Tutu Deadly

  He turned and walked away, and Alissa shut the door, but still stood there. She waited a moment and then whipped it open again, and I heard a chuckle from down the hallway where Andrew stood. She glared at his back until he was gone, then shut the door. She walked to my bureau, grabbed a pair of my leg warmers out of the top drawer, and shoved them under the crack of the door.

  She booted up her laptop computer and said, “Well, let’s hope someone has a wireless connection close we can tap into, because I have something I need to show you.”

  Her laptop whirred and clicked and then came on, and began searching for a connection. “Bingo!” she said, after it announced a wireless connection had been found.

  She quickly pulled up Internet Explorer and typed in a URL. Up came a news story about someone named Bugliosi. Vincent Bulgiosi, to be exact.

  CRIME KING HENCHMAN ACCEPTS MANSLAUGHTER PLEA, THEN DISAPPEARS

  read the headline. Mob. Interesting. Mob? I started to get a bad feeling in my stomach as I read the story, which was really familiar, mostly because I’d watched a lot of television and movies. I’d seen this scenario in movies hundreds of times: Mob henchman performs hit on target, and is identified by a witness who then has to be moved into witness protection to be kept safe. Only in this case the witness was apparently a young girl and her mother.

  The young witness, who is not being identified by name due to her age, told police that she was having dinner with her mother and her mother’s friend when her father entered the room and shot the friend, Sal Minnelli, four times in the chest. He then turned the gun on the mother.

  I looked up at Alissa. “What makes you think this is Sandra and Taylee? And Sandra Epstein was alive and well, or at least well enough to move to Utah. Until recently . . .”

  “Keep reading,” she said, pointing to the next paragraph in the story. This was starting to annoy me. I didn’t know why she couldn’t just tell me what the story said.

  The young witness told police that Minnelli was not her mother’s boyfriend, but was, instead, the witness’s dancing instructor, and they were celebrating her recent acceptance into the U.S. Ballet Theatre Young Dancers program.

  Teresa Bugliosi was treated at a local hospital, and a complete recovery is expected.

  Blood drained from my face. Taylee had been classically trained, and she had impeccable technique. It sure seemed like this fit here. And getting shot would make anyone bitter and ugly. Perhaps that is why Sandra had become so nasty. Bugliosi would be their real last name. But what was Taylee’s first, if she was, indeed, this girl? And how had her father found her clear out here? Since it appeared to be a crime of passion—although how anyone could be passionate about the recently deceased Sandra Epstein was beyond me—then why would the mob be involved, anyway? And wasn’t her father in jail?

  I asked Alissa that question, and she clicked the Scroll button on the laptop screen, and I read further.

  Vincent Bugliosi pleaded guilty to a lesser charge of involuntary manslaughter. According to an anonymous source associated with the case, the plea was in exchange for Bugliosi’s agreement to cooperate with authorities on indicting his boss, Victor “Big Rock” Provenzano. Shortly after his court appearance, Bugliosi disappeared; he was likely placed into the Witness Protection Program.

  I looked up at Alissa. “This stupid reporter just put someone’s life in extreme danger.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, but said nothing further, apparently waiting for me to put the pieces together. Who did she think I was? Nancy Drew?

  “How can this have anything to do with Taylee and Sandra? They were out here alone. There is no husband. And if her father shot her ballet instructor, I wouldn’t think Taylee would want anything to do with him. In fact, it seems like he would want her dead, because . . .” Oh God. He was in witness protection, too, apparently somewhere else. What if he had escaped and come to find Taylee, and killed Sandra?

  “This is making no sense,” I muttered. “Why don’t you just tell me what you think, because my head is starting to hurt.”

