Tutu Deadly

  “Well, I only stayed here twice, and I had a big flashlight and lots of books, and blankets, and I could go through the opening into Mrs. Glass’s shop to go to the bathroom . . .”

  “Okay, look, girls, we have to get out of here, or we will die. I don’t want to die, and neither do you. So let’s just focus here, and pretend it’s not dark in there. Taylee, please go through and find the light. Once you find the light, it will all be better.”

  I could feel her shaking, her hand jerking in mine. I didn’t blame her. The whole situation had been terrifying. But we were close. Really close to being safe. We just had to get into the other building, or Taylee did, and find her way upstairs and call for help. And then we would all be safe.

  “Okay, I’ll try,” she said softly, letting go of my hand. I couldn’t see her, but I could hear the noise as she felt the opening and moved into it.

  “Ouch, it’s too small. I can’t get through.”

  “Please try, Taylee. Please.”

  I heard grunting and a few cries of pain, and then a loud thunk. I felt around with my hands, and knew that Taylee had gotten through the opening. “Taylee, are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m here. I’m trying to find the light.”

  The sudden illumination when the bulb switched on was as breathtaking and heartwarming as any vision from God could ever have been. But it didn’t last. I watched as Taylee tromped up the steps and tried to open the door to go into the store, so she could call for help.

  It wouldn’t budge. She was out of the tunnel, but could go no farther than the top of the stairs.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  AS much as I wanted to think there was a way out of this, I wasn’t seeing it. Unless Tate made the connection—and how he could I didn’t know—between my disappearance, Krystal, her shop, and the tunnels, we were stuck in here. I didn’t know for how long.

  “Can you find a hammer or something, Taylee?” It was freezing in the tunnel, and I intended to smash the opening wider so that Marilyn and I could get through, and at least move into the warmer basement.

  “I’ll see,” she said, but her voice was devoid of emotion. It sounded like she had given up. Marilyn was still crying. “I found one.” She handed the ball-peen hammer through the opening and I took it and began to smash at the cement, shattering small chunks of it as I tried to make the opening bigger, wincing with each strike. I turned my face to avoid the flying chunks, and told Marilyn to move a step back so no shards would hit and wound her.

  I was determinedly smashing away, when Marilyn’s hand clutched at me and grabbed, urgently pulling at me, and I turned to see a light moving toward us from the other end of the tunnel.

  I stopped, and listened.

  “What are you doing?” Krystal’s voice was harsh and angry. “I came back for my Marilyn. I just wanted to scare her, so she would realize how much I do for her, and how much she needs me. But what are you doing?”

  I didn’t answer. I should have known she wouldn’t leave Marilyn behind. She had too much invested in her. She must have gone back into her shop, grabbed another flashlight, and then came back for what she felt belonged to her.

  “Answer me, Jenny T. Partridge! What are you doing?”

  I turned and smashed hard a few more times, making the opening big enough for Marilyn, and I grabbed her and shoved her through. I tried to follow, ignoring the thump, thump of Krystal’s footsteps as she raced toward us, the new flashlight she had found reflecting off the walls of the tunnel in a crazy pattern. I went butt first so I could see what she was doing, and about halfway through I realized I was stuck. Too many funeral potatoes and French fries and extra dishes of ice cream had done me in. Krystal was only ten feet away, and I started planning my eulogy—would I be able to transmit my wishes to my parents? Did dead spirits really stay around and give people directions, like they did on television?—when I felt tugging on my arms and legs, and with an oomph, my body was pulled free of the cement and I tumbled onto the ground in the basement.

  Krystal stuck her head in the opening and then her hand, with the gun, and ordered us to get back into the tunnel.

  Moving faster than I would have thought possible, Taylee picked up the hammer I had dropped and brought it down hard on Krystal’s hand. Krystal screamed in pain and let go of the gun, which tumbled to the ground. She collapsed, halfway in and halfway out of the opening, her hand obviously shattered.

