Tutu Deadly

  For the first time in quite a while, he smiled and then chuckled.

  “The fact I might want something more from you than just information scares you?”

  “It terrifies me.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not entirely sure. But what I want to know now is what the hell was your problem tonight? Why are you acting mad at me?”

  He sighed, and that hand went through his hair again, leaving it rumpled and terribly attractive in a way that made me want to smooth it out and groom it for him. This was bad.

  “I’m mad because we’ve done a pretty crappy job of keeping you safe, and I feel responsible. And I feel bad that I have to admit that for a time there—a short time—I really thought you were involved, and that means my senses are off and . . .”

  “You did? You really did think I might have killed Sandra Epstein?” The tears that stung my eyes surprised me. I guess they surprised him, too, because he took one look at me and pulled me into his arms, holding me tight.

  “I think it’s because you have my senses reeling. I don’t know what to think. I seem to be losing balance here. And I’m mad that Fallon didn’t do a very good job keeping you safe. And that now he’s playing up to you to try and get you on his side so that he can get what he wants.”

  I let a few more self-pity tears trickle down my face and then I pulled away from him. “This whole situation just keeps getting crazier and crazier.”

  “Don’t fall for his lines, Jenny. He only has one purpose. He wants to find Taylee.”

  “Maybe that should be your only purpose, too.”

  Tate shook his head. “You don’t understand, and I can’t enlighten you, but just remember this. Don’t trust Fallon. He’s not a bad guy, but he’s a Fed with an agenda, and that makes him dangerous to you.”

  I wanted to think he was jealous. That he wanted me looking in no other man’s direction, but that really didn’t make sense. Plus things like that did not happen to me.

  “Tell me this. Why were you all friendly with him when this all started out, and now you seem to hate him?”

  “Maybe I don’t like the way he looks at you now.”

  While this was a flattering thought, and I certainly wished I could evoke that kind of reaction from men, I was a realist. “Liar. What is it really?”

  “I’m not lying. I don’t.”

  “Fine, maybe a small bit of that is true, but that’s not the majority of it, and I want to know what you mean.”

  He shrugged his shoulders, then turned away. “Let’s order a pizza.” He walked into my living room and plopped down on the overstuffed couch, the only furniture I had in the room besides the beanbag chair. “Ooomph,” he said as he sunk deeply into the old couch.

  He looked kind of funny sitting there, sunken into the couch, knees sticking up high in the air. I fought back a giggle and reminded myself that I was still kind of mad at him for his erratic behavior at the studio and on the way home. And also terribly confused with how quick he seemed to turn on and off the charm and attraction.

  “I really think you should go.”

  “I’m not going. I told you I’m sticking close to you until we figure this thing out.”

  My home phone rang and I walked over to it, wondering why these psycho dance moms would not stop calling me late at night. I pulled the handset off the cordless base and checked the number, only to feel all the blood drain from my face and I gestured wildly to Tate, who struggled to get up out of the couch, which was eating him like a giant Venus flytrap eats a bug. I couldn’t wait for him to get there, because in just one more ring the call would go to voice mail, so I clicked the On button and said a breathy “Hello?”

  There was silence on the other end, and then light breathing, and I said again, “Hello? Taylee is that you?”

  Hearing the name I uttered, Tate shot up out of the couch like he’d been projectile vomited, and headed toward me. In just a few steps he reached me. “Is she answering?”

  I shook my head. “Hello? Taylee, are you there? This is Jenny. Are you okay? Please answer me. I’m so worried about you.” I heard a sigh on the other end, and then a voice whispered, “No. No, I’m not okay. I’m scared, and I don’t know what to do and . . .” And with that, the line went dead.

