Deadly Dancing

by Nicolette Pierce

  I heaved myself upstairs to crawl into bed—or what was left of it. Someone had taken a knife to it. The stuffing bulged out, exposing the springs. I threw the comforter over it then threw myself on top.

  Chapter 8

  I was sleeping when I heard footsteps fall near me and felt a warm kiss press onto my temple. I tried to wake up, but my eyelids wouldn’t budge.

  “I’ll see you later, sweet thing,” a voice said.

  I fell back into a deep sleep.

  It was eleven o’clock when I finally woke up. I stared around the room in disbelief. Now that the sun lit the room, I could see how much damage there was. Everything was dumped, tipped over, and searched. I tiptoed through the house. It was the same in every room. The living room was the only room that had a message spray-painted on the wall and sledgehammer damage.

  My skin crawled with unease.

  This didn’t make any sense. Why would the Hammer nut-job go to the trouble of ransacking the house?

  I started to pick up the mess when my cell phone rang.

  “Hi, Kym.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Oh, just dandy,” I said.

  The rooms were overwhelmingly annihilated, I thought to myself. How did I manage to collect so much stuff?

  “You saying it and meaning it are two different things.”

  “I’ve just had a very long and horrible evening.” Except for the kissing, I reminded myself.

  “Oh, no! You’ll have to tell me everything, but I have to tell you something first.” She hesitated. “You may want to sit down.”

  “There’s nothing you could say that will bother me at this point.” Plus, there wasn’t anything to sit on.

  “Last night, before you passed out, I called Evan to ask if he would know of anyone crazy enough to stalk him or harass you. Do you remember?”

  “I don’t remember anything except for something about glaciers.”

  “Do you remember what you said to Evan about glaciers?”

  “No, but I bumped into him last night in the ER. I told him about having a weird dream about glaciers. He seemed amused, but I don’t know why.”

  “Uh oh.”

  “What?” I panicked. “What did I do?”

  “Before you passed out, you told him he had blue eyes like glacier ice.”

  “Well, that’s not too bad.” I relaxed. “He does have beautiful eyes.”

  “I know he has beautiful eyes, but you also asked him if you could lick them. You also called him Heaven Evan.”

  “I did not!”

  “You did, and then you passed out. I warned him you were saying weird things before I let him talk to you, but I wanted to warn you in case you saw him. I guess I’m too late.”

  I groaned. There’s the icing on top of the dog-poop cake.

  I shared the details of everything that had happened since I left her place, editing out a few juicy tidbits along the way. We hung up after she extracted every single juicy detail from me. I never could keep anything from her.

  When I hung up, I saw I had ten missed calls from work.

  I ran back upstairs to dress. The Stevenson party was Friday, and I had Mayor Fenwig’s luncheon tomorrow. All of the details had been worked out for the luncheon long ago, but there are always last-minute changes or complications that pop up when you least expect them.

  I dressed in a flurry and ran back downstairs. As I looked around the living room, a weight pressed down on me. I’ll deal with the cleanup later.

  I picked up my keys. Something’s wrong. I inspected my keys, realizing that my car key was replaced with a different one. I opened the front door and spied the Viper sitting in the driveway. My car was nowhere to be seen. I hit the unlock button and the Viper flashed his lights at me.

  Hello to you, too.

  Mrs. Janowski stepped out of her house. “That’s a crackerjack of a ride,” she called.

  “It’s not mine. Just on loan,” I said, crossing the street.

  “Is it from that muscular man who came out of your house this morning?”

  I flushed. “Yes,” I admitted. “But there’s nothing going on. He had to stay the night because I hit him with the bat you gave me.”

  “Did you?” she asked. “Isn’t that something? He did look like he was in pain. I was hoping it was because you gave him a good tumble in the sheets. It’s a pity nothing happened between you two. He’s a handsome rascal, and you’ve been too long without a good roll in the hay.”

  “Mrs. J.!” I turned cherry red. “I’m just fine in that department.”

  “If you say so,” she said, unconvinced. “The last man you entertained was over six months ago, and he was stuffy. I don’t see how you could’ve had any fun with him. Now, the guy you hit with the bat, he looks like he’d know how to curl a woman’s toes back.”

  I can’t believe I’m having a sex conversation with Mrs. Janowski.

  “I have to get to work,” I said. “If you see the blue Suburban, don’t shoot. Brett said they’re helping him. But if you see any insane women at my house, feel free to shoot them with paintballs, and then call the cops.”

  “Oh, how exciting,” she tittered. “I’ll go get ol’ Bessie ready.”

  I returned to my driveway, grinning at the Viper. I slid behind the steering wheel. I could sense Brett in here. His scent lingered, and I felt I was intruding on personal space . . . personal, sexy, hot Brett space. Just sitting in his seat was intoxicating. I turned the key, revving the car engine. A note from Brett perched on the dashboard.

  Mars, I took your car to get it painted. Use my car as much as you need. Don’t worry about the mess in your house. I’ll take care of it today. Pick you up at six for dinner. – Brett. P.S. Feel free to wear the little T-shirt and panties again tonight.

