Timestep to Murder

by Norma Lehr

Abby stared at him over the rim of her glass. Here it comes! She prepared herself. “You didn’t go to the car show and didn’t come to see me—us—dance?”

  “Yes. All of that.” He nodded. “But I also came because I was hired to follow someone and make a report.

  “A client? Anyone I know? Or should know?”

  Blade hesitated. “Dana hired me. I can’t say why. Not yet.”

  Abby set her wineglass on the white tablecloth. All kinds of scenes ran through her mind. “She hired you to follow someone. Renee?”

  “No. Don’t get all paranoid.” Blade finished off his wine and swiped his mouth with a cloth napkin. “I met Dana about five years ago when I was moonlighting in L.A. Back then, she hired me to get information on someone she thought was monetarily victimizing her friend, Melanie Mars. I did and got the goods she needed to get the guy out of the picture. When this new problem surfaced, she found my website and hired me again. That’s why I was at the beach this morning. We met last night at a pub. Had a drink, discussed a bit of business. She asked if I’d meet her again this morning when you were present, too. She wanted us both to hear the new information she’d uncovered. She insisted on keeping that info a secret from the others at the hotel.”

  “When you met her for a drink, did she tell you about Melanie’s death?”

  “Sure. She was all broken up. Said things were in turmoil, especially their business partnership.” He tapped the table with his finger. “There are huge amounts of money involved, and it’s even more complicated now with Mars’ death. Dana said she needed time to pull herself together. Said she had important calls to make and I didn’t push. She left me at the pub with plans to meet me at the bay early the next morning. Oh, and she gave me a check.” He patted his pocket. “That’s one of the reasons we’re dining at this fancy place.”

  Abby stared out the window at the lights flickering on the dark water. “When will you be able to tell me who Dana hired you to follow?” She sighed. “Now that she’s gone, your job’s over, right?”

  Blade’s eyes narrowed. “No. Just beginning. She paid me to do a job, and I’ll keep on it. I’m more determined than ever to dig up the truth.”

  He pressed his credit card into the black folder next to the dinner check. “The cops up here don’t want my help. They know why I came. Since I’m not a suspect, I can leave whenever. So I’m driving back down the hill in the morning. I’ve got things to check on at the office.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll be back up here around seven tomorrow evening.” He reached across the table and clasped Abby’s hand. “There’s a killer loose. If cornered, this devil might kill again. These Tahoe cops know this, and so do I. Watch your back, and be careful what you say and who you say it to.”

  “Let’s go.” He helped her with her shawl. “Let’s shake some booty!”

  Chapter 12

  Inside the Biltmore’s Aspen Cabaret Showroom, mirror balls rotated from the ceiling, flashing blue lights across the dancers moving to “Rock the Boat.” Nine o’clock on Friday, still early, and the medium-sized dance floor shimmered with lycra. Some of the men who came of age in the ’70s tried to recapture their youth by wearing bell bottoms and gold chains. Their partners, women who had also seen fresher days, twirled around them, pounding the shiny floor in platform shoes.

  The younger set, mostly in their twenties and early thirties, wore “barely there” costumes. Young tattooed guys in skimpy Ts, their bouncy partners in mini-halters that had to be glued to their breasts, and if they weren’t, certainly should be.

  Ah, yes! Times had changed since the disco nights at New York’s Studio 54—the celebrity seventies, when Liza and Bianca had been there. Abby flashed back to one particular night at the Studio when she and Renee, along with other Toppettes, held two-foot sparklers and danced around a birthday cake. They had danced until closing, leaving as the sun rose over the Empire State Building. Energized and hungry, they’d gone for an early breakfast at their favorite dive, Funkies. Those were good days and good memories. Abby felt ready to make some new memories.

  When she and Blade entered the Cabaret, they surveyed the room for Renee. “She’s probably dancing,” Blade said. “If we go out there, we’ll bump into her.”

  Abby stood on tiptoes. “There she is.” She motioned toward the small stage up front. “She’s on the deck with the deejay.”

  Blade took her arm. “Come on. Let’s go rescue the poor guy. She might have a table waiting.”