  At the same time, we heard a pounding on the door of the basement, then a gunshot, and the door opened.

  Detective Tate Wilson came through, gun drawn, followed closely by Marshal Andrew Fallon and Marshal John Doe.

  The cavalry had arrived, but I knew the truth. We had saved ourselves.

  TWENTY-NINE

  THE events that had started what felt like weeks before—but what had actually been just days—were finally over. Those events, we also discovered, were not all closely connected.

  Everyone involved denied planting the bomb that had ultimately saved my life, Taylee’s life, and probably Marilyn’s, because her mother would never again try to force her to be something she was not. Even though Krystal had come back for Marilyn, she had already done a lot of damage to the girl’s psyche. I supposed it might help a little for Marilyn to know that her mother had ultimately not left her to die, but the fact remained that the girl believed she had, at least for a while. The mysterious car chase with the Hummer also was not solved, as Krystal denied all involvement.

  Emma Anderson came forward after the events hit the local news, and turned herself in to the police. She’d been holed up in a condo in Park City, owned by a family friend, while she waited for the real killer to be caught. She’d been terrified that Ella would be taken from her, and although she figured eventually the real killer would be found, she didn’t want to spend the time waiting in jail. She admitted that after the police questioned her, and before they came to talk to me, she realized she would be the main suspect. She was too embarrassed to admit she didn’t have Sandra Epstein’s cookie dough anymore, because she had eaten it. Plus, she wasn’t sure they would believe her. Since she was already pretty mad at me, for not giving into her demands, fingering me was just the next natural step—at least to her.

  Tate relayed her sincere apology to me, and then threw in a kicker. “She hopes that you won’t take this out on little Ella, and will let her come back to dance. She thinks she has great potential to be a Sugar Plum Fairy.”

  He told me this while we sat at Rooster’s and I ate my fill of Pacific Coast bisque.

  “I think not,” I said, shaking my head. “I never want to see either Anderson again.”

  “Can’t say I blame you.”

  It had been two days since I’d been trapped in the tunnel and thought I was going to die, and we had already put on the matinee production of The Nutcracker, with Taylee in the lead role, and a very sad Loni and Ariel dancing in the corps.

  Even without a week of practice, Taylee was picture-perfect. There were several spots where she simply choreographed her own moves, and while I was very attached to my version, I was overjoyed to see what talent and skill she had.

  “And Monica? Where is she?”

  Just saying her name gave me a sour feeling. I’d been forced to use a simple pink leotard and tutu for the lead role, and expected it would detract from the performance. I’d spent the night before putting rhinestones on it, Taylee by my side, helping, and was surprised to discover that the simplicity deeply complemented the rest of the costumes and made Taylee’s immense talent shine even more.

  With some kids, you have to hide them beneath flash and sequins and glitter and makeup, and hope no one would notice they had not a shred of dance ability.

  Not with Taylee.

  Tate carved at his steak, but mostly pushed it around on his plate, and I could tell something was bothering him.

  “Okay, spit it out. What’s up? Who is trying to kill me now? Did I make some other psycho dance mom mad? Is someone going
to kidnap me before the evening performance?”

  He didn’t respond to my joking, so I knew it was serious.

  “Please tell me.”

  “Taylee has to leave tonight.” My heart sank. I knew the news had been coming, because I knew her safety was always an issue. Andrew Fallon had violated all kinds of rules by allowing her to stay with me, although he had camped in my living room for the entire two days leading up to the performance.

  But I did not want her to go. And my reasons were not selfish, for a change. She wanted to stay here. She didn’t want to move and start all over. This time, all alone.

  “Where is she going?” I asked, tears clouding my voice, and making the bisque tasteless. I put my spoon down.

  “I don’t know, Jenny. And even if I did, I couldn’t tell you.”