  A smile escaped. Damn him. I opened the glove box, about to throw the note in, when I glimpsed a one hundred dollar bill resting on the car manual. That’s a little too trusting of him. I closed the glove box with the money left in its place.

  * * *

  I pulled into the office lot, taking a couple of deep, calming breaths before entering the front door.

  “Hi,” Emmy said. “I was wondering when I’d see you. You have a few messages on your desk.”

  “Thanks, Emmy. Anything new?”

  “Curtis is having a mental breakdown about the Stevenson dinner, and Jocelyn just got another round of Botox. This time it’s in her lips. It looks like she got stung by a dozen bees.”

  “Her lips were still puffy from the last round,” I said.

  “I know. One of these days her head is going to explode.”

  I smiled. “You know how to brighten a girl’s day. I’ll go check on Curtis.”

  Curtis is an excellent events coordinator, but he’s a bit dramatic when things go bad. Unfortunately, they do go bad. It only takes one drunk, one unskilled chef, one forgetful employee, or one clumsy accident and an event can unravel faster than my freshman home economics sweater.

  “Hey, Curtis,” I said.

  “Oh, Mars! Thank God you’re here. I’ve been going out of my mind,” he said. “I’m trying to get a room booked for the party and nothing is available.”

  “Where have you tried?”

  “Everywhere,” he said with a flip of his hand.

  “Is there anywhere outside we can have it?”

  “All the patios and gardens have been booked, too.”

  “Okay, give me the form they filled out and keep working on the rest of the details. I’ll find a location.”

  Relief washed over his face.

  “Oh, and get an estimate on large event tents just in case,” I said.

  Great! The party is two days away and we have no place to hold it. I should have devoted more time to this. Jocelyn is going to have my head.

  I walked to my desk while reading the request form the Stevensons had filled out. With a thoroughly completed request form, the client is able to tell us what the event is for,
dates and times, how many people, food they like, colors they prefer, any known allergies, special requests, and my personal favorite is about memories they’d like to include or evoke.

  It may be as simple as putting together a slide show with pictures of little Timmy growing up to become a man graduating from college. Each client can tell us specifically what they want, or they can just give us details on a special memory and we can take it and run with it. The Stevensons’ memory sparked an idea.

  “Curtis, I’ll also need quotes for tables, chairs, and outside lighting,” I said. “And see if you can find any pretty candle lanterns.”

  “I’ve seen that look before,” Curtis said. “You have a fabulous idea, don’t you?”

  “I’ll need to go down to the site first.”

  “You have to take me with you.”

  “I need you to start working on the quotes.”

  Curtis gave me a sideward glance. “Honey, I can get these done faster than you can get into those little jeans you’re wearing.”

  “That’s not too fast; it takes me forever to get them on.”

  “I know what you mean. I have a pair just like that.”

  “You’re on your own if Jocelyn has a fit.”

  We walked outside and headed to the Viper.

  “Oooh, girl, look at this car,” he gushed.

  “It’s a loner.”

  His eyes bounced from me to the car.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Who’s the man?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh no, you didn’t just play dumb!”

  “Fine, just get in the car. I’ll tell you on the way,” I said.

  He scrambled into the car. “Look at this car,” he said, posing in the Viper. “My testosterone just spiked.”

  My eyebrow raised.

  “Just cause I don’t use it doesn’t mean I don’t have it,” he said, smoothing back his wavy brown hair. “Now spill it. I want to hear everything.”

  “The owner of the car is a guy I met at Kym’s bachelorette party.”

  “From Longhorn’s?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “But the only guys that’d be at Longhorn’s are the . . .” He paused as his eyes widened. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

  “Dancers.” I finished his sentence.

  “You got freaky with a dancer?” he asked.

  “I didn’t get freaky with anyone.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Then how do you explain sitting in an exotic dancer’s Viper?” he asked. “Men don’t let anyone drive their cars—unless you’ve given him an overhaul.”

  “We went out on a date. I cracked his rib with a bat, and the psycho people who are stalking him tore up my house and spray-painted my car.”

  Curtis narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips. “If you didn’t want to tell me, you could’ve just said so instead of making up a crazy-ass story like that.”

  I sighed.

  I exited the freeway and took a country road down about two miles.

  “Here it is,” I said, pulling into a small gravel parking area off to the side.

  “Mars?” Curtis asked, his voice quiet.

  “Yeah?”

  “You did it again,” Curtis said. “You turned shit into gold.”

  I smiled. This is the part of the job I loved. Making an event work, despite the curve balls thrown.

  We took a few notes on-site then returned to the office. I added more tasks to the growing list of things to do.

  “Will you be able to handle this?” I asked, pulling into the office parking lot.

  “Now that we have a location, I’m on fire!” he said, jumping out of the car.

  I followed him into the office where he flung himself into his chair, kicked his feet up, and picked up the phone.

  Yeah, he’ll be fine.

  I spied the messages stacked neatly on my desk. Most of them I could respond via email. I like to do most of my communications by email. It keeps everything in black and white. Not as many mistakes happen when you have proof of your conversation. I whittled my way down to the last message. It only had a phone number, no name or reason for calling.