  When they reached the deejay station flanked by two purple and green lava lamps, Renee’s eyes glowed in the funky mood lighting. “Hello, you two.” Her voice rose with the music. “What took you so long?” She turned back to the deejay wearing headphones. “Meet my new friend, Silver Dude.”

  Dude nodded, slipped in a new disc, turned down the volume, put his mouth close to his head mic and, in a sexy Arsenio Hall baritone, said, “Okay, everybody, Let’s Dance!” After turning the volume back up, he reached across the table and shook Blade’s hand.

  The music blared, and Renee stepped down and led Abby and Blade to a front table with one empty glass. “I had to hang out with the Dude; it was self-defense!” She clapped her hands to her cheeks in exasperation. “You wouldn’t believe some of the losers who’ve asked me to dance.”

  Abby and Blade both apologized, Abby profusely. Blade said, “You came in here alone? Do you think that’s wise after what’s been going on?”

  Renee waved him off. “I said losers asked me to dance. If the right one comes by ...” Her eyes skimmed the room. “I’m not going to let fear stop me. I’m dying to get out on that floor.”

  “If you ladies will excuse me,” Blake said, “I’m off to the bar. What’s your pleasure, ladies?”

  They placed their orders and, after he left, Renee looked at Abby. “Would you share Blade with me for a couple of dances?”

  “Sure.” Abby shrugged. “I wouldn’t call this evening a date—exactly.”

  Blade came back with two wine spritzers and a draft beer. Abby leaned over and whispered to Renee. “A guy sitting alone at a table across the floor has been staring over here. He just got up and is headed this way.”

  Renee didn’t turn her head. “Is he good-looking?”

  “I can’t tell with these blue lights flashing. You’ll know in a minute.”

  The man, sporting a deep tan that even the swirling lights couldn’t hide, zeroed in on Renee. His gold silk shirt—open at the neck to reveal three gold chains—showed through his pricey black leather jacket. “Oh, babe,” he flashed her a toothy smile. “You’re the one I’ve been searching for.”

  Renee’s chin dropped. “I am?”

  “T.J. Barry here. Emcee for your reunion gig over at the Cal Neva.” His eyes found their way to her face after a detour to her cleavage. He held out a hand, flashing a gold pinky ring set with a knuckle-sized diamond. “Let’s dance.”

  Renee glanced first at Abby, then at Blade. Puzzled, she gave a tiny shrug. “Sure. Why not?” She stood, smoothed her red tube dress over her hips, and went off with him, the rhinestones on her jagged hem shimmering under the flashing lights.

  “Wow,” Abby remarked when they were out of earshot. “She fell in with him in nothing flat.”

  Blade leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Smooth operator.”

  “You know,” Abby squinted. “There’s something familiar about him. Hmmm … He’s a comic from L.A.” She looked at Blade. “I wonder if he’s any good. Have you heard of him?”

  Blade stood and offered his hand. “I have, but that’s not important now. Let’s get out there and show everyone how it’s done. I’ve been waiting all day to show you my Travolta moves.” He led Abby onto the floor with a “Staying Alive” strut.

  Under the swirling lights, Abby came alive. The turmoil of the last two days slipped away as she kept up with the driving beat of the continuous mix of music spun for the light show by the DJ. Songs by Donna Summer, Gloria Gaynor, KC & The Sunshine Band, Vicki
Sue Robinson, and the Village People kept her and Blade going non-stop for at least twenty minutes. He matched her move for move and challenged her to outdo herself. Finally he pulled her close and gasped in her ear. “Let’s take a break.”

  His arm around her waist, they wove their way back to the table where Renee and the emcee, their shoulders pressed together, were engrossed in conversation. “Come on. Let’s go to the bar.” Abby guided Blade in the opposite direction. “Looks like Renee found what she was looking for—at least for tonight. Let’s not break it up.”

  Twice Abby saw Blade glance back over his shoulder at the table as they maneuvered their way toward the bar, found empty barstools, and settled in. She slipped off her heels and heaved a sigh. “I don’t know how I used to keep up that pace back in the day wearing platforms.” She reached down and rubbed her toes. “Renee’ll be okay,” she said when she noticed how Blade continued to look in her direction with concern, “Barry was hired to do our show. Jan called and told him about Melanie’s and Dana’s murders.” She shrugged. “He wanted to come anyway. He’s currently performing at Harveys Lake Tahoe. His attention will be good for her, believe me. She’s been upset all day; guess she’s feeling insecure. She’s also worried that Detective Fromer might have her on his list of suspects.”

