Dying for a Dance

by Cindy Sample

  My cell rang displaying Stan as the caller. I had to be downstairs for the pre-wedding photographs in ten minutes, but he could be calling with his competition results.

  “Did you win?”

  In a voice barely above a whisper, he replied, “No, I haven't competed yet. I can't find Anya anywhere. I don't know if she's left the hotel or if she's still hiding. What if something happened to her?”

  “Calm down, Stan. Where are you and why are you whispering?”

  “I'm in the main ballroom. I don't know who to trust anymore. I ran into Marcus in the lobby. He was checking out of the hotel. When I asked if he knew where Anya was he shrugged and said they decided not to dance together.” Stan's voice increased in volume and pitch. “And every time I make eye contact with Boris he does that thing with his finger like he's shooting a gun at me. He's freaking me out.”

  I heard a female voice in the background. “Who's with you?”

  “Irina's sitting next to me.” A few seconds elapsed. “Sorry, I moved away. I'm not sure whether to trust Irina either although she said she would compete with me if the judges let me make a substitution.”

  “What if she's the murderer?”

  “Well, if Irina is planning on killing me, hopefully she'll wait until after the tango competition,” he muttered. “Then you can drape my first place ribbon across my dead body.”

  “Hey, that's no way to talk. What's Anya's last name again? I can try calling her room, but then I have to get downstairs. There's a wedding going on in a little over an hour, you know.”

  “Her last name is Taranova. Wait a minute. Omigod. Paula just arrived. You should see the crystals shimmering on her dress. That woman looks like a million dollars.”

  The phone went dead just as the door to my hotel room slammed shut behind me. I walked down the corridor then entered the elevator. I opened my purse and tucked the phone into the interior pocket.

  “Darn.” Paula's crystal fell out of the pocket and landed on the carpet in the elevator. I bent over, hoping I wouldn't have to crawl all over the carpet in order to locate it. As the elevator doors opened, the sunlight blazing through the floor-to-ceiling windows shone on the stone, which had rested next to my shoe.

  I picked up the tiny object, held it between my thumb and index finger and walked up to the windows lining the lobby. Fresh snow gleamed on the stately pine trees like iced white frosting. The late afternoon sunlight shone on the crystal in my hand causing it to shimmer with color.

  I stared at the winter wonderland lost in thought, wondering what exactly Stan meant when he said Paula's gown looked like a million dollars.

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  * * *

  FORTY-SIX

  * * * *

  I stood frozen in the lobby pondering how crazy would someone have to be to wear a diamond encrusted dress in order to win a dance competition. Had Dimitri noticed his partner's affinity for priceless gems?

  Across from the bustling lobby was the shopping arcade and facing me was a large tasteful gold sign for Genesis Jewelry. The photography session wouldn't begin for another ten minutes so I raced across the lobby and entered the store. The display cases were covered with wall-to-wall bling, but I didn't have time to drool over things I couldn't afford. And I had a question that was burning a hole in my purse.

  Several of the sales staff were occupied helping customers. One salesman must have noticed my frantic look. He walked over to assist me. “May I help you?”

  I plucked the crystal out of my purse. “Yes, thanks. Can you tell me if this stone is a diamond?”

  The distinguished pinstriped suited salesman didn't even blink an eye at my unorthodox request. He picked up a jeweler's loupe and examined the stone. Within seconds he nodded. “It's definitely a diamond. You weren't sure? Was it a gift?”

  “Long story,” I replied. “Is there any way to tell what this stone is worth?”

  He shook his head. “Not today. We'd need to have a certified specialist appraise it. It looks like a decent stone, though.” He scrutinized it under his loupe again. “I was looking to see if it was produced by one of the well known Canadian mines. Some of the larger mines mark their diamonds with minuscule polar bear or maple leaf marks.”

  “Oh, I didn't realize there were diamond mines in Canada.”

  “The first mine was discovered in the Northwest Territory in 1998. Canada now produces one third of the diamonds in the world.”

