Dead on Her Feet (An Antonia Blakeley Tango Mystery Book 1)

by Lisa Fernow

  “And what?”

  “I thought someone at the party might have used it on her.” She told the truth, as far as it went. The question was, which someone? Shawna should have been the most likely person since she’d been alone in the bedroom with Nathalie, but something about that explanation just felt wrong.

  Detective Morrow nodded. “I understand Bobby and Shawna collided on the dance floor with Roland and Nathalie. Did you see it happen?”

  “No, but I can easily imagine how.”

  “Oh?”

  “With Bobby as part of the equation the most likely explanation is that the dancers had a genuine accident. Otherwise,” she ticked her answers off with her fingers, “somebody might have stumbled into them, a drunken bystander, Barbara, maybe. Shawna might have lost her balance, although that’s unlikely, she’s a strong dancer. Or Roland could have bumped into Bobby deliberately. It’s not unheard of to be run off the dance floor in Argentina. It happens to people who don’t follow the rules of navigation. Or Eduardo could have shoved Roland just for the hell of it. God knows he had reason to.” She’d used up all the fingers of one hand, not bad.

  “And then Roland, Shawna and Bobby helped bring Nathalie to Shawna’s bedroom.”

  “I told you that before.”

  “And Roland came into the kitchen for ice and never reentered the bedroom.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So Roland didn’t touch Nathalie after that point.”

  “That’s right.” Why was he so concerned about when Roland had touched Nathalie? He couldn’t have killed her unless he and Shawna were in it together and that was hardly likely.

  Detective Morrow put down his notebook and reached for his mug. It would be too hilarious if he noticed the bunnies.

  “Good coffee,” he said. “Maybe I should switch to real milk.”

  “Made from real cows.”

  “Grew up in Maryland. Mostly farmland at the time. When I was sixteen I went cow tipping with my buddies. We found this one heifer asleep on her feet but when we tried to push her over she woke up.”

  Antonia smiled, knowing what was coming. “What happened?”

  He pointed to his left leg. “Took out a chunk of my shin.”

  Antonia shifted back on the couch and tucked her feet under her. “I know how that feels. I’ve been kicked like that, dancing.”

  He settled back into the armchair, holding one ankle crossed over his knee. “Never learned.”

  “You should.”

  “I’m a cow-ard.”

  “That was terrible.” She stretched her legs back out on the coffee table.

  He took a fresh sip of coffee and sucked a nonexistent drop from his carefully trimmed mustache. “Tell me, why would Roland Guest say he’d gone back into the bedroom if he hadn’t?”

  She shrugged. “He feels guilty he didn’t help his own fiancée when she was bleeding to death. Or maybe he thought it was what you wanted to hear. That would be just like him.” She settled back into the cushions. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Go right ahead.”

  “Someone took advantage of Nathalie being alone in the bedroom to do her in, right? And she was alone in the bedroom because she didn’t feel well. And she didn’t feel well because she’d bumped her head on Roland’s after running into Bobby and Shawna. So the collision is important, right? Either the killer caused it, and the murder was premeditated, or he took advantage of the moment to get Nathalie alone and the murder was unpremeditated. Right?”

  “That’s a rhetorical question.”

  She scrambled up in her seat. “I’m right?”

  “You’re doing fine without my help.”

  “I saw your people take Roland’s jacket.”

  “We took everyone’s costumes.”

  She leaned forward in her excitement. “But you also asked whether Roland touched Nathalie. Was Nathalie’s blood on his jacket and you’re trying to figure out how it got there?”

  He didn’t deny it so she felt emboldened to continue. “The only way that could happen was if Nathalie was already bleeding before she was taken to the bedroom. That means she was stabbed in the dining room.”

  She stopped, horrified. If that was true Christian no longer had an alibi. Detective Morrow had gotten under her guard with his stupid cow story when all along he’d been hoping to trick her into saying something incriminating. Which she had.

  “How well do you know Christian Cookerly?” he asked.

