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

by Lisa Fernow

  Criminal History: None

  Barbara Wolfe

  Travel: Peru the previous year

  Criminal History: None

  Jackson had added a note in the margin: Wolfe’s high school alma mater was home to the Rattlin’ Tator ’Possum Eatin’ Festival. The idea of Barbara Wolfe facing off with a possum made him laugh, something he rarely allowed himself while on duty. Thank the Lord for cemeteries.

  Eduardo Sanchez Jaury had travelled back and forth to the US on a number of occasions. Nothing new on his criminal past. Morrow had read more on Argentina’s Dirty War. The Army had “disappeared” thirty thousand people, mostly students, lawyers, factory workers, and journalists. Basically anyone they didn’t like. Most were innocent. The Army came for their victims in green Falcons and took them away for interrogation. After torturing them the Army floated their bodies down the Rio Plat or dropped the live ones out of airplanes into the ocean. The Montoneros’ guerilla tactics, however ruthless, seemed humane in comparison.

  Had Sanchez been a Montonero? Had he killed his wife? Had he killed Nathalie LeFebre? Hopefully not.

  Antonia Blakeley

  Travel: Berlin (May)

  Criminal History: None

  Formerly married to Rux Donner, surgeon. Divorced on charges of spousal abuse and extreme cruelty.

  Jackson had outlined the Donner lineage with biblical attention to who’d begotten whom. The notes had been unnecessary: the Donners were even more prominent than the Guests.

  Restraining order sought against the husband but denied.

  The system had screwed her. That explained a lot.

  Donner later severed his ties to the Atlanta community for reasons unknown and took up practice in Sarasota, Florida.

  Morrow wondered what she’d done to get Donner to leave town, for there was no doubt in his mind she’d wrangled it. Smart gal. More often, a battered woman took out her dearly beloved by accidentally cleaning a gun in his face.

  Christian Cookerly

  Travel: None

  Criminal History:

  Morrow had taken care of this one himself. The town outside Cincinnati where Christian had lived was small and their police department even smaller. No memo or court record existed on the case but it had been a simple matter to find the detective who’d worked it. Retired to Florida. No problem sharing his personal notes on the case to help out a fellow cop, including the crime scene photos. Happy to send them along. They’d arrive any time now.

  Experience told him Miles Rothenberg’s death, Nathalie LeFebre’s murder, and the attack on Christian Cookerly were probably connected, and that he was only a few questions away from unlocking the truth. But the hard fact remained: the evidence they had was tainted and they’d never be able to prosecute. What a clusterfuck.

  Only one way left for honor and justice to be served.

  Improvise, adapt and overcome.

  The circumstances called for something special.

  CHAPTER 46

  Parejas

  The two partners in a tango

  THE DOCTORS ASSURED ANTONIA there was nothing she could do for Christian except let him rest and Morrow had arranged for a police guard so she decided to go forward with her usual Sunday afternoon class and use it as an opportunity to investigate. She didn’t have a plan, exactly, except to watch everyone. Morrow couldn’t stop her from doing that.

  The studio was actually a comfortable temperature for November. Roland had delivered on one promise, anyhow: a monster fan oscillated merrily in the corner, blowing cool air on her grateful class.

  Pugliese’s “La Mariposa” played at full boom-box volume. She’d ringed the floor with traffic cones, making the dance area progressively smaller each week, and the class was now working quite well within a twelve-by-twelve-foot area. The leaders navigated the perimeter without bumping each other. Even Bobby had curbed his tendency to drift to the center of the floor, although he still took the occasional deadly back step.

  Since the police still required Eduardo in Atlanta he’d offered to help with the class, making the rounds, dancing with each of the followers and thrilling them with a dose of authentic milonguero, much to Roland’s ill-concealed irritation. Barbara and Shawna avoided Roland altogether and occupied