  “I had no idea. I thought most diamonds came from Africa.”

  “The Sierra Leone continues to be one of the largest sources of diamonds, but despite the Kimberly Process Certification passed in 2003 to regulate trading of conflict diamonds, there are still issues worldwide.”

  I remembered watching the movie Blood Diamond. That had been quite an eye opener.

  The salesman was now warming up to his topic. I glanced at my watch. Five minutes past photo shoot time. I was about to interrupt his diamond monologue when he uttered something that absolutely got my attention.

  “Of course, no matter what laws they pass, they'll never be able to totally eradicate diamond smuggling, whether it's for money laundering purposes or just the laundering of conflict diamonds.”

  He returned the stone to me and I gawked at him, my mouth open wide enough to shove my purse in.

  Paula's husband had mentioned their financial windfall this year due to his commodity investments. At the time, I assumed Richard was referring to the surging prices of gold, silver and other commodities that had turned out to be a great investment vehicle. But diamonds? Talk about a one-of-a-kind commodity, especially the black market kind.

  Had Paula discovered a way to make a fast buck to support her expensive dance habit?

  And had Dimitri figured out their scheme? How desperate would they be to keep from having their smuggling scheme discovered?

  Desperate enough to kill?

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  * * *

  FORTY-SEVEN

  * * * *

  I glanced to the left where the chapel was located, which was where I should be heading for the wedding photos. Then I looked to the right, in the direction of the ballroom competition. If Paula killed Dimitri and Yuri, had she also eliminated Anya? Was her husband involved in the smuggling? And the murders?

  Liz might want to kill me for being a couple of minutes late, but I wasn't taking a chance on anything happening to Stan. Who knew how desperate Paula was at this point.

  I called Stan to tell him about my discovery and to warn him to stay away from Paula. My call went directly into his voicemail. Darn. I forgot phones are required to be turned off during the competition.

  Then I called Liz but she didn't pick up either. I left a message telling her not to worry. I'd only be a few minutes late. Tom was next on my list. I called his number twice then finally gave up leaving him a message to meet me in the grand ballroom. Before a killer waltzed her way out the door.

  As I raced down the hallway, my heart beat so loudly it sounded like a bomb ticking away the seconds. I dodged several dancers, turned the corner and ran into a mass of people all waiting to enter the ballroom. None of whom were willing to let the frantic woman with the crazed eyes cut in front of them.

  I finally made it to the entrance and was stopped because I hadn't purchased a ticket for the day's events. I argued with the attendant that it was a life and death situation. Evidently that line had been used too often by impoverished dance enthusiasts.

  Fortunately I had a twenty-dollar bill in my evening bag so I went back in line to pay. The attendant stamped my hand and finally allowed me to enter. The audience was even larger than yesterday. Standing room only.

  Throwing good manners aside, I shoved one couple apart to see if I could discover Stan, Irina or Paula on the dance floor, or even sitting at one of the tables along the perimeter.

  “Hey,” squawked the tall, tanned female dressed in two pieces of glittery turquoise fabric, attached by
what looked like strings of dental floss. I wouldn't even sleep in that meager outfit, much less shake my booty.

  “Sorry, I need to find a friend of mine. Do you know which event is next?”

  She rifled through her program. “They're running a little behind schedule. After this Viennese waltz there will be a tango then the gold scholarship event will begin.” That meant Stan was probably ready to go on if he had found a partner. Paula's multi-dance competition would begin right after his event. I scanned the room in search of a familiar face.

  The refrain of a Rascal Flatts top hit filled the room. Hmmm. Who knew my favorite country duo wrote songs you could dance the Viennese waltz to. I peered at the couples on the dance floor. No one from our studio. I glanced toward the opening where the couples normally entered onto the floor. The light from the chandelier reflected a glint of something metal. A pair of wire rimmed glasses under a receding forehead. Stan!