  “He’s my nephew,” she answered, feeling Damocles’ sword about to descend. “I’m his legal guardian. His parents died a few years ago.” And if Detective Morrow finds out how, she thought, he’ll think Christian did this.

  “Professor Glass says you were on the floor with Christian at the beginning of the dance. But you say you didn’t see the pileup. Why not?”

  Because she’d already gone to the kitchen.

  She didn’t know what to say and what not to say now. They’d stopped dancing in the middle of the song. She had no idea what he had done after that. No idea at all. Why hadn’t she compared notes with Christian when she’d had the chance? “I always close my eyes when I dance. Most women do when you dance ‘on the body.’”

  “What in the world does that mean?”

  “That’s what they say in Argentina about close embrace style. It means you dance heart to heart. Actually, it’s more like sternum-to-sternum where the lead comes from the body instead of having an open frame where you lead more with the arms. Women generally close their eyes to get the feeling of the music and their partners.”

  “In that case what did you hear?”

  “Just the music.” She had to divert him before he figured out exactly when she’d left the room. “Have you considered the possibility that Nathalie could have caused the collision herself? Maybe she fainted.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Maybe she hadn’t eaten all day.”

  Detective Morrow didn’t say anything.

  “Maybe she had iron poor blood.”

  No response.

  “Maybe she was pregnant.”

  He just slurped coffee out of her bunny mug while she ran out of ideas. “What were you doing at the exact moment of the collision?”

  Should she tell him the truth? Or stall for time until she could talk to Christian? Detective Morrow might not be as bad as the others but he was still a policeman.

  “I told you,” she lied. “Dancing with Christian.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Arrepentida

  A repented action.

  In tango, a check-step to get out of a tight space

  ANTONIA WATCHED MORROW turn off his recorder, satisfied he’d bought the lie. Now all she had to do was square her story with Christian before he talked.

  From the floor above she could hear footfalls and the sound of creaking wood.

  “Your sleeping pill gave me a hangover.” Shawna shuffled into the living room. Her face was puffy from crying. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were here, Detective Morrow. I’m interrupting.”

  Antonia rose to her feet and stretched. “Detective Morrow has been interrogating me.”

  “I prefer to call it chatting,” he said, also getting up.

  “You’ll want to interview Shawna. I’ll just leave you two alone.”

  “I’m not done with you yet,” he said cheerfully and she couldn’t tell from his expression if he was telling the truth or if he just wanted to let her know he was in charge. “Ms. Muir, why don’t you join us?”

  “Of course. Let me just get something to drink. Does anyone else need anything?”

  Nobody did. Detective Morrow went back to his armchair. Shawna returned from the kitchen with a glass of water and took a seat on the built-in couch. Antonia plunked down next to her.

  The detective reopened his notebook and did his little speak-into-my-lapel name, date, and time thing with the recorder.

  “Just a f
ew questions about the relationships, Ms. Muir. You said you broke it off with Roland Guest. Then he became engaged to Nathalie. I understand Nathalie and Eduardo Sanchez were also at one point—” Detective Morrow looked at his mug, saw the mating bunnies, and cleared his throat—“involved.”

  Shawna nodded. “Yes.”

  “And Ms. Blakeley was just telling me about Barbara going after Roland when she saw he’d gotten engaged. Where does she fit into this love triangle?”

  “It’s more of a love rhombus, or maybe a pentagon,” Antonia broke in, seizing the opportunity to divert the conversation away from Christian. She offered up a chronology of the relationships, embellishing where she could to make it look like she was being cooperative.

  The unsuspecting Detective Morrow wrote it all down. “So, if I understand correctly, Ms. Blakeley, the original relationship was between Eduardo Sanchez and Nathalie LeFebre. Did Nathalie by any chance know Miles Rothenberg?”

  “Miles? They might have met in Buenos Aires at some point. Eduardo knew them both and could have introduced them. Why? I thought Miles’ death was an accident.”

  “Just curious.”

  Shawna frowned. “I don’t see how ... Miles stopped going to Argentina a few years back.”

