Tutu Deadly

  Almost immediately she stopped muttering, closed her eyes, and passed out.

  Tate was watching the entire exchange from the doorway, and he shook his head. He pulled his oft-used phone out of its holder and called dispatch to let them know that Monica was no longer missing.

  I shut the door as I walked out of her room, and Tate followed me. The three officers asked Tate if he wanted them to do anything. He asked one of them to watch the house and make sure she didn’t leave—I was pretty damn sure she wasn’t going anywhere in the state she was in—and he walked me to his car. On the way there, his cell phone rang and he answered it.

  “Right. Right. Got it. Okay. No, I’ll get back to you.”

  He didn’t say anything as he opened the passenger door for me, and then I watched as he briskly walked around the front of the car and got in his side. He put the key in the ignition and gave a wave to the two uniformed officers who were also leaving. But he didn’t start the car.

  “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to beg you? It’s something bad, isn’t it?”

  I had seen the look on his face during the phone call, and I knew it wasn’t good. Please God, don’t let it be Taylee.

  “As far as we can tell, there is no such person as Monica Finch. No driver’s license, no state ID, no nothing. Of course, we don’t have a Social Security number, or even a birth date, but usually we can pull up something. Not this time.”

  “Great. Sandra Epstein isn’t Sandra Epstein, Monica Finch isn’t Monica Finch, Camari Stone is the freaking Unabomber. I need a drink.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  LIFE had become a wild ride, even crazier than usual. All around me were whacked-out women, who, I had to admit, I’d always known were slightly crazy, but not this bad. No, never this bad.

  Cops were now watching the homes of Epstein, Anderson, Stone, and Finch. They knew where Epstein was. Her whereabouts would never again be in question, but of course they were looking for Taylee. Emma Anderson had skipped town after she lied about me giving Sandra the cookie dough. Camari Stone had not been seen since her daughter’s solo lesson. She was wanted for questioning in the placement of the bomb. Monica was passed out in her bed, so they couldn’t exactly interrogate her.

  That left Krystal Glass, and even though it was a long shot, it was all we had. If nothing else, she always had her nose in everyone else’s business, so she might have heard something that could help. I gave Tate instructions on how to get to her store, located just across the way from my studio on 25th Street. Marshal Fallon, he told me tersely, was going to join us there, and the other marshal, whom I would forever think of as Marshal Doe, would be manning my home phone. My cell phone had been recovered from the studio and Fallon would be bringing it with him, in case Taylee tried to make contact.

  Tate pulled into a spot down the street from Krystal Klear Designs and just sat there for a moment.

  “Who was Sandra Epstein, really? What was her name before they put her into protective custody?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.” His answer surprised me.

  “You don’t know?”

  “No. So far that information has not been shared with me. The Witness Protection Program only works because of the complete and utter secrecy involved. The more people that know something, the quicker it gets out. That works in all aspects of life, not just witness protection. But so far, Fallon hasn’t found it necessary to tell me.” I heard the tension in his voice, and the estrangement between the two men became more understandable. It probably had never been about me at all. It was probably about the fact that Fallon had information that Tate needed to solve this case, and he wasn’t willing to give it up.

  A strange sense of disappointment flooded my body. It had been nice, in a weird way, to think someone cared enough about me to be territorial. But who was I kidding? Sexually, Tate was obviously attracted to me—and vice versa—but that didn’t mean it went any further than that.

  I tried to ignore the pang in my heart and stomach.

  “Why did you suddenly get so quiet?” he asked.

  “No reason. Just thinking. Trying to figure this out.”

  “Well, let’s go talk to Krystal Glass.”

  KRYSTAL’S shop was enough to give a normal person a pounding migraine, because the moment you walked into the store you were hit with millions of glittering crystal mobiles, flashing in your eyes. There was a soft clinking noise, as some of the mobiles spun around, twirling in the light breeze that had entered when we came through the door.