  “Well, I don’t exactly know, Jenny. I’m trying to figure it out, just like you. But here’s what I think. I think that Bugliosi is a bad guy who thought he was killing his wife’s lover, and both Sandra and Taylee could convict him. They were eyewitnesses. But the feds needed Bugliosi to testify against his boss, Provenzano, so they gave him a light sentence in exchange for what he knew, and moved him into witness protection. Then they did the same for Sandra and Taylee, because they needed them as leverage to keep him in line. If this is them, then Sandra could have been killed to send Bugliosi a message: Shut up, or Taylee will die, too.”

  This was giving me a headache.

  There was a knock on the door to my bedroom, and Alissa clicked off the story we had been reading. She stood and opened the door to see Andrew and Tate standing there.

  “What are you two up to?” Tate asked, looking first at me and then at Alissa.

  “Nothing,” Alissa said quickly.

  “You better not be up to something, Alissa, because if you are . . .”

  “What? What, Tate, you threatening me?”

  “Because you are not a cop yet, and you are meddling in something that doesn’t concern you, and if you fuck it up, then I can make sure you never get to be a cop.”

  Apparently, the fact that Alissa had higher aspirations than dispatcher was known in the department, and even worse, Tate was using them against her. She glared at him, and loaded up her laptop into its case, silent and brooding. And when did Tate show back up again, anyway? Where was he going when he did disappear? When had my life turned into one big question mark?

  She finished packing it up, and then hefted it over her shoulder and walked to the door, where both Tate and Andrew stood, blocking her way.

  “Please move.”

  “Alissa, stay out of this,” Tate warned again.

  “Get out of my way,” she hissed.

  They both moved, and she turned to me. “Be careful, Jenny, because it’s pretty obvious that these two can’t keep you safe, despite all their bravado and tough-guy stances. Watch your back.”

  She left, and both men stared at me. Then they moved into the room. This was not good. “What were you two doing?” Tate asked.

  I had to think quick, and I couldn’t think of anything that got rid of a man faster than talking about a woman’s monthly functions, so I started rambling.

  “Well, Alissa found this article on how to effectively ward off PMS, which is a real problem for me, mostly because of my diet and the fact that I really, really like sugar and chocolate, and so she was showing it to me. It also talked about how you could have lighter periods if you . . .”

  “Whoa, whoa, I have a sandwich to eat,” Andrew said, the first one to back off and leave the room. Tate stood his ground.

  “Anyway, this article was really clear that if you bleed through more than one pad a day . . .”

  “Enough, Jenny. You weren’t reading an article on periods or PMS. I’ve known Alissa a long time. And she was up to something.”

  “You are not a very nice person, you know that?” I answered.

  “Huh?” He even looked a little bit hurt, but I was going to say what I was thinking.

  “What you did to Alissa. That was not nice. She is a smart person, and she’ll make a great cop, and you basically treated her like she was just a stupid woman—a dispatcher. I remember how you guys treated the dispatchers from when I worked there. You’d be dead on the side of the road without them, but you treat them like garbage. I can’t believe I ever thought you were a good guy.” I’d gotten a little caught up in my speech and now felt close to tears, almost believing my words. Wait. I did believe my words. What Tate had just done to Alissa was awful, and it showed me a side of him I did not like.

  “You’re right.”

  It was my turn to say, “Huh?”

  “You’re right. What I just did to Alissa was crappy, and I felt like shit doing i
t, but neither one of you knows what you are messing with here. It’s dangerous stuff. I can barely keep you safe, and I’m not doing a very good job of that. If Alissa keeps digging, she is going to catch the notice of some very bad people, and then what?”

  “You don’t really even know that, do you? You told me you didn’t know who Sandra and Taylee really were.”

  He pursed his lips, and that told me all I needed to know. Apparently, he had been given the go-ahead and knew the secret identities of the dead Sandra and her missing daughter. Perhaps that was even why he’d been called away just a short while ago.

  With the way he was acting, I knew that if they figured out that Alissa knew the identities of Taylee and Sandra, things could get really bad for her at the sheriff ’s office. I didn’t know how much pull Fallon had, or if he would use it, but if they did find out, what would happen to her? Could they get her fired, or threaten her to keep her quiet? How would it affect her dream of becoming a cop? Personally, I thought she’d done a great job investigating, but my opinion didn’t hold a lot of weight, and sometimes the egos of men were pretty fragile. More than one career had been toppled because someone pissed off the wrong person.