  A jumble of male and female dancers waited for their opportunity to perform. The music ended and the dancers who were currently on the floor bowed and curtseyed. Then they exited as the new competitors walked on. Stan looked frightened, but so did several of the other participants. If there were not enough competitors in a specific age category then newcomers, intermediate and advanced students could all end up dancing at the same time. The only person who didn't appear the least filled with trepidation was Stan's partner.

  Paula!

  My buddy looked out into the audience. As soon as he saw me, his frozen smile morphed into a warm grin. He pointed at me and Paula glanced in my direction. Unfortunately, I don't have a poker face. Our eyes locked and her expression grew wary.

  The music started and the couples on the floor executed the authoritative steps of the tango. Paula stumbled once, but I didn't know if it was because she couldn't follow Stan's lead, or if her thoughts were elsewhere. My eyes remained glued to the couple so I couldn't compare their performance to the other competitors.

  I was more relieved than the dancers when the music ended. Stan and Paula bowed and walked off the floor. I moved in their direction, my intent to intercede and keep Paula occupied until the detective arrived. I glanced at my cell. Had no one noticed the matron of honor's absence and checked their messages?

  Stan and Paula split up and she disappeared from sight. Bronzed bodies in a variety of shapes and sizes blocked all paths leading to my friend. The emcee announced a five minute break before the scholarship dance competition would begin.

  A few couples drifted on to the floor to practice, providing me with an opportunity to scoot across the parquet tiles and bypass the throngs along the sidelines.

  “Stan,” I yelled. Not discreet but definitely effective because he glanced up at once. He waved and met me in the middle of the dance floor.

  “How did I do? Wasn't it great of Paula to step in? Since we couldn't find Anya, the organizer let me switch to the amateur/amateur category.”

  “Yeah, terrific. Have you heard from Anya?”

  He shook his head. “Not a word. Did you try calling her before the wedding...” His voice dropped off and he glanced down at his watch.

  “Laurel, it's almost four thirty. Shouldn't you be getting ready to walk down the aisle? Liz is going to kill you. And me, too, since you came here to watch me.”

  “The only reason I'm here is to make sure the killer doesn't harm you.”

  He jumped back and landed on the sandaled foot of a female dancer. “Sorry,” he mumbled as she glared at him. We moved away to the edge of the floor.

  “The killer is here? Who is it?” His near-sighted eyes scanned the audience for an unfriendly face.

  The music ended abruptly and the emcee began announcing the scholarship participants.

  As the men in black tails guided their lovely companions garbed in multicolored satin gowns out onto the floor, I pointed to the couple standing dead center.

  Stan looked in that direction. “See, I knew it was Boris all along.”

  “No, not Boris,” I said. “Paula.”

  “What about Paula?” He shot me a sideways look, making me wonder if that one glass of champagne had addled my brain. Was I grasping at straws?

  From my purse I extracted the tiny crystal. He reached for it and I dropped it into his palm.

  Stan rotated the stone in the light beaming from the overhead chandeliers. “Where did you get the diamond?”

  “It fell off of Paula's dress. I think she's been smuggling diamonds on her ball gowns. Replacing some of the Swarovski crystals with real gems.”

  His eyes opened wide. “Paula's been smuggling diamonds? Is the killer after her?”

  I wanted to shake Stan. Dancing seemed to have diminished his analytical abilities.

  “No, it means the killer is her. At least I think she could be the killer. Anyway, we need to keep her occupied until Tom arrives to question her. I left a message for him so he should be here any minute.”

  “Once they finish dancing, she could disappear out of sight. For good,” Stan said. “Tom will never be able to find her. You saw how crowded it was a few minutes ago. It's wall-to-wall bodies now.”

  I glanced around the room. He was right. Once she left the floor, we'd never be able to get close enough to stop her from getting away. Strains of a waltz began. Boris positioned Paula directly in front of us. He dipped her backward. Even upside down, she exuded complete poise.