  I thought of poor little Taylee, who was right now surrounded by her fellow dancers in a dressing room at the Eccles Center, where they were playing cards and eating junk food and waiting for the next performance. Both the matinee and the evening performance were sold out, and I stood to make an even tidier profit this year than last. I would be able to pay my dad back, put a little money in the bank for all the lean months ahead, and hopefully invest in some new socks.

  “I’m not hungry anymore. I can’t stand the thought of her all alone.”

  “I know. I wish there was another way, but there isn’t. She isn’t safe here, now, even though they kept her involvement out of the press. Especially since we don’t know who was driving the Humvee that chased you and Marlys down. Could be another psycho dance mom, but . . . Someone could find her. She has to leave, Jenny, in order to stay alive.”

  I understood, but didn’t like it anyway. “And does she know?”

  “Yes, Andrew told her about an hour ago. As soon as her performance is over tonight, they’ll be leaving.”

  “Can you take me back to the Eccles Center? I want to spend as much time with Taylee as I can, before she has to go.”

  THE evening performance went off with only a few hitches. One of the buffoons peed her pants and had to be pulled from the lineup at the last minute, as we couldn’t salvage the costume. Her mother was willing to let her dance with a big wet stain. I was not.

  Taylee did an awesome job, and only a few people noticed when one of the other fairy corps members danced right off the stage and into the orchestra pit. She survived with only a few scrapes and bruises.

  When the performance was over, the girls gathered around excitedly, as they always did, and I got lots of hugs and thank-yous. I needed to get out front to the foyer and say good-bye to our audience, but I also needed a moment alone with Taylee.

  Marshal Fallon stood guard in front of the door where she was changing, and as soon as the gaggle of girls were done hugging me, I headed to him.

  “You better take care of her.”

  “I will. I always do.”

  “You didn’t do such a great job this time,” I reminded him.

  “Well, that’s because I didn’t count on a certain kooky dance teacher getting herself—and Taylee—into a lot of hot water,” he countered, amusement coloring his voice.

  “I didn’t cause this,” I said.

  “I know. I promise I’ll take care of her, Jenny.”

  “I’m going to need to know she’s okay.”

  “That’s not possible. No one can know where she is.”

  “I’m going to need to know she’s okay,” I repeated.

  He leaned down and gently kissed my cheek, and then straightened up. “I’ll do my best.”

  Then he opened up the door and let me into the room.

  Taylee was dressed, a small overnight bag sitting on the counter. She was looking into the mirror, as though she saw a stranger there, and her small, heart-shaped face was forlorn.

  Her name would change, as would her life, and I was so worried about where she would end up, and who would care for her, that my stomach was tied in knots. I wanted to whisk her out of there and hide her away, but knew I was not capable of keeping her safe. Not from the demons who were after her. After all, they were much bigger demons than the psycho dance moms that had threatened and destroyed her life here in Utah.

  “I’m so sad you have to leave, Taylee.”

  She turned away from the mirror and faced me.

  “I know. I’m sad, too. I want to stay here. I want to stay with you.”

  “I know. I’m sorry about all of this, and about your mom. I guess you saw her when she was, uh, well . . .”

  “Yeah, I did. I called 911.”

  “You did? Sheesh. No one told me. No wonder they knew you were in danger.”

  “The dispatcher said they would keep me safe, but I knew they wouldn’t. I called on a pay phone, and it was late and dark, and then I heard something before I could tell them it was Krystal, so I hung up and ran. I figured the only way I could stay safe was to hide, or to get to you.”

  “I didn’t help you much, did I?” I asked her, feeling a pang in my heart. She’d had so much faith in me. A lot more than I deserved.

  Tears filled her eyes and mine responded in kind, and I moved forward and pulled her into a bear hug. “I’ll always remember you. And wherever you are dancing, I want you to think of me. Never, ever, ever let them stop you from dancing. One day you will be the best, and I’ll see you again. One day you’ll be safe again.” It would be a while, I knew. Probably until her father died. Maybe after that, if the hit went further than what I’d been told.