  NINETEEN

  ALL sorts of techy people were wandering around my house, and I feared the old people upstairs would think I was having a late-night weekday party and call the police. Never mind that half the force of Ogden City and the regional office of the United States Marshals Service were already in my apartment. At least they wouldn’t have to go far to answer the call. Of course, the old people were probably all looking out their windows and could see all the police cars, so they might just call for information. Or to find out if that weird young dance teacher was actually a serial killer. “I knew something was off when she kept selling all those Books of Mormon,” they would tell their neighbors. Who would tell their friends. Who would tell their relatives. Who would tell . . . My phone rang and everyone around jumped to attention, signaling me to pick up the handset but not to answer yet until they had a clear connection. Or something like that. It was kind of conveyed to me in a weird U.S.-marshal sign language, so I hoped I was getting it right. Whatever they had done had something to do with tapping my phone, which I had reluctantly agreed to, although my reason for objecting was sketchy. I knew that if they recorded my calls, it would just offer up definitive proof about how pathetic my life really was.

  I looked at the caller ID and shook my head. Auntie Vi. I knew it wouldn’t take long.

  “It’s not her.”

  “Answer it please, so we can test how this thing is working,” said the techno-nerd who had hooked up the whoosie-whatsie thing to trace the calls that came into my phone.

  “I . . .”

  Tate gave me a look and I reluctantly answered it. They had disconnected my voice mail, so the phone would just ring and ring and ring, and Auntie Vi would not give up. She, of all people, knew I did not have a life.

  “Hello, Auntie Vi.”

  “Jennifer, I am absolutely appalled at your behavior.” The guy wearing the headset gave me a funny look.

  “What behavior?”

  “Nana’s heart is not that great, you know, and hearing this news is surely going to kill her!”

  “It’s just the cops trying to find Taylee, Auntie.” Tate shook his head at me, so I stopped talking, remembering they weren’t saying too much about the missing girl, and they sure as hell didn’t want to get Ogden’s biggest gossip going.

  “That is not what I am talking about, Jennifer.”

  “Then what are you talking about?”

  “Works great,” mouthed the guy with the headset, giving me the okay to disconnect, but unfortunately I did not get it in time.

  “What is Nana going to say, and your poor father, and his poor heart. If it isn’t bad now, it will be by the time you get done. And whatever will I do? I’ll not be able to go out in public in this town again, once word gets out that my niece is a lesbian.”

  Lesbian. Lesbian. Blood rushed to my head and I screamed out the name of the man I was going to kill. “James!”

  I spent something like forty minutes reassuring Auntie Vi that I was not a lesbian, while the officers and Tate kept giving me anxious looks to remind me that Taylee might call back. I had call waiting, so I had to stop this rumor from going any further, now. At nearly eleven thirty, my aunt declared herself ready for bed and at least partially believed that I had not stayed single for so long simply because it was illegal for me to marry my same-sex partner. I almost told her that I was having wild sex fantasies about the officer who was investigating my case, and was also somewhat attracted to the U.S. marshal who was pretty much parked outside my door, but that would bring with it a whole set of other problems, so I decided that would not be a wise move.

  I hung up the phone exhausted, and Tate steered me toward the bed, assuring me that he would sleep on t
he couch, and a whole army of other people would remain—at least somewhat discreetly—outside, in case a call came in from Taylee in the middle of the night.

  “You don’t want to sleep on that couch. It is not comfortable,” I told him.

  “Like you, it appears to be quite hungry.”

  I giggled, remembering the way he had struggled to get up when the phone rang.

  “I’ll be fine on the couch. Just be alert if the phone rings and I bring it to you. We have to be ready to trace the call in case Taylee calls back, and you need to keep her on the line.”

  “I don’t do middle-of-the-night alert very well.” At this point he had me inside my bedroom door and was pushing me toward my bed. I’d had men anxious to get me there before, but usually they were wanting to join me, and not headed out to a man-eating couch.