  Stan held up the diamond in front of her eyes. Paula blinked once then as Boris whirled her across the room, she sneered at me, her heavily lashed eyes scornful. The waltz music ended then the strains of a foxtrot filled the room. There was only one way to keep Paula from disappearing forever.

  I grabbed Stan's hand and yanked him on to the floor.

  “C'mon, it's our turn to dance.”

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  * * *

  FORTY-EIGHT

  * * * *

  It was difficult to tell who was more stunned by our appearance on the dance floor: my partner, the judges, Paula, or me. Stan astutely realized that if we didn't start moving, we would be run over. Dancers don't let anything or anyone get in their way and a couple of clueless amateurs could become road kill in seconds.

  We began with the foxtrot, which I easily followed, so my first thought was that Bobby's lessons finally paid off. Stan led me in a promenade past one judge whose jaw dropped down to the notepad he used for scoring. For one brief irrational moment, I wondered how we would be scored then my thoughts returned to the issue at hand.

  Boris deftly partnered Paula who was making a valiant attempt to maintain the strict posture and head positioning required in standard dance, but every now and then she would briefly check out our location. Boris seemed clueless and intent only on leading and succeeding.

  A cloud of pink feathers landed on my nose and I sneezed into Stan's shoulder. Who the heck selected a dress that included a marabou-lined cape? Was it designed for show or to eliminate the competition?

  Stan maneuvered us into a position only a few feet from our quarry. The music switched from the upbeat foxtrot into the sultry tempo of the tango. My first tango.

  I couldn't believe how easy it was to follow Stan. He had truly mastered the beautiful dance that originated in Argentina. We gradually caught up to Boris and Paula. Her eyes were so dark with fury they matched the cobalt blue of her gown. Boris led her into a complicated maneuver. Without breaking her stride Paula stretched her leg out in the shape of a fan, spun it around, and bam!

  I crashed to the floor in a puddle of silver silk. One would think the music would stop when a dancer is felled by another dancer, but the other couples swept past, probably ecstatic that there was one less competitor to worry about. Not that anyone would consider us to be competition. The emcee was yelling something over the microphone but we ignored him.

  Stan jerked me to my feet just in time for the last dance event. Quickstep. We needed to be speedy as well as vigilant to ensure that Paula didn't quickstep o
ut the door. Stan discovered the only way I could follow him, without tripping him, was to skip around the room. A few bystanders laughed and pointed us out to their companions. My ego wasn't at stake here, but lives certainly could be. Boris's long legs loped across the floor and Paula amazingly kept up with him.

  For a killer, she was one heck of a dancer.

  Stan and I caught up to the dazzling pair right as the music stopped. The men bowed and the females curtseyed. So did I. Unfortunately since I'd never been presented to the queen, I'd never learned the art of getting back up from a curtsey. It didn't help that the heel of my shoe caught in the hem of my gown. Stan fiddled with my dress, removed my shoe and finally lifted me up under the arms. By the time I was upright again, Paula was almost out the door.

  Since the scholarship event was the last competition until later that evening, dancers and viewers swarmed toward the open doorway. Stan grabbed my hand and I followed as he veered through the crowd. He had definitely missed his calling as a football half-back.

  We reached the hallway. To my left, I caught a fleeting glimpse of a blue skirt. Paula must have ducked into the room where the dance costumes were sold. To my right, Tom Hunter, dressed in a black tux, was headed in our direction. With official help close at hand, I rushed into the costume room. Stan followed a few steps behind me.

  Paula stood next to the table where Irina, seated in a chair, was sewing embroidery on a gown. I should be able to stall her until Tom arrived.

  “The police are on their way, Paula. It's all over for you.”

  “It's not over until the fat lady sings, Laurel. And you're not going to be singing any time soon.”

  Paula grabbed the sewing shears from the worktable and the next thing I knew, her arm was wrapped around my throat, the sharp point of the long metal blade caressing my neck.