by Norma Lehr
“If he’s still planning to appear here, I want to see him,” the woman said. “He’s so funny! I saw him at a comedy club in Palm Springs last year.”
The man grunted. “I think he stinks. Why would he show? The Toppettes won’t dance now.” He sounded disappointed.
“I asked their coach, and she said ‘maybe.’ It’ll be morbid, though, if they do. I don’t care if they don’t. I came to see T.J. Barry.”
Abby stood and turned to go, but she glanced back as she went out the wrought iron gate. The woman wore a huge sun hat, dark glasses, and a heavy sweater draped around her shoulders. The man, bare-chested in long tan shorts, chewed on an unlit cigar. Figures. Some people demand to be entertained no matter what tragedy surrounds them. Then again, perhaps they demanded it because of that tragedy. She left them chatting as she made her way up the steps and into the hotel.
Abby slipped around the bar, past the gambling area, and across to the young woman at the front desk.
“I can’t believe what’s happened.” The clerk’s eyes immediately became teary. “First Melanie Mars, my mother’s favorite Toppette, and now Dana Johanssen.”
Yesterday this same clerk had proclaimed Abby as her mother’s favorite. “I know, it’s all terrible, but right now I need the room numbers of the other dancers.”
“Of course.” She went to the computer and did a printout. “I forgot to give you this yesterday. It’s a list of the entertainers and their room numbers. Right now some of the dancers are with your coach and the reporters in the Celebrity Room.” She gave a deep sigh. “Suppose we’ll all be on TV this evening.”
Gail and Blythe’s rooms were next door to each other on the eighth floor. Abby stepped from the elevator and faced a long window. Grasping the windowsill, she drew in a sharp breath. Vertigo. The result of all the stress, no doubt. She had suffered from intermittent dizziness since childhood; it would always come and go without warning. From this level and higher, tower guests had a practically unimpeded view of the lake and the surrounding snow-capped mountains. The clouds had moved on and the autumn sun shone brightly over the entire Tahoe area; unfortunately Abby couldn’t enjoy the panorama. Stepping away from the window, she turned right and followed the red carpet down the long hall. When she knocked, no one answered at either door. She’d been so busy dodging the news trucks out front, she’d forgotten to check to see if Renee’s car was in the parking lot. Could Blythe and Gail still be out and about? Or being interviewed by the press in the Celebrity Room?
Detective Fromer said he’d be at the Cal Neva in an hour. Abby checked her watch. That would be just about now. She had really wanted to talk to Gail and Blythe alone before he showed; perhaps there was still time. At the far end of the hall a maid wheeled a cleaning dolly out of a room. Abby had an idea. If she could get into either of their rooms and rummage around, look for a tea bag labeled Mel-something or see if Gail had anything incriminating in her packets of Powrdanz … Hmm … But how?
“Hola,” Abby approached the Hispanic maid. “Habla Ingles?”
The small woman stepped back behind her dolly. “Hola.” She held up her index finger and thumb and almost squeezed them together. “Pequita Ingles.”
In her best Spanglish combined with gestures, Abby tried to get the message across that she’d forgotten her key. She motioned toward the other end of the hall then pointed to the printout of the room numbers she held in her hand. To prove she was a dancer, she did a soft shoe shuffle on the carpet.
The maid smiled, flashing a gold tooth, and nodded. “Si.” She motioned for Abby to follow. Abby picked a room and the maid let her in.
She closed the door and leaned against it. What was she doing? Snooping, that’s what. Well, she’d better snoop for whatever and get out of there before Blythe came back, because that’s whose room she was standing in, uninvited. She strode over to the window, hesitated a moment and looked down. Good! The dizziness had passed.
The same middle-aged couple was still seated poolside.
Across from them, at a table with a gold and white striped umbrella, sat Jan, Gail, Blythe, and Renee. The Celebrity interviews were over. As long as they stayed put, she could search.
With frequent glances out the window, Abby set to work. Blythe’s clothes were strewn everywhere. Would she know if Abby had moved them? She tried hard not to rearrange things as she looked for the tea packs. If indeed it was Blythe who had visited Melanie last night and made her tea, perhaps she’d brought the cup back up here to her room. If she had gone to that trouble, that would mean she didn’t want anyone to know of her visit—a visit that had driven Melanie Mars to tears.
