Deadly Dancing

by Nicolette Pierce

  “Hi, Mars. I was just opening up. Come in and have a seat.” She motioned to the barstool. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No, thank you,” I replied. “I came here to talk to you.”

  “Me? About what?”

  “Well, I seem to be stuck in the middle of something, and I don’t know what’s happening.”

  “Tell me what it is.” She smiled politely. “I’m used to hearing about problems; it comes with the job. I may be able to help.”

  “I’m hoping you can. It started on Saturday when I came to the club. Two guys saw Brett and me talking, and they assumed I’d be able to convince Brett to give them whatever it is they are looking for.”

  “Who’s Brett?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, it’s Nick. He had so many names I made up a new one that I could remember.”

  Annie laughed. “I can see how that could be confusing. He does like to make up new names all the time.”

  “Tell me about it. I told Brett these guys are looking for him, but now I’m getting threatening messages from someone else to stay away. I can’t figure out if they mean Brett or someone else.” I sighed and put my palms up. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I need to start figuring out some answers.”

  “Sounds like a lot of trouble,” she said. “How do you need me to help?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me about the dancer that was murdered.”

  “Hmm . . . I can’t tell you much, because I don’t know much about him,” she said. “I only started working here a little before Brett.”

  “Did he seem like a nice guy?”

  “No, he wasn’t nice. He was very arrogant. I stayed away from him because he always had a dark expression on his face,” she said. “It’s hard to explain, but I wasn’t comfortable around him.”

  “Do you know if the police found the killer?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “I don’t suppose you have a picture of Jesse?” I asked.

  “Yes, I do. The office keeps headshots for promotions.”

  Annie disappeared into the office and retrieved a headshot and a full-body photo.

  He was definitely handsome, but there was something more. His cold eyes peered back at me from the photo and captured my attention. I’ve seen him someplace before—maybe a month ago. But where?

  “I can see what you mean about the dark expression,” I said, returning the photos. “I’m sure I’ve seen him before, but I can’t remember where.”

  “He used to do a lot of promotion for Longhorn’s. Perhaps it was at a party.”

  “That could be,” I said then changed my line of questioning. “Do you know of anyone who might stalk Brett?”

  “There are two ladies that are regulars here. They come to see Brett, give him all their money, and then leave. But I’m not sure they’d go as far as stalking.”

  “Do you happen to know their names?”

  “Martha, but people call her Marty. I don’t know her last name. The other lady I saw you talk to on Saturday. Um,” she said with a pause. “Jocelyn, that’s her name.”

  “Jocelyn McCain?” I asked, astonished.

  “Yeah, that’s the one,” Annie said. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m just shocked,” I said, trying not to grimace. “I’ll be fine.”

  I thanked Annie for her time and left. I was no closer to figuring this out. I couldn’t see Jocelyn writing notes or spraying graffiti on my car. Knowing her, she’d fire me. Perhaps it was Marty, but I didn’t know who Marty was.

  As I drove down the street, pedestrians gawked at my car. Some cars even came to a complete stop as I drove by. I wanted to yell, “I’m really not a slut or whore,” but then they’d assume I was a screwball on top of it. This is so embarrassing.

  A body shop sign was up ahead. I veered over, pulling into the lot. The men in the garage glanced up from their work as I parked.

  I stepped out of the car, threw my shoulders back in an attempt to look purposeful, and strutted to the office. My cheeks flushed. They stared at the graffiti on the car and then stared at me. I hoped they weren’t trying to figure out if the graffiti was true.

  A man in his early fifties with a small keg for a belly opened the office door and let me inside. He peered behind me and gave a small nod.

  “I was going to ask what I could help you with, but I have a feeling I already know.”

  “Is there anything you can do?”

  “Yep,” he scratched his belly, “we can paint your car.”

  “Is that expensive?”

  “Is it on all four sides of the car?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded his head again, shifting his weight to his heels. “Let me crunch some numbers for you, and then we can figure out what we’re dealing with.”