  The crystal mobiles were quite beautiful, and handmade, but very expensive, and frankly, I didn’t have time or energy for such things. Krystal claimed crystals were healing. She even spouted off information about “chakras” and a bunch of other stuff I couldn’t remember and didn’t really want to know.

  “Well, hello, Jenny,” Krystal said, as she walked out of her back room to see who had entered her store. “Detective.” She nodded her head at Tate in greeting.

  “Mrs. Glass, I have a few questions for you, if you would be so kind as to answer them.”

  “Of course,” she said, her voice young and girlish and . . . flirty. Great. “Ask away.”

  “Did you know much about Sandra Epstein? Have any real doings with her during dance?”

  A shadow crossed Krystal’s face and her light flirty air disappeared. “No, I did not. She was a vile and nasty woman, and I don’t befriend that type of person. Her energy was terrible. She let off an aroma that was evil, and I couldn’t even stand to be around her.”

  “An aroma?”

  “I am sensitive to auras and smells, Detective. What ordinary people do not see or smell, I can feel with an intensity that is sometimes painful.”

  If Tate wasn’t looking directly into Krystal Glass’s eyes, I knew he would be rolling his own, because she was so over the top. I, of course, was used to her.

  “So, besides this evil aroma, did you know much about her?”

  “Well, she thought her daughter was God’s gift to dance. But then, of course, so did Jenny.” She glared at me. I glared back. Why was she talking about Taylee in the past tense, as though she no longer existed? Could Krystal really have had something to do with this?

  “Anyway, she didn’t get close to any of us, so of course I can’t say I knew much about her personal life. I could just sense that she was not right in the head, and not a good person, and she knew I could tell, so she stayed away from me.”

  “So you never had much personal information about her, and didn’t know much about her habits and her activities?”

  “I knew absolutely nothing, other than the fact she would sometimes show up and support her daughter, but most of the time she did not. I would never treat my own daughter like she did Taylee. I do everything for Marilyn. She is my life. It was almost like Taylee was raising Sandra.”

  As much as I disliked Krystal, I had made the same analogy to describe Sandra and Taylee’s relationship.

  “If you think of anything else, please call me,” Tate said, pulling out a card and handing it to her.

  “Of course, Detective,” she said, her voice simpering and flirty all over again. She made me nauseous.

  “Where do you want me to put these, Krystal?” Marvin Glass said, coming out of the back of the store carrying three mobiles.

  “Marvin, I believe I already told you where to put them,” Krystal said, her voice high and edgy.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not really willing to stick them up my ass, so do you have a different location where I can hang them?”

  Krystal gasped and Tate’s eyes got big, and I covered my mouth, trying not to laugh. I’d met Marvin Glass only once or twice, but I had great empathy for him, living his life in the same house as Krystal and her brutish, sullen daughter Marilyn.

  “Well, thanks for the help,” Tate said, and we walked out of the store, leaving Krystal yelling at her hapless husband. Her voice grew louder the farther away we got.

  “Marriage tro
ubles,” Tate said, after we got into the car.

  “Yeah, well, wouldn’t you have troubles, trying to live with her? And her daughter is worse. I feel for Marvin. I’d be on the first quick boat to China.”

  “Slow boat to China.”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind. So, they were having marriage troubles. So do lots of other couples,” Tate said, obviously just running through facts and not really talking to me. “But marriage troubles. Still, there is no real connection to Epstein, except Krystal couldn’t stand her. If we are suspecting everyone who couldn’t stand Epstein, the list would be really long.”

  “Yeah, although Krystal really wanted her sad-sack daughter Marilyn to be the Sugar Plum Fairy, instead of Taylee. Of course, Emma Anderson also wanted Ella to have the role. And she’s tied to this more deeply than Krystal.”

  “We’ve tracked her cell phone, and her credit cards, and nothing has shown up. No charges. Her ex-husband has no idea where Emma is, and he doesn’t seem to care, even though it means his daughter is also missing.”