  “Emmy, do you know who this is from?”

  “He wouldn’t give me his name,” she said. “He said you’d know what it’s about.”

  “I’ll take it with me. I have errands to run, but call if you need me.”

  I stuffed the laptop in my bag and swung out the door. My first stop on the list was Flower Power. Hopefully they hadn’t started on the Stevenson order yet.

  “Mars!” Gloria exclaimed. “What a surprise! We never get to see you so soon between orders.”

  “I came to see if you’ve started the Stevenson order. I was hoping I could change it.”

  “You came just in time. Willow was going to head to the wholesale market for the order. What did you have in mind?”

  I told her about the location and the memory that was filled out on the form.

  “Oh, that’s inspiring.” Gloria clapped her hands together. “I know just what to do.”

  “Thank you.” I gave Gloria a hug. “I can always count on you.”

  I left the shop, elated the event was taking a turn in the right direction. I called Curtis to tell him the flowers were taken care of. By the time I called, he had already secured the location and had the tents ordered.

  It was a little past lunch. I was ravenous from missing breakfast and not eating dinner the night before. Thank you, Kym. I pulled up outside a little café that offered sandwiches and Wi-Fi. I slung the laptop bag over my shoulder.

  The café had a shabby-chic vibe to it. It was comfortable and laidback with mismatched furniture and dishes. I ordered the biggest sandwich they had and an iced tea.

  I scoped the room, looking for the perfect spot. An oversized squishy chair near the corner window with a small table off to the side called my name. I made my way over there, squeezing past a group of college kids who must have been in summer session by the way their books were strewn across their table and they were hunkered down over them.

  I set the iced tea and sandwich on the table and the laptop on my lap. I thumbed through the messages and emailed everyone except for the one with the phone number. I dialed the number and waited.

  “Hello, Ms. Cannon,” a man’s voice answered.

  “Hi,” I responded. “I have a message you called. But, I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

  “No, and you won’t.”

  “May I help you with something?” I asked.

  “You can tell lover boy that we mean business. We’ve already searched your house, and we couldn’t find it. I want it now!”

  I clenched the phone, turning my knuckles white. “You destroyed my house! I don’t know what you want. If you tell me, then I can find it for you.”

  “Your boyfriend knows what I’m looking for. Give him this phone number and tell him he can arrange an exchange. I’m running out of options. You won’t like it when I get to my next option,” he threatened.

  I ground my teeth. “Did you write the message on my living room wall?”

  He gave a tight laugh, “No. But you better watch yourself. We’ll make damn sure we get to you first,” he said and hung up.

  If they didn’t leave the message on the wall, then there are definitely two whack-a-doo parties involved. I had really hoped I was just dealing with one nut.

  I double-clicked on the Internet icon and typed “Sledgehammer killer” into the search engine. Articles from Texas, Florida, Colorado, and Illinois popped up. The oldest was from Texas, so I started with that one.

  Sledgehammer Killer Strikes Houston. Eve Thompson was brutally murdered last night in her home by a person the police are now referring to as the “Sledgehammer Killer.”

  I stopped reading. Thompson? I’m sure there are hundreds of Thompsons in Houston. But as I turned it over in my head, it was too much of a coinciden
ce not to be true. Brett had to be related to Eve. Why else would someone give up his badge and move to Wisconsin to be an exotic dancer? He knows something; he must be involved. And by him being involved, I’ve been dragged into it. The stuffy guy Mrs. Janowski referred to is starting to look like a dream catch.

  I read about Eve’s death and the deaths of five other women. It all happened the same way: They met a male dancer, the stalker threatened the girls to back off; the girls didn’t and died by several blows from a sledgehammer.

  I had met a male dancer. The stalker has definitely made threats . . . I really don’t want to die! I bit back a tear. I was not going to come unglued!

  I continued to read every article, every blog, and every site that gave information about the Sledgehammer Killer. Some of the information was false. I refuse to believe the killer is an alien from the planet Hammercon. My head swam with information. The only problem was what to do with the information. How in the world can I catch a serial killer? For God’s sake, I dress tables for a living, not hunt down murderers.

  Stress was causing a painful kink to tighten in my neck. I only know how to do one thing when I’m stressed, but I’m not allowed to eat cheesecake until after the wedding. The next best thing . . . a spa pedicure.

  I called Candi to see if she could squeeze me in. The gods smiled on me; there was a cancellation. I packed up my laptop, sipped the last of the iced tea, and hurried to the car.

  * * *

  I relaxed contently in the chair. My fingers mindlessly played with the chair massage controls. My feet graciously soaked in hot, bubbling water.

  Candi was finishing up with another client while I waited and relaxed. I didn’t mind. My thoughts drifted to Brett. Eve must be Brett’s sister. The age difference was close enough to make it a possibility. I could see him giving up his life back in Texas to find a serial killer who killed his sister. My breath caught. What if she was his wife? No, that would mean his wife was cheating on him. From the way he kissed, I think Brett would’ve been more than plenty in bed without her having to look elsewhere.