  I gazed out the window as I heard the clickity-clack of his calculator. The men in the garage had gone back to work.

  “Okay, this is what I have for you,” he said, handing me the estimate.

  I inhaled sharply when I read the total and choked. I couldn’t pay that.

  “Um,” I said, shifting my weight, “thank you, but I can’t afford this right now.”

  “We have in-house financing, if you want,” he offered. “You’d just have to pay off the balance within one year.”

  “Let me think about it for a little bit. How long is the estimate good for?”

  “’Til the end of the month,” he said. “Hang on a second.” He dug through his desk and handed me a piece of paper with instructions on it. “Give this a try. You may be able to wash your car and do a few of these steps. It doesn’t always work, but if anything, it may smudge the paint so you can’t read the graffiti.”

  I reviewed the list. I’d need dish soap, nail polish remover, and clay. It looked like a long shot, but I was willing to take a chance. Otherwise, I’d repaint, but there was no way I could pay for it. I could possibly take the financing option and try to scrape by. I could also eat mac and cheese for months on end to help save money. I shuddered. Even though I like mac and cheese, the promise of it daily made my stomach turn to lead.

  As I opened my car door and slid in, I heard a wolf whistle coming from the garage. My eyes shot over. Everyone was bent down working. They’ve obviously practiced and perfected their undercover wolf whistle technique.

  I stopped at a couple of stores and purchased the listed supplies. Then I drove through a Quik ‘n Yummy drive-thru. Their burgers were okay in a pinch, but the place should really be called “Cheap ‘n Edible.”

  I was running out of time, so I dropped the supplies off at home and drove straight to the bridal shop.

  Kym, her cousin Fran, and Jim’s sister, Kate, were all waiting outside for me. Their eyes widened when I drove my spray-painted car into the lot and parked next to Kym’s brand-new red Fiat—an engagement gift from Jim.

  “What happened to your car?” Kym asked.

  “I left it at Pete and Angela’s restaurant overnight and came back to find it spray-painted.”

  “It’s another message from the crazy stalker,” Kym gasped.

  “I believe so.”

  “Who were you with?”

  “Brett.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Oh, I’ve given that name to the cowboy. He said he couldn’t tell me his name for another week, so I named him.”

  “God, this gets juicier and juicier,” she squealed. “Tell me everything that happened.”

  “Nothing happened. Let’s just go inside.”

  Kym pinched her lips together. “By the way, you’re late!” she scolded. “I swear, I don’t know how you can be an events coordinator if you don’t even show up on time.”

  “I’m only a few minutes late, and I’ve never been late for an event.”

  We walked in with Kym in the lead. I’ve been here a few times to help clients. This would be my second fitting for Kym’s wedding. I hated fittings. They push, pull, heave, and come at you with pins the size of e
pidural needles. They tell me not to gain or lose weight, which is impossible. I’m always afraid they will stick me with their monstrous pins if I don’t do what they say.

  Jim’s sister, Kate, changed first and was inspected by Dominique to see if she needed any alterations. Dominique gave Kate an approving nod. Of course. Because she’s perfect, just like Jim.

  Kym’s cousin Fran was second. Dominique turned her around and pulled at her hems.

  She nodded. “Yes, this will do nicely.”

  My turn, I whimpered. I undressed and unhooked the dress from the hanger. I sucked in my stomach to give me extra room and shimmied into the dress.

  Since it’s an outdoor wedding in summer, Kym wanted to make sure the bridesmaids would be cool and comfortable. This decision prompted her to pick out short, sheer dresses that were most likely designed for the cover of a lingerie catalog. We’d be cool all right, but we’d also be highly exposed. We were going to look like Bride Goldilocks and the Three Tramps. Please, let me remember not to bend over at the wedding.

  Dominique helped with the zipper. “You gained weight!”

  “But the zipper is all the way up. Where did I gain weight?”