  She needed to keep quiet about her discovery, and so I had to warn her. She’d been saving my behind for a long time. It was my turn to help her out. Where the hell was my phone? Oh yeah, in my purse sitting on the kitchen table. Now, how was I going to get away from Tate and Andrew long enough to call her?

  “Oh, I feel my period coming on. And I’m completely out of tampons. I need to run to the store, unless you want to do it for me?”

  “Uh, no thanks, but I’ll drive you there.”

  I’d become a virtual prisoner of Tate Wilson, and even though he was hot, I was getting a little tired of it. Every step I made that he did not approve of required manipulation on my part. Oh well. Manipulate I would.

  Tate told Andrew where we were going, tripping over the word “tampon” and using “personal products” instead, which caused Andrew’s face to go all slack jawed and red, and he turned back to Marshal John Doe and continued to eat his sandwich. My stomach growled hungrily at the sight of the food, and I sighed. Alissa had to come before my stomach.

  WHEN we drove up to the convenience store on 36th Street, Tate told me to hurry. To my chagrin, he opened his door and got out of the car, determined to come in with me. But I was one step ahead of him. I’d picked the store for three reasons. One, it was close to my house; two, it was small, and I knew Tate would figure he could keep an eye on me easily, without standing too close; three, the women’s restroom had two doors. One that opened into the store, and one that opened into a back lot. The restrooms had originally been one of those outside entrance ones, but when the place was remodeled, the new owner wanted customers inside the store, so he had put a door that led to the bathrooms from the inside. While the outside entrance was no longer used, it still worked.

  I paid for the small package of tampons with my debit card, and the $3.79 purchase pretty much cleaned me out. I really needed to be able to collect tuition. I also needed my studio, and the performance ahead, but first I had to think of Alissa. I had to warn her. The other stuff would wait.

  After I signed the slip the man gave me, I excused myself to the bathroom, explaining that it was an emergency. Tate blanched a bit, for the first time, and then nodded uncomfortably.

  By the time he figured it out, I’d be long gone.

  As usual, I had not thought things through very well. I had no car, and I had to move fast or Tate would spot me. Plus, he was a cop and he could call in reinforcements. I was sort of a fugitive.

  I headed north, and east, jumping a small fence that led to the cemetery grounds of Leavitt Mortuary. I traipsed through the graveyard, trying not to tread on anyone’s gravestone, because that wouldn’t be very nice. Plus I was a little bit nervous about graveyards, even in the middle of the day. I passed the frozen fountain, all the time staring behind me at the convenience store, and Tate’s parked car. It was still there, but I knew I didn’t have much time.

  Reaching the main building, I turned again and saw Tate run out of the store and jump into his car. Time had run out.

  I had to hide and hide fast, so I ducked into the first door I found open. Unfortunately, it was being used. A whole room of old people turned to stare at me as the funeral director at the front of the room stopped in the middle of his speech.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I mouthed to one of the old people, like I knew her, and she just shrugged her shoulders and turned back forward. The director continued with his eulogy. Apparently Mike Towers had been a good man, a kind man, and one with a great sense of humor.

  His unexpected death, at the age of ninety-six, was a terrible burden to bear.

  Unexpected death at ninety-six? Surely that was all you could expect at that age.

  I kept turning nervously to stare at the door, sure that any moment now Tate would be coming in. A red and blue flashing reflected into the room, and I knew I was in deep trouble. I stood up and quietly headed for another room off the side of the small chapel where I had ended up. This room must be for families or something, because it was small, and another door led to what appeared to be an office. Maybe the funeral director’s office. I found a set of stairs and traipsed down them, until I was in what could only be the bowels of hell. Or the morgue. Take your pick. Death was everywhere here. I could feel it. I could smell it. I couldn’t see it, but I couldn’t see air either, and I still knew that existed.