  Blade slowly swiveled his stool around to face her. “That right? No wonder you thought I might be tailing her. Why would Fromer consider her a suspect?”

  The alcohol had loosened her tongue, and Abby could have kicked herself.

  No reason, really.” She gave a nonchalant shake of her head. “She gets a little paranoid under stress.”

  Blade wouldn’t let up. “What stress?”

  Abby felt uncomfortably warm. “What stress?” Her voice rose. “Fromer’s icy eyes are making all of us feel like we’re under a magnifying glass.”

  Blade held up a defensive hand. “Don’t get upset now. Just curious.”

  Abby simmered down. “Let’s not talk about the murders, okay?”

  Blade nodded. “Whatever you say.”

  “Anyway, this is a lot of fun.” She smiled. “I’m glad you invited us. You’re a great dancer. I’ll bet you can swing, too.”

  “Yep. I call it ‘jitterbug.’ I stick to the old stuff.”

  “I know,” replied Abby. “It goes with the car.” Blade grinned.

  “Look who’s here.” Abby spotted Jan with Melanie’s dealer friend, ordering drinks at the other end of the bar. “Wow! She’s dressed for the occasion. The side slit on that miniskirt practically cuts up to her waist.”

  Blade turned and nodded appreciatively. “Why not? She’s got the figure for it.”

  Abby felt a tiny twinge of envy. She adjusted the ruffle on her deep-cut sheath, wondering why Blade’s comment about a younger woman should matter.

  With a drink in her hand, Jan left the dealer at the bar and pushed through the dancers until she reached Renee’s table. She stood close to Barry, leaned over, and said something to Renee. Barry stood, and with Jan in the lead, the two left Renee and the Cabaret.

  Blade raised an eyebrow. “Wonder what that’s about?”

  “Maybe they needed to discuss the show. The decision to perform or not to perform tomorrow night is in limbo. Jan must want to get the loose ends tied up with the assistant manager.”

  “Here comes your friend, and she doesn’t look happy.”

  Renee raced up to the bar, skirting the side of the dance floor. “Well,” she huffed. Her eyes widened, and her flushed face matched the color of her dress. “You’ll never believe this. Our emcee is Tom Moran, aka T.J. Barry, thirty pounds heavier and wearing a toupee!”

  Abby was shocked. “The comic? Here, incognito?”

  “No, no, no.” Renee impatiently waved her hand “Barry’s his stage name. He said he borrowed that name from Barry White because—way back when—our song was, ‘Can’t Get Enough of Your Love, Babe.’ When he started to sing in my ear, I knew. He always did sing off-key.” She fluffed up the back of her hair. “Who would’ve ever thought? Twenty-five years … I didn’t recognize him at first with that blond hairpiece.” She leaned over and brushed off her dress. “He still chain-smokes, and now I feel like I’m covered with ashes. He flicks those things all over.” She crinkled her nose. “Good lord, I smell like an ashtray.”

  “He wears a toupee?” Abby was still in shock. “Are you sure? He had such thick dark hair.”

  “Of course I’m sure,” Rene slid up on the stool next to Abby. “It’s better quality than most, but I know a rug when I see one.”

  Blade had been quiet until now. “You both used to know that guy?”

  Her voice rose. “Know him?” She harrumphed. “He was the love of my life.” Her eyes filled with tears. “All these years I pictured him slim, dark, and handsome, pursuing his dream of being an actor. Now look! He’s a bald, overweight comic.”

  Blade nodded. “Happens. Can’t hold onto the past. The guy may have changed, but he recognized you.”

  Abby jumped in. “That’s because Renee hasn’t changed that much. Dancing helps you keep your figure.”

  Renee slipped from the stool. “I’ve had enough for one night. I’m going back to the chalet, but don’t let me ruin your evening.”

  “Wait,” Abby said, rising to her feet. “I don’t think you should be alone, and I’m ready to go, too, especially if Jan is determined that ‘the show must go on.’ That is, if I can get back into my shoes.”