  Antonia said, “He might have known her. They were both in the business.”

  “I seriously doubt that,” Shawna said. “They moved in very different circles.”

  Detective Morrow entered another notation in his steno pad. “Let’s see if I have the facts straight. Ms. Muir, you and Roland went to El Abrazo nightclub during Trasnochando; that was in August. There you met Eduardo and he introduced you both to Nathalie who at the time was his girlfriend.”

  Shawna took a sip of water. “That’s right.”

  “And shortly thereafter Roland and Nathalie started seeing each other.”

  “You’ll have to ask him about that. He’d hardly have told me.”

  “Don’t count on Roland for a straight answer.” Antonia couldn’t help herself. He was such an easy target.

  Detective Morrow continued to question Shawna. “In early September you learned about Roland’s association with Nathalie and broke off the engagement.”

  Shawna said, “That’s right.”

  “When did Eduardo find out?”

  Shawna paused with her glass almost to her lips. “As far as I know, not until he caught them together at the Halloween party.”

  Morrow didn’t seem to notice Shawna’s hesitation. Had she told Eduardo about Roland and Nathalie? That seemed unlikely; tattling wasn’t her style. “And sometime in September or October, shortly after Nathalie moved to Atlanta, Barbara and Roland had a brief fling.”

  Antonia said to Shawna, “I warned her but she didn’t listen.”

  Shawna nodded solemnly. “They never do.”

  Morrow frowned, obviously missing the reference, so Antonia explained. “New dancers often confuse tango intimacy with real life attraction. But tango isn’t life.” She turned back to Shawna. “Did you see Bobby’s reaction when he heard Nathalie and Roland had gotten engaged? Overjoyed in a reserved sort of way. Don’t you think he and Barbara would make a good match?”

  “Barbara could be good for him. She’d loosen him up.”

  “And he’d be a steadying influence on her—emotionally, God knows not physically. And she must care at least a little—look how she mothers him.”

  “She’s almost as bad as you with Christian.”

  The last thing she needed was for Morrow to focus on Christian so Antonia said the first thing that came into her head. “Bobby’s probably worrying she did it.”

  “I doubt that. Barbara’s not the type to plan a murder.”

  Shawna had a point. Even though Barbara was a scientist and therefore ought to be factual, organized, and rational, she really was an emotional person. Antonia tried to imagine a scenario that would fit. “She comes to the party hoping to leave with Roland. Roland arrives with Nathalie on his arm, I always wondered what that meant, that term, on his arm, she’s not a parrot. Anyhow, they announce their engagement. Barbara’s furious. She tries to claw Nathalie’s eyes out. The knife falls out of her garter. She takes it, waits, and strikes.” Antonia shook her head. “No, that won’t work. Nathalie was killed with a steak knife. And anyhow if she did it she’d be incapable of keeping it to herself, unless she was too drunk to remember.” Unless of course Barbara really was cold-blooded and the rest was just an act. “Maybe she plans it all along. Maybe even after Roland betrays her she still wants him and kills Nathalie to get her out of the way.”

  Shawna said, “Absolutely not. That’s crazy.”

  Detective Morrow made a slight noise as he shifted in his chair. He was letting them interrogate each other. No problem.

  Shawna set her water glass down on the floor. Noticing a piece of lint on her sweatpants she plucked it off and flicked it away. “For one thing she must have known Roland wasn’t serious about her.”

  “I agree. It was a calculated move, for Roland to seduce Barbara, I mean. He wanted to show Nathalie she wasn’t the only fish in the sea. What a Pinocchio.” Antonia twisted her ponytail into a knot and smiled at Detective Morrow. “Are you following all this?”

  “No strings to hold him back. And a liar.”

  Not bad, she thought. “But Roland’s plan backfires because Nathalie knows that game and plays it better.”

  Shawna said, “Nathalie manipulated everybody. Even Christian.”

  “Was she successful?” Morrow asked.