  “She’d be hard to miss,” I said unkindly, then immediately felt the backlash of regret. Oh well. So I wasn’t the nicest person in the world, especially after the week I was having. At least my failure to be a decent human being wouldn’t grossly disappoint all my loved ones. They already had me figured out.

  “This would all be easier if Fallon would just tell me who the hell Epstein really was,” Tate muttered, anger crossing his handsome features. He drove up 25th toward my apartment. “I think it’s time maybe he answered some questions.”

  FALLON was not at the apartment when we arrived, but after Tate called him, it didn’t take him long to arrive.

  “Did you find something?” he asked, his face all angles and innocence, with no sign he was hiding secrets, which we all knew he was. It was his job.

  “We have no less than four suspects in Sandra’s murder, none of which have a real strong motive. We need to know who she was and why she was in protective custody. That, to me, seems like a much stronger motive than issues over whose daughter is better at dancing.”

  “I can’t share that, and you know it,” Fallon countered.

  “Epstein’s dead.”

  “Taylee might not be, and until we know for sure, this information cannot get out.”

  The two men glared at each other, and Tate’s cell phone went off. “Hello? When? How many? Okay, I’ll be there in ten.” He hung up and turned back toward Fallon.

  “I have to go handle something. You need to watch her.” He pointed to me, and anger sparked in my chest. Watch her? Like I was a dog or a two-year-old or something? And the fact that he was willing to leave me alone with Fallon, even with Marshal John Doe as a chaperone, rankled, too, because it just emphasized the conclusion I’d already reached. Tate wasn’t mad at Fallon because of me. He was mad because Fallon wouldn’t talk about Sandra and Taylee, and who they really were.

  “I’ll be back soon, Jenny.”

  “Whatever. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine, won’t we Marshal Fallon?”

  “Andrew,” he reminded me.

  “Andrew,” I said, copying Krystal Glass’s simpering flirty voice and smile. I didn’t do flirty, but I was seriously pissed at Detective Tate Wilson.

  He gave me a hard look, which I ignored, and then he left. My stomach rumbled, and I put a hand to it. Somehow, it never lost track of time, even when I didn’t have money or food or any of that.

  “You’re hungry. Me, too. Famished, actually.” He stood up and walked over to Marshal John Doe, and asked him to go pick us up some sandwiches from the small deli just around the corner. “What kind do you want, Jenny?”

  “Turkey, avocado, swiss, lettuce, mayo, tomato, and olives.” I could save half of it until tomorrow, when, hopefully, I would collect tuition.

  “Right, and I’ll take a roast beef on sourdough, mayo, mustard, extra Swiss cheese, and chips. Lays. You want chips, Jenny?”

  “Are you serious? If it involves potatoes, I’m in.”

  He chuckled. Doe glared and then left.

  “So, how are you doing?” he asked gently. This side of Marshal Fallon made me seriously uneasy. I knew he was playing me, knew he wanted information and wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice me if it meant getting Taylee back, and yet . . . I was strangely attracted. Of course, that meant he was bad for me, because that had always been the case.

  “I’m okay, except somebody is really trying to keep me from putting on this performance of The Nutcracker, and without it, my whole studio is going to go belly-up. After the cookie-dough fiasco, it’s already in extreme danger. If I can’t pay . . .” I stopped short, realizing I had nearly given out information that I really didn’t want out. I did not trust this man. “Anyway, it sure seems like someone is targeting me, even if this is all about Taylee. And I don’t understand why you won’t just tell me what is going on. Who is she? Her mother is dead. I am not going to scream her identity from the rooftops, but considering that my life has been put in extreme danger, I think I have a right to know.”

  “Jenny,” he said, moving closer to me, “I really can’t tell you. I know that’s putting you in jeopardy and so I intend to stay close and keep you safe, but that doesn’t extend itself to violating the oath I took to protect Taylee and her mother. Sandra might be dead, but if Taylee is still alive, I have to find her so that she can help us put this sick bastard away.”