  I pulled away from her and reached into my pocket, pulling out a small gold chain with a dangling pair of tiny gold pointe shoes on the end. I’d had to borrow the money from Marlys to purchase it, but she gave it willingly, insisting I not pay her back, as she sobbed thinking of little Taylee without parents, alone, and her life in so much danger.

  I would pay her back, but I appreciated her thoughtfulness.

  I put the necklace around Taylee’s neck and fastened the clasp, and then turned her shoulders to face the mirror, so she could see the necklace.

  “No matter where you are, you keep this on. Keep it on like you do this one,” I said, patting the cross I knew she had hidden under her leotard. “I don’t know where you got it, but I know it means a lot to you, and that probably means there’s a memory attached to it. So I’m giving you another memory. I will always remember you, and hope you’ll do the same for me. And if you ever find yourself in a bad situation, you come to me. I’ll be here.”

  She nodded, the tears spilling over. She reached up to hug me, and whispered in my ear, “It was from my teacher. The one who died. He believed in me. Thanks for believing in me, too.”

  A knock on the door told us it was time for her to go. After Marshal Fallon escorted her away, I cried some more, not sure who I felt worse for—her or me. I prayed that she wouldn’t spend the rest of her childhood collecting “memories” as she moved from place to place, but would find somewhere to call home. I also prayed that my praying wouldn’t doom her to a worse fate, since asking God for help never worked out real well for me. That thought made me cry some more. Maybe it was just an emotional meltdown that had been coming for days, ever since all the chaos had erupted in my life.

  “Jenny?”

  I looked up and my eyes widened as I saw Monica standing in the doorway. She wore a bag lady’s outfit, and her hair was died a horrendous shade of brown, but there was little doubt it was Monica.

  “What are you doing here? And where the hell is my costume for the Sugar Plum Fairy?” Wow, where had that come from? After all, the production was over for the year, and given all that had happened, a costume seemed like peanuts.

  But still . . .

  I considered the fact that Monica was a lot more unbalanced than I had realized, and that she had regularly tried to strangle me—in effigy. A little catch of fear blocked my breathing.

  “I didn’t get it done. That’s why I had to leave. When I tried to go to the store, I saw the cops watching my house, a
nd I realized I had to get out of there. But I just came back to tell you I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for not making the costume?”

  “Oh no, you put a lot of pressure on me. It’s your fault I couldn’t get the costume done. No, I came to apologize for the bomb.”

  “You are the one who set off the bomb?”

  “Well, I figured you’d have to put off the performance, and that would give me a few more days to get the costume done, because it was not working out like I had planned. And I ran out of the material you wanted, and I had to order more. Then my cat found the feathers in the bag, and thought they were a big bird and attacked and ate them, and that was an entirely different mess that you do not want to know about.”

  I suspected I did not. I looked around, but the building was pretty much abandoned now. So much for greeting my adoring public. And here I was, with a psychotic incognito costume designer, who was carrying who knew what weapons in her big, bag lady purse.

  “Anyway, I’m sorry about the bomb. Just wanted you to know that. Oh, and also, I’m sorry about the attack outside your house. I really was just trying to get you to postpone the performance, so I would have more time. Now, I’ve got to run.”

  “Whoa, let me get this straight. You figured that attacking me would delay the performance and give you time to finish the costume? And when that didn’t work you set off the bomb?”

  “Yeah, but I forgot how damned stubborn you are.”

  “You’re pretty small, and whoever attacked me was not. There’s no way . . .”

  “Oh, I have this really cool fat suit. It’s awesome. I got it . . . Well, never mind where I got it. Anyway, I used it to throw you off my trail. You turned out to be more of a fighter than I figured, though. Good thing I’m not a guy.”

  “Wow. Unbelievable. And now you risked getting caught to come and apologize?”

  “Of course. I do have manners, you know.” We heard footsteps and her eyes widened. She quickly slipped on a pair of oversized sunglasses, which, with her hair, attire, and the bag she carried made her look like an aging Olsen twin.