  I felt myself begin to hyperventilate, and I reached into my purse and grabbed my phone. “Get. Me. Out. Of. Here.” Marlys asked where I was, and told me she’d be right there.

  TWENTY-THREE

  I felt sorry for Marlys, because she was always bailing me out. Usually that involved psycho dance moms and their crazy maneuvers, but things had changed in my life since Sandra Epstein had been murdered, and the stakes were up.

  I knew Marlys well enough to know that she walked into the funeral home like she owned it, following my instructions about where to find me, and when I heard her walk down the stairs, I’ve never been so relieved in my life.

  She carried a big bag, and didn’t say much, just handed me a scarf and a trench coat, made me put on some old lady shoes, and told me to hunch over. Then she led me up the stairs, out of the funeral home, right past an officer who was parked in the lot of the mortuary, and into her car. We drove off, and I breathed a sigh of relief as we headed toward South Ogden, where Marlys lived. “I have to call Alissa,” I said, pulling off the scarf and trench coat and pulling my tennies out of the bag where I had stuffed them when I put on the old lady shoes. I dug deeper to find my phone, but as usual, I could not come up with it. “Dammit, where is that phone?”

  Marlys just shook her head, picked up her own cell phone, and called my number. Sometimes I would find it that way, but today wasn’t going to be one of those days. There was no responsive ring. The last time I’d used it, I’d been cowering in the basement of Leavitt Mortuary. Damn. This was not good.

  “I think I left it in the mortuary. I took it out to call you, and that’s the last I saw it. Call it one more time. Maybe we just didn’t hear it ring.” Marlys shook her head, but dialed the phone again and let it ring.

  When she said, “Hello, Tate,” I almost passed out. She reached out the phone to me. “He wants to talk to you.”

  “Hello,” I said tentatively.

  “Not nice, Jenny. Using women’s reproductive issues to escape.”

  “You might want to ask yourself why it was necessary for me to escape,” I countered.

  “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

  “Are you? Or do you have some other motive?”

  “What would that be?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I’ll let you know if Taylee calls,” he said, and disconnected. Wait a minute. He was answering my phone. Surely he had to play by my rules. I called back, and he answered. �
��Yes, Marlys.”

  “This is not your friend Marlys. And you are answering my phone, so you have to play by my rules.” It was worth a try.

  “Nope.”

  “I got tired of being followed. A girl needs downtime.”

  “And a girl needed to call her friend, Alissa, too, and warn her.”

  I was quiet for a minute. I must be pretty transparent, or he wouldn’t have known that was exactly what I was doing.

  I sucked at this stealth stuff.

  “I want my phone back.”

  “Come get it.”

  “Are you going to arrest me?”

  “Why, did you rob a bank?”

  I tried to think if he had any real reason to arrest me, and couldn’t come up with anything. “Fine, I’ll meet you at my studio in thirty minutes. Bring my phone.”

  He hung up without answering.

  MARLYS let me use her phone to call Alissa, but I had to leave a message on her voice mail, because she wasn’t answering. “Liss, be careful, okay? I really think you could get into trouble if they figure out you think you know who Sandra and Taylee really are. Don’t let anyone know, or your dreams might be over, and you won’t ever get to be a cop. Or worse. Just keep it quiet, okay?”

  Usually, I was the one Alissa was trying to keep out of trouble. It was strange to have the tables turned.

  “So why did you escape from Tate, anyway?” Marlys asked me after I hung up. She hadn’t said much, and I sensed disapproval emanating from her, even though she had come to my rescue.

  “Don’t you think it’s kind of weird I needed to escape from him, Mar? I mean, really, think about it. I couldn’t even make a private phone call. And he’s not as wonderful as you think. I needed to call Alissa without him listening, and he wouldn’t let me out of his sight. And why is it you are taking his side in this, anyway?”

  “Are there sides to be taken?”