  “I’ll help you,” he said, his voice a low growl as he unzipped my sweat-suit jacket, then helped me take my arms out of it and dropped it to the floor. He pulled down the covers while I watched him, wondering just how far he would go—would he strip me completely naked? Did I care? Did I have enough energy to even respond to him, should he make love to me? Nope. He set me on the side of the bed and undid my sneakers, then pulled them off, laughing aloud at the socks I wore, which, as usual, were mostly holes. I gasped as he scooped me up into his arms and plopped me into my bed, pulling the covers up to my stomach, and then running a hand down my bare throat to my breast, which was covered by a thin spandex dance cami, with built-in bra. In other words, there wasn’t a lot of material between his fingers and my breasts and I shuddered, wanting to feel his skin on my skin. And a few more things.

  “Goodnight, Jenny T. Partridge,” he whispered. “Have sweet dreams. Hopefully of you and me together, here in this bed. When this case is over, that’s where I intend to be. No matter what you think of me, the truth is I want you. And I intend to have you. This isn’t all about the case. It is about you and me.”

  Then he leaned down gently and kissed me, and I shivered with desire. I would never sleep. Never. That’s the last thing I remember thinking.

  I woke up the next morning with a strange sense of apprehension. I supposed it could have been attributed to the man who was hopefully still alive on my couch, having made it through the night without being swallowed. But I knew it was something more. Something important. Something . . .

  Tuition! Tuition was due today. Today, I would eat, and not on someone else’s charity. Today I would eat and put gas in my car and buy a few groceries and pay rent and utilities and then . . . it would all be gone again. Oh well. At least I had today.

  I rose from bed and was appalled to see I was still wearing the dance cami and gaucho pants I had worn to dance and then gone to bed in. Good thing dance clothes were comfortable, or it would have been a long night. Of course, I supposed what I wore to teach in was a little skimpy and to a man like, say, Tate, it probably looked like pajamas. What would he know? He always had to wear a suit. I padded into my bathroom and shut the door and locked it, aware that I had company, although I had not heard much from the other room. I suffered my usual morning fright at the state of my hair, and then turned on the shower, stripping off my clothes and stepping under the hot spray of water. I turned on the waterproof radio my mother had given me last Christmas—a silly gift, perhaps, but I was seriously addicted to music, so I was thrilled—and sang along with the latest tunes while I rubbed at my face. I turned and wet my hair, reaching down for my shampoo to lather it over my head.

  After I rinsed the shampoo, I poured a good-sized portion of conditioner into my hand—one of my few dance dads sold the latest lines to beauty suppliers and gave me deep discounts, so I could afford the best—and I rubbed it in, leaving it to soak while I shaved my legs. I was almost ready to wash it out when I heard a man’s voice call my name, close, really close, and I screamed.

  “Jenny, it’s a pay-phone call. I’m sorry to scare you, but we really need you to answer this call.”

  I put aside my modesty, even though I was shaking like a leaf, and turned off the shower radio, pulling the curtain back just far enough to poke my head out and see Tate standing there with the phone, which he quickly handed to me. “Hello?” I said, trying not to think about the fact I was separated from him by only a thin, nearly sheer shower curtain.

  “Jenn, please don’t be mad. Please, please don’t be mad. Things got way out of hand, and before I knew it . . .”

  James.

  I shook my head at Tate to let him know it was not Taylee, and then spoke into the phone. “This is not a good time. I am in the shower. My hair is full of conditioner, and I am seriously, lividly, angrily pissed off at you!”

  “Jenny . . .”

  “Not now, James. It’s about time you stopped thinking about yourself, and considered the people around you, and how your actions impact them. Do you have any idea what you have done to my reputation? Do you have any idea what this will do to my business? Did you even consider how much explaining and placating and guilt-visiting I am going to have to do with my mother?”

  “Jenny . . .”

  “No, I don’t want to hear your excuses. You are not going to ruin my life, James. I love you, but it’s time to grow up. Time to accept who you are, and tell your mother the truth. Time to think about someone else.” I finally slowed down and took a breath.

  “Are you done?”