  “What sick bastard? The one who is doing all this?”

  “Of course,” he answered smoothly, but for just a moment there I had caught a glimpse of something else and it told me that he wasn’t talking about my case at all, but the one that had put Taylee and her mother Sandra into this situation in the first place.

  I backed away from him, even less willing to trust him than I had been before.

  “I scare you, don’t I?” His voice was low and modulated, and damn him, pretty sexy. His eyes were a darker green than I’d ever seen on a human being, and they were almost mesmerizing. But I was not going to be swayed by those eyes, oh no. I backed up a little, and swallowed hard.

  “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

  “Because I see it on your face. The fact that I can’t tell you what I know makes you wonder if you can trust me, because you think I have an ulterior motive. I guess I understand that, because I do have an ulterior motive, and it’s directly related to finding Taylee and keeping her safe. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to put you in danger.” He moved a little closer until we were almost eye to eye and I could smell his breath, a mixture of spearmint and a vague hint of morning coffee.

  “Trust me, Jenny.”

  “Not a chance in hell,” came a voice from behind us and he whirled around to see Alissa standing there. We had both been so intent on . . . what? Anyway, we hadn’t heard her come in. “Do not trust this man, Jenny. His only interest in you is this case. You’d have to be an idiot to fall for that line.”

  Who was she calling an idiot? Oh yeah, me. I should be offended. But I was still trying to shake off the almost intoxicating effect of those green eyes, and so I decided to ignore it.

  Andrew looked pretty pissed at Alissa. “You don’t know me, and you don’t know my intentions.”

  “I know cops. I work with them every day, and you are no different from the rest of them, and honestly, a little worse. You are ruthless and single-minded, and you want to move up the ladder, which makes you more than a little dangerous. Your job keeps you on the edge, in between the lines of truth and lies, and you get mixed up about the boundaries of decent human behavior. Well, guess what? Jenny is my friend, and I’m going to protect her, and I won’t let you put her in danger.”

  “Wow,” I said. I was pretty stunned by Alissa’s speech. She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward my bedroom.

  “I need to talk to Jenny in private. Girl stuff. Don’t get any ideas and follow.”

  She pulled me into the bedroom and slammed the door shut.

/>   “You know, any minute I’m going to wake up and learn that this has all been a bad dream, and everything will be back to normal.”

  “Don’t count on it. This is no bad dream. It is a nightmare, but you are fully awake, and all of these things are happening.”

  She pulled the laptop case she had been carrying off her arm and put it down on my bed, then motioned me to sit down. She pulled the laptop out and then a clear cord that I knew was a modem cord, and looked around. “Don’t you have a phone line in here?”

  “Nope. Sorry.”

  She sighed, and then jumped as a sharp rap sounded at the door. “Sandwiches are here,” Andrew announced through the door. “Guess you’re going to have to share with your friend.”

  “We’ll be out in a minute,” I called.

  Alissa stood and quietly walked to the door and put her ear to it, then pulled it open quickly to find Andrew standing there, ear to the door, just like she had been. He had the grace to look somewhat abashed, and I almost laughed as the two confronted each other. “Go away. Do not eavesdrop. This is not your business. I need to talk to Jenny about . . . about . . . dance.” Urk. She should have done better than that. By now it was probably pretty apparent to everyone that while Alissa was my friend, she was not a part of my strange dance world.

  Andrew smiled smugly and folded his arms, keeping his gaze on her. Alissa stood about two inches shorter than he, and yet she had a more commanding presence. While I could tell Andrew did not find her abhorrent, he did not seem to be falling for her intoxicating beauty. She was wearing a tight-fitting T-shirt and even tighter jeans, and stylish boots on her feet. She didn’t need makeup, because of her natural beauty.

  Most men would be a puddle right about now. He was holding firm. I suspected Alissa might have finally met her match.

  Finally, he broke the gaze. “Fine. But Jenny’s sandwich is going to get soggy.”