Blythe’s daughter in a graduation cap and gown smiled proudly from a framed miniature on the bedside table. Abby picked up the frame and smiled back, realizing how much Blythe’s only child meant to her and wondering why she hadn’t thought of bringing recent pictures of her twins to pass around. Next time, she told herself. That is, if there ever was a next time after this murderous reunion.
She lingered in the middle of the room and gazed around. No tea bags in sight. She opened all the dresser drawers. Empty. Next, she opened Blythe’s suitcase and lightly felt around, careful not to disturb her clothing. No tea bags anywhere. What did that mean? Had she brought just enough for one night and one morning for each of the dancers? Abby pondered. Or did Blythe have a load of packets in that oversized woven bag she carried around with her all the time?
Then she spotted a camera lens peeking out between two rolls of dance tights in the front zipper pocket of Blythe’s tote bag. No, no! That person at the dam taking pictures couldn’t have been Blythe. She wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a baseball cap. Yet ...
The covers were thrown back to the foot of the bed. The hotel maid hadn’t been here to clean. She checked the two trash cans—the one next to the TV and the other in the bathroom. No sign of a tea bag or a thermal cup.
Wait. She spotted a pack of Berry Shuffle Powrdanz next to Blythe’s cosmetic bag. Gail must have given Blythe an extra packet this morning. What if Gail’s Powrdanz and not Blythe’s tea had been the drink that had poisoned Melanie? Why would Gail do that? Assuming it wasn’t to have center stage, could there be another reason? People had strange motives to commit murder. She knew that from Agatha’s novels.
However, this wasn’t fiction. This was the real thing, and two murders had been committed. It couldn’t be the lottery money, now that Dana had been killed. Hmm, what would happen to all of those millions? Who were the contingent beneficiaries? Wasn’t that the legal term? When she checked the window for the final time, the dancers had all left the pool area. Whoops, time to get out. She slipped through the door, went back, grabbed the packet of Powrdanz, and checked the long hall. The maid was nowhere in sight as Abby headed for the stairs.
There had been no reason to rush. When she reached the lobby, she was immediately ushered into the Indian Room by the hotel’s security guard to join Detective Fromer, who was introducing himself to the dancers and Jan.
“Now that you’re all present, I wanted to give you a brief update.” He proceeded to go over the basics. Abby quickly realized that he wasn’t sharing anything they didn’t know already. “I’d like to talk to each of you alone about your connections with Ms. Mars and Ms. Johanssen.” He held a folder in his hand and opened it. “Miss Rollins, I know you answered Deputy Eckles’ questions already, but I’d like to ask you a few more. Why don’t the rest of you wait just outside the Indian Room?”
The others stood and wove their way out through the glass doors into the casino area. Renee glanced back over her shoulder at Abby and mouthed, “Good luck.” Abby remained seated while Fromer pulled up a chair and leaned back, resting an ankle on the other knee. He made a few notes on paper before he began. “What do you think is going on here, Miss Rollins?”
Trying not to squirm, she said, “Call me Abby. Please.”
The detective nodded. First, he asked about finding Dana’s body and Ab
by repeated what she’d seen. Then he paused. “Abby, I’d like you to tell me about the other Toppettes. Are any of them holding a grudge, and if so, are they angry enough to kill? Was there any incident in the past that might have eventually led to murder?”
Abby hesitated. She must be careful. Anything she said could be twisted into a motive. “You believe one of us did this awful thing?”
Fromer leaned a little to the right. “I didn’t say that. I have no theories at this time. This is an investigation. We have a poisoning; the Tox report came back positive.” He checked his paper. “The other victim, Dana Johanssen, succumbed to a blunt force trauma to the back of the head. The way I see it, we could have two perpetrators. Poison is usually the weapon of choice for a woman, but an all-out attack with a blow to the head takes strength.” He looked up at her, and his blue eyes narrowed. “If it wasn’t a man, it would have to be an unusually strong woman.”
