it all happened. I know that's important to you and I want you to understand. Just be aware that it may not be as cleansing as you expect. Some knowledge binds rather than sets you free. Please consider carefully before you dive into the mud hole that is my life, the life I tried so hard to keep you from ever finding out about.

  I hope you will also forgive me for not doing as you asked, and revealing who hired me during the trial. As odd as it may seem, considering what I am, my word is my bond. It may not seem like much, but other than you, my word was all I had. However, my death frees me of that obligation.

  I realize you didn't ask for this burden, but if you can, please finish this on my behalf. I'm not sure if it's revenge or justice, but trust me when I say either is well deserved.

  That said, if you can't do it, I understand. Burn this letter or put it somewhere safe. It's your decision. I know the money I was paid won't interest you, but there is a lot of
it, and with it, all the answers to all the questions anyone might have.

  To protect you, I've hidden the information and only you, or someone who knows you, will be able to figure out how to find it. Please take all precautions. This information is dangerous to you. It is selfish of me, I know, but it is only the thought of you out there, living and remembering me, remembering us, that keeps me going in here.

  Okay, if you're still with me, the path to the information and money lies in our past and in our future. If you think back, you'll know exactly what I mean. Do you remember the day we met? I can't forget it. You took my breath away and just thinking of you now, it happens all over again. I think my cell mate is getting worried about me. :-)

  If you wouldn't mind, would you also please look after my mom. I know I've mostly been a disappointment to her, but with me gone, she won't have anyone.

  I love you so much and I hope that someday you'll be able to forgive me for what I was, for what I do and for what I didn't do for us.

  Your loving husband,

  Verrol

  * * * *

  She looked up, unable to speak, as the tragedy of it caught in her throat. She felt like an intruder into something personal and intimate.

  Titus met her gaze. “Well, what does it say?” His voice was flat and deadly.

  Dorothy shook her head. Leda gave a soft sob.

  “What an idiot he was,” she said. “If only...” She stopped, looking at Dorothy.

  Dorothy smiled. “Yeah. If only.” She looked at the letter again. “What do you suppose he meant by the answers lying in their past?”

  “Obviously, he thought it was something she'd understand, but not just anyone else,” Remy said, his tone reflective. He looked at Leda. “She seemed to think you'd understand?”

  Leda rubbed her head, obviously finding it difficult to concentrate. “Their past. I'm not sure. It could mean anything, couldn't it?”

  “Let's start with something simple,” Remy said. “How long were they married? Did you know them their whole marriage?”

  Leda nodded. “Yeah, I've known Vonda since we both started work at the library. That's where she met Verrol. At the library.”