  Kym’s eyes rounded. “Your boobs!”

  I turned to the mirror. My boobs bulged out of the top like giant Nerf balls.

  “How could I have gained weight? I have no money for food,” I stated. “Was the dress altered properly?”

  Dominique bristled. “We don’t make mistakes.”

  Kym sent a horrified look to Dominique. “Can you fix it?”

  “I don’t know. This is going to take a miracle.” Dominique inspected the seams. “I can let it out a little bit more. I may be able to add a little fabric to the sides without it being noticeable.” She turned to me. “Try to lose a little weight, just in case.”

  “It might be easier if you found a smaller-chested woman to be your maid of honor,” I told Kym.

  “Don’t you dare try to back out. You’ll be in the wedding even if your boobs are hanging out.”

  Nice visual! I’m stuck with this horrible, orchid-nightie nightmare.

  My cell phone rang. I dug through my purse, and then gave up ever finding it in time. I turned my purse upside down and shook it empty before my phone finally fell out, buzzing its way across the purse wreckage.

  “Do you have a date for Kym’s wedding?” It was Brett.

  “I’m not taking anyone since I’m working it and participating in it.”

  “Not anymore. I’m taking you and the dress you’re almost wearing.”

  How could he know what I’m wearing? I padded over to the window and peeked through it. I couldn’t see anyone.

  “Sweet thing, if you move around much more, you’ll have the neighborhood gathering at the window, and I’ll have to come in and rescue you,” he said huskily. “But I don’t rescue anyone for free.”

  “Where are you?”

  “It’s not important. I’ll talk to you later,” he said and hung up.

  I looked down at the phone. I didn’t even get to yell at him for weaseling dinner out of my dad tomorrow night.

  “Kym, do you still have me down for a guest at your wedding?”

  “Yes. If you don’t take someone, I’ll pull a random man off the street. You better pray it’s not a homeless man.”

  I sighed. I had no doubt she’d arrange for a homeless man to be my date.

  * * *

  I was heading back to the parking lot when Kym called out, “Remember, we’re meeting at my house tonight. Make sure to bring everything with you.”

  The wedding favors! I had forgotten to pick up the supplies.

  “Sure, no problem,” I said a little too happily.

  Kym glared but she didn’t say anything.

  I ran to my car and jumped in. This was going to be the longest day ever.

  I stopped by the liquor store to pick up several cases of mini champagne bottles. I then proceeded to speed to the printer to pick up the labels and programs. My last stop was the fabric store for yards of ribbon.

  “What kind of ribbon do you need?” the sales woman asked.

  “I need ribbon for wedding favors.”

  “What’s the color scheme?”

  “I think it’s pink.”

  “You think?” she asked, peering over her spectacles.

  “I’m not sure.” I racked my brain.

  She sighed. “Perhaps you should find out before we go to the trouble of cutting ribbon you can’t return.”

  “I need to buy ribbon—and soon—or the bride will kill me,” I said. “How about white?”

  “Do you know what shade of white?”

  Ugh! I should know that. What happened to all my training as an events coordinator?

  “Let me call my coworker and find out.”

  The sales woman frowned and turned to help a woman who had just entered the store. I quickly dialed the office number.

  “Emmy, what colors are we using in Kym’s wedding?”

  “Don’t you already know?”

  “Emmy,” I whined. “Please, just give me the colors. My world has gone topsy-turvy. I can’t remember anything anymore.”

  “Hang on.”

  She came back on the phone a couple of minutes later. “Are you still there?” she asked.

  “Yes. What are the colors?”

  “Maybe you should go see a doctor; it’s not like you to forget. You may be coming down with a case of dementia.”

  “Emmy! I’m only thirty years old.”

  “It’s been known to happen in freak cases. You should get checked out.”

  “I don’t have dementia. I have a crappy-ass life, and it’s currently getting the better of me.”

  The sales woman’s eyes slid over to me, giving me a stare down only a librarian could appreciate.