Now Abby was squirming; she simply couldn’t help it. “All of us are very fit. We’ve been dancing for years. But none of us is capable of doing something so horrific; I couldn’t in a million years come up with a ‘why.’ ”
While Fromer went back to his notes, Abby gazed through the glass doors that led to the casino. She could see Gail and Blythe playing blackjack. Renee was pacing in front of the display window of the gift shop, cell phone pressed to her ear.
Maybe Abby couldn’t come up with a ‘why’ right now—a true motive—but that’s what she’d been snooping around for, and she planned to do more snooping as soon as she was finished here. The detective broke into her thoughts. “How do you know Blade Garret?”
“Blade?” Abby tried to sound nonchalant. “He’s an acquaintance, that’s all. He’s a security guard at the mall where I have my shop. He gave me a lift to Tahoe on his way to a car show in Reno.” Stop now, she cautioned herself, before you say too much. The detective’s searching eyes were making her feel intensely self-conscious.
He made a couple of notes on the paper, slid it behind a few other sheets, and stood up. “That’s all for now, Miss … Abby. I’ll probably want to talk to you again later. Best stick around this area. Like I warned before, watch your back. Who knows what the killer has in mind? When you leave, send Renee Colstack in. She’s next on the list.”
Renee folded her cell phone as Abby approached. “You’re next. Take care not to mention Tom Moran.” She gave her friend’s elbow a squeeze. “We’re discoing with Blade at the Biltmore tonight. If I don’t see you before, I’ll meet you in the Biltmore lobby around nine.”
Renee nodded and marched over to the Indian Room. Once inside, she looked back through the glass doors. Even through the glass Abby could sense her anxiety.
Abby smiled encouragingly and took off to the gambling tables. Now would be a good time to have a heart to heart with Blythe.
Chapter 9
Abby found Blythe, her copper hair shimmering beneath the bright casino lights, sitting at a blackjack table with Gail. When Abby said they needed to talk, Blythe nodded, picked up her chips, and left Gail and the gambling crowd behind.
“Oh, honey,” Blythe clucked as she stuffed the gambling chips into her woven handbag. “I hope you don’t think I’ve abandoned you. I know how awful, just awful you must feel after finding, well ... you know what I’m trying to say. No one should have to see such things.” She pulled a hanky from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “Poor Dana. She deserved better.”
“Detective Fromer is going to call you in for questioning soon.” Abby’s voice was cool. “I thought maybe you could answer a couple of questions for me first.”
“Certainly,” Blythe crooned. “We have to stick together in this predicament.”
“Good, then.” Abby guided Blythe over to the snack bar. They ordered lattes, and as soon as they were seated, Abby got to the point. “Did you visit Melanie at her chalet Tuesday night?”
“Me?” Blythe threw up her hands. “Whatever for?”
Abby tried to take all the accusation out of her voice. She could see that she was putting Blythe on the defensive. “Maybe you thought one of your teas would help her sleep.”
Blythe’s chuckle held a hint of sarcasm. “Heavens, no. I figured she’d had enough booze to send her into a deep one.” She looked up innocently. “Wouldn’t you say?”
Abby nodded. “Probably, but if not that night, when did you bring her tea? The next morning before rehearsal?”
“What makes you think I brought her tea at all?”
“Blythe. I know you did. Tuesday night at the bar, when you passed out your teabags, Melanie had already left to go back to her chalet. I have one of your tea labels in my pocket. I found it on Melanie’s vanity.”
Blythe looked shocked. “You went into her chalet? After it was yellow-taped?”
Abby swallowed her guilt, hoping the uncomfortable feeling of ignoring the law would soon pass. She hesitated a moment. Why would Blythe instantly conclude she had gone into Melanie’s after it had been cordoned off? Abby hadn’t mentioned exactly when she’d picked up the tea label. For all Blythe knew, she could have been there Tuesday night, or very early Wednesday morning before rehearsal. “I wanted to see if Melanie had left a suicide note,” She said.
Blythe tapped her cheek. “I can understand that.” She motioned with her chin to the Indian Room. “What about the detective? What did he say?”
“I didn’t tell him. I’ll mention it at some point, and I’m trusting you not to say a word until I do.”