  Antonia couldn’t let him suspect Nathalie had gotten to Christian. “Was she ever. Look how she got Roland to pop the question.”

  The detective switched to another pencil. “I meant with Christian.”

  Antonia shifted in her seat. The built-in couch was a lot less comfortable than the stand-alone one. “Not that I know,” she said which was technically true. Christian hadn’t admitted anything. “Nathalie vamped all the guys.”

  Detective Morrow raised his eyebrows at her in a very dubious way.

  “Look,” she said. “Christian and I are close. He’d have told me if there was any connection.”

  Shawna added, “He didn’t go near Nathalie after she fainted in any case, so he can’t be involved.”

  “Not necessarily,” he said. “Nathalie could have been struck on the dance floor.”

  “Hold on, I just thought of something that will scotch that theory,” Antonia said. “If she was stabbed then she’d have fallen over on the spot.”

  Morrow shrugged. “Not necessarily. It depends. How sharp the knife is, where it enters the body, angle of entrance, what it hits. Stabbing victims can walk for minutes. They think they’ve been thumped in the back.”

  “That seems far-fetched to me,” Shawna said.

  “There are other possibilities,” Morrow said. “Someone left a set of fingerprints and a nice clean mark from his or her right cheek on the library door—the door that goes to the bedroom. It looks like someone was eavesdropping. Perhaps they heard or saw something. They could have entered the bedroom.”

  Shawna said, “No. I told you before, nobody came in.”

  Don’t react, Antonia thought, he’s just fishing. She said as calmly as she could, “You don’t know when he left those prints, if they are his. You can’t really think he’s capable of killing Nathalie.”

  “Maybe not,” he said. “But I have to investigate all the possibilities.” He scribbled something in his notebook. “Let me make sure I have this straight. Ms. Muir, when you were dancing with Bobby last night, right before you and he bumped into Nathalie and Roland, who else was on the floor with you?”

  Nuts, Antonia thought. If anyone noticed I left Christian alone on the dance floor his alibi’s blown.

  Shawna said, “When we started the dance Roland and Nathalie were ahead of us and Antonia and Christian were behind us.”

  “Did you stay in that order for the whole song?”

  Antonia qu
ickly said, “I remember Bobby was having trouble staying in his lane.”

  “Ms. Muir?”

  “I didn’t see. I dance with my eyes closed. That’s the best way to feel what’s going on with your partner.”

  “What about immediately after the collision? You must have opened your eyes then.”

  Antonia held her breath. She could feel the sweat beginning to pool under her armpits. It seemed like Shawna was taking a very long time to answer.

  “Bobby had trod on my foot and it hurt. I wasn’t paying attention to much else, I’m afraid. I went to my room to change out of my dance shoes.”

  Whew, that’s lucky. Antonia thought. Shawna’s one down. Now I just need to get to the others before Morrow does.

  CHAPTER 30

  Ir hacia atrás

  To go backwards

  THE MOMENT DETECTIVE MORROW LEFT the house Antonia dashed upstairs to her bedroom and speed-dialed Christian’s number. No answer. She waited for a few seconds and tried again. Still no answer. She raced down the half flight of stairs to the main floor and grabbed her car keys, cell phone and satchel from the hall table.

  Shawna followed her to the front door. “Where are you going?”

  She ran down the steps to the driveway and got into her car. The Audi was nearly on empty. Nuts.

  She hit traffic almost immediately. The light at Peachtree and Martin Luther King changed twice before she could get through the intersection, the road into Grant Park choked with Southern drivers going nowhere slowly. She rolled down the window hoping for some fresh fall air and was blasted with hot black lung-clogging exhaust from the SUV ahead of her. She tried to reach Christian again with no luck.

  By the time she arrived at his building and bounded up the stairs to his loft she was panting. She pressed the doorbell. No answer.

  Nuts. Where was the little rascal?

  She was just about to use her key to let herself in when the door cracked open and Christian poked out his head. His hair was matted down on one side and his t-shirt looked like the same one he’d worn under his costume the night before, only slept in.