  “I was just trying to be helpful. The color scheme is orchid and the linens are snowy white.”

  I smacked my hand against my forehead. Of course the color was orchid. I have a bridesmaid dress that color. How could I not remember? Maybe Emmy’s right. I could have early dementia. That may explain how my keys mysteriously end up in unexpected places. Last week, I found them in the freezer. I’m sure the chocolate-chip cookie dough ice cream had nothing to do with it.

  I bought a spool of orchid-colored ribbon and a snowy-white spool, too. A girl needs to cover all her bases when heading into a battlefield. Don’t let the term “wedding” fool you; it’s not all doves and cake.

  I fanned out my shirt to keep it from sticking to me. I was in a complete head-to-toe sweat and had just a half-hour before I was due at Kym’s. It was just enough time to go home and shower.

  * * *

  Mrs. Janowski was on her porch when I pulled into my driveway. She shuffled over in her powder-blue polyester pants and matching floral-print shirt. She carried a wooden bat at her side.

  “Mars, I just had to come over,” she said anxiously. “There was a big scary man with a tarantula tattoo on his neck. He was pounding on your door and looking in your windows. He waited for you for about thirty minutes and then left.”

  “Was there a man in the back seat of the town car?”

  “There was a town car, but I couldn’t see. But now that you mention it, I did notice the back window was cracked down a couple of inches.”

  Mrs. Janowski handed me the wooden bat. “Here, I want you to keep this with you,” she said. “Make sure to take it to bed with you, too.”

  I thanked Mrs. J. for the bat and hurried inside. I bolted the door behind me. Thank God I hadn’t been home when they were here.

  I took the bat into the shower with me.

  Twenty minutes later, I was refreshed and jogged out the door. I had five minutes to get to Kym’s without her yelling at me. Needless to say, I hauled ass.

  * * *

  Kym had a selection of wine opened and ready. Decadent truffles and small cakes sat prettily on decorative plates. Fran and Kate sat talking on t
he couch. Kym handed me a wine glass filled with velvety red liquid that played softly on my tongue.

  “This must be from Jim’s wine collection,” I said.

  Kym nodded. “He brought it over this afternoon.”

  I eyed the sweets.

  “Don’t you dare,” she scolded.

  “But they look so good.”

  “You need to lose weight so you can fit into your dress.”

  “This is so unfair. How am I supposed to lose weight in my boobs?” I asked. “It’s not like I can do boob crunches.”

  “You could try. What I do know is you’re not going to eat sweets,” she said, handing me a bowl of cut carrots and celery. “You can eat this instead.”

  I looked at the bowl and winced. Lunch was long gone from my stomach, and I was supposed to eat a bowl of rabbit food. This isn’t a wedding; it’s torture.

  The girls helped carry in the supplies from my car, arranging them in assembly-line fashion.

  I pulled out the champagne bottles and stuck a personalized label on it. Kym tied a ribbon with a silver heart to the neck and put it back in the box. Fran and Kate were in charge of making fans out of the wedding programs.

  I sipped my wine and left the veggies in the corner where they belonged. I refilled my fourth glass when Kym asked, “Did you ever call Evan to see if he knows anyone who might try to take revenge on you?”

  “No, I can’t call him. He’s too tasty. I bet one night with Evan would feel like heaven . . . Heaven Evan.” I giggled and slapped a hand over my mouth. Without food in my stomach, the wine was going straight to my head.

  Fran and Kate peeked over at me with raised eyebrows.

  “I’m going to call him for you,” Kym said.

  “No, you can’t. I’ll feel stupid.”

  “You already look stupid driving around with a spray-painted car.”

  “True, but he’s so cute, and he scares me a little.”

  “You’re only afraid of him because he talks to you the way you dream a man would.” She poked my arm, sliding me a smile.

  Kym stole my phone and found him in the contacts. I quickly refilled my wine glass and downed it.