Blythe took a sip of her latte, peering at Abby over the rim of her cup. “When you do tell him what you did, are you going to show him the tea label?”
“I don’t know. Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”
“You can’t think I poisoned Melanie with my tea. Surely you don’t?” Blythe leaned back in her chair and stared at Abby with wide eyes. “Whatever would cause me to do something that evil? Besides, I’ll bet that good detective has found out by now how Melanie was poisoned, and he knows it wasn’t my tea.”
Abby continued on, relentlessly. “If for some reason you did visit Melanie that night, whatever you said upset her. I found her crying uncontrollably on her deck.”
Blythe looked almost smug. “I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but Melanie was always making enemies. She was totally self-absorbed, with no regard for the feelings of others. I’m surprised that someone could touch her deeply enough to make her cry. If so, those must have been tears of self-pity.” She plunked her cup on the table. “This conversation is over. I’m going back to the tables.” She stood abruptly and marched off.
So much for Blythe. She wasn’t about to say how Melanie got that tea bag. Maybe she never would, and she seemed confident, or had tried to convince Abby, that Detective Fromer would conclude she didn’t belong on his list of suspects.
Blythe’s trip to the tables was interrupted by Renee, who tapped her on the shoulder and pointed toward the Indian Room. Abby waved for Renee to join her.
Before Renee had a chance to sit, Abby started questioning her. “How did it go? Did you learn anything new?”
Renee plopped down in the seat Blythe had vacated. “I need one of those.” She lifted Blythe’s empty cup. “I’ll be back and tell you everything.”
“So … what happened?” Abby pushed, after giving Renee time to take a few sips of her coffee. “Fromer didn’t offer much. He mostly asked me what I thought.” She eyed Renee curiously. “You, too?”
Renee shook her head. “Nope. He did most of the talking. Not much asking, just telling. Someone told him that I hated Melanie, and why.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Some big mouth. He also told me what killed her. The lab report said ‘Aconite poisoning.’ ”
“Get out!” Abby gave her a nudge that carried more force than she’d intended. Renee almost fell out of her chair. “Oh! Sorry. What in hell is ‘aconite’? And why would he tell you and not me?”
Renee shrugged. “You got me.” Her hand shook when she lift
ed the paper cup. “He suspects me; I can tell.” Drops from the cup splashed out on her blouse. “Those stuffed animals in that Indian Room didn’t help any—glaring down at me baring those sharp teeth.” She reached for a napkin to blot the splash. “The whole scene was awful. Whoever spilled my past to him really laid it on thick—how I hated Melanie for taking Tom away. Sure. Maybe I did, but I’m no killer!”
Abby was aware of Renee going on and on about old stuff and saying that Tom Moran was nothing but history, but right now her mind was focusing on the poison. “Did Fromer say you’re a suspect?”
“No. But how does all this look?” She slumped in her seat. “It’s my own fault for holding on to past resentment. I’m an Aries, and I just won’t let go of stuff when I should.” She nibbled a fingernail. “I should have listened to you.” Her voice was filled with regret. She made a sweeping gesture. “We shouldn’t have come here.”
“Renee, stop it. Regrets, soul searching, and ‘should haves’ aren’t going to help. I’m wrangling with my own demons. If I’d gone with Melanie that morning to the spa, maybe she’d still be here. And if I hadn’t stopped for Chai tea and arrived at the beach minutes earlier, Dana might still be here, too.”
“Or,” Renee slapped the table, “if you’d been earlier, you might have been killed right along with Dana.”
Abby nodded. “Yeah. There’s that, too. If the killer was under the pier, as Fromer says he might have been ...” She shuddered. “You don’t suppose Fromer thinks I might have killed Dana? Maybe I’m on his list.”
“Well, you’d need to have a motive for him to even consider that.”
Abby agreed and quickly changed the subject. “What went on with the reporters in the Celebrity Room? Did they interview you?”
“Nope. They were looking for the dancer who found the body this morning. They were asking for you.”
Abby blew out a puff of air. “I’m glad I stayed out of it.” She checked her watch. “I’m headed back to our chalet now to call my kids. Did you call Josh?”