  “No . . . well, maybe yes. Yes, I think I am.” I felt empowered. I felt strong. I felt . . . naked. I had been so caught up in my tirade that I forgot all about Tate Wilson, but he had not forgotten about me. He was watching me with that sexy half smile on his face, and I followed his eyes down a little to see that the shower curtain had slipped and exposed one of my breasts, nipple and all.

  I hastily pulled it back in place, my face flaming, and then heard James say, “Jennifer, you will never get how hard this is. I like men. This world does not like men who like other men, at least sexually. I will never belong.”

  I sighed, and spoke gently into the phone. “Well, I like you, and I don’t care if you want to sleep with Detective Wilson. I still care about you. But you can’t go around putting your issues on me. You have to tell your mom the truth.” Tate looked up from the spot he had been staring at longingly, waiting for my now-hidden nipple to reappear, and alarm spread across his face. It was only fair, but I still felt a little bit sorry for him.

  “I know. I know. I’m sorry, Jenn. I’m really, truly sorry.” James paused for a moment, and then said, “So do you think I stand a chance with the yummy detective?”

  “You’ll have to ask him that yourself. Bye, James. Tell your mother the truth. Hey, why are you calling me from a pay phone?”

  “Lost my phone. Third one this month.”

  “You’re worse than I am.”

  I disconnected the phone and gave Tate a look. “I need to wash this conditioner out of my hair.”

  “I’d offer to help you, but I’m on duty. And it’s killing me.” His eyes went down to where my breasts were now hidden—at least as hidden as they could be behind a sheer shower curtain.

  “I’ll be fine. And James is wondering if you are available.”

  “You are not a nice woman.”

  “Paybacks are a bitch.”

  “What are you paying me back for?”

  “You saw my nipple.”

  “You showed it to me.”

  “Not on purpose.”

  “James is not my type. I like your nipple. I can’t wait to see more.”

  “How did you get in here? The door was locked.”

  “I’m a cop. I have my ways.”

  “Isn’t that called breaking and entering?”

  “I was already in. B&E doesn’t count on a bathroom door, when you’ve been given open access to a house . . . and the contents . . .” He started to walk toward the shower and my heart raced in double time, until we heard a voice call from the other room. It stopped him cold, so he gave me a sexy grin full
of promise and then left the bathroom. I wasn’t sure it would be safe to ever listen to my shower radio again. Unless Tate was in here with me. I got all tingly thinking about that possibility, and I didn’t even dare wash my own body, afraid I’d run out of the shower and the bathroom and drag Tate back in there with me, lathering him up and washing him all over until he . . . Ack! I turned the water on full blast cold and then yelped as the chilling spray hit me.

  I heard the door swing open and Tate yelled, “What’s wrong?”

  “Um, cold shower.”

  He chuckled loudly and then I heard the door shut.

  My life got weirder and weirder every day.

  TWENTY

  AFTER I got dressed, and blew my hair dry, taking special care with my makeup and trying to get the frizzies completely out of my mop, I walked into my kitchen, which had been appropriated by the police. Andrew Fallon was there, along with Marshal Doe and Tate. All the phone-call tracking equipment was spread across my table. Fallon and Doe were talking quietly, while Tate stood back a bit. They all looked over when I entered. None looked all that excited to see me, including Tate, until Fallon and Doe pasted on huge smiles. I felt like I was being played. Why did Tate look so distant?

  “I have a solo lesson, so I’ll be going now,” I told them. Little Tiajuana Stone was just five, and solo competition season was more than four months away, but she needed all the help she could get. Plus her mom was one of the psychoest psycho moms, but she had a lot of money, of which I was in short supply. Oh, and today tuition was due! I was in a real hurry to get to my studio.

  “You sure you don’t want to stay here, in case Taylee calls again?” Fallon asked gently. I thought I liked the old, diffident, definitely uninterested Fallon better.

  “No, Taylee knows how to reach me. She knows my hours. She knows when I’m at the studio, and when I’m here. She wouldn’t call when I’m not here. She also knows my cell phone number. And I need to go to Monica’s house to pick up my costumes after the solo lesson. I have a lot to do.”