  “May I, Cinderella?” Blade knelt and held Abby’s high heels while she slipped her feet in. They exchanged smiles. “I’ll drive you two over.” They wove their way single file through the crowd. When they reached the lobby, he crooked his arms in a gallant manner. With a woman on each arm, he grinned wickedly and said, “Wow, I feel like a thorn between two roses.”

  Abby tweaked his ear. “Blade Garret, you’re full of it.

  Chapter 13

  After the quick car ride, Blade escorted them back to their chalet.

  After he left, Renee said, “He’s a nice guy and obviously hot. And he really likes you.” She gave Abby a sidelong glance. “Aren’t you ready for a little male attention?”

  Abby shrugged. “We’ll see. I’d like to get to know him before I make that kind of decision.”

  “You two made a great-looking couple out there on the dance floor. He’s got the moves.” Renee climbed into her bed. “I’m not pushing,” she yawned, “only commenting.”

  At the vanity, Abby cleansed her face and finished with a splash of cold water on her eyes. “What a shocker seeing Tom Moran tonight.” She made circular motions with her fingers as she rubbed moisture cream over her neck. “Did he say anything about Melanie? How did he react to her murder?”

  “Cool—actually a bit too cool. It was hard to hear with all of that loud music, but I think he asked me to drive somewhere quiet tomorrow. Believe it or not, he wants to explain why he left New York with Melanie in such a hurry way back when.

  “You’re up for that?” Abby turned away from the mirror and stared at Renee. “You sure you can handle being alone with him?”

  Renee adjusted her pillow and sat up in bed. “If all the fantasies I’ve been spinning about Tom all these years didn’t vanish the day Melanie died, they sure did tonight. I’ll listen to what he has to say, though I don’t care much.” She yawned again. “You don’t have to worry that I might still have feelings for that overweight, wig-wearing gigolo.”

  Abby gave Renee a relieved smile. “Then I’m glad he hooked up with you tonight. The veil is lifted and you’re free.”

  Renee slipped under the covers and said in a muffled voice, “You betcha.”

  “Blade’s leaving for Sacramento in the morning.”

  Renee slipped the covers from her face. “To stay?”

  “No. He’ll be back tomorrow night.” Abby hesitated. “He was hired to come to Tahoe.”

  “Get out! He’s on a case?”

  “Yep. It involves us, in a wa
y. He was hired by Dana.” Abby went on to explain why Dana had hired him and that Blade wasn’t at liberty to say more right now.

  Renee blanched. “Did Dana hire him to follow me because of Melanie?”

  Abby laughed. “I asked him that, too. But, no. Why would either of us think that?”

  “Because Dana knew how I felt about Melanie. And,” she gave an elaborate shrug, “because I was raised Catholic. I always feel guilty.”

  Abby laughed. “See you in the morning.”

  She didn’t get to sleep right away. Her mind swirled with thoughts of the half-smoked cigarette she’d found in Melanie’s chalet. Tom Moran, aka T.J. Barry, smoked. Could he have made that visit to Melanie the night before she died?

  Driven over from South Shore? Was he the one who made her cry and then poisoned her? Blade had passed off a quick “yes” that he’d heard of T.J. Barry when she asked him at the disco. What had he heard? She made a mental note to quiz him about that when he returned. She tossed and turned, worrying about Renee driving with Tom to some quiet place. What exactly did he have in mind for her friend? No point trying to talk Renee out of going. There was no changing her mind once it was made up.

  Minutes later, certain that Renee had slipped into a sound sleep, Abby got up, felt her way around the wicker furniture to Renee’s bedside table, and fished Renee’s car keys out of her purse. If Renee was determined to go with Tom and he had in mind someplace deserted like the beach where Dana had been bludgeoned, then Abby would be right on their tail, following behind in Renee’s sports car.

  

  They both slept late the next morning and didn’t rise until they heard a knock on the door. Abby pulled her robe around her. “Who is it?”

  “Housekeeping,” came a woman’s reply. “The detective would like you both to come to the Indian Room.”

  Abby peeked out through the drapes while Renee sat up in bed. “Tell him we’ll be there as soon as we can.” She turned back to Renee. “Let’s go. The sooner we get this over with, the better. We knew he’d be back. Damn! Why didn’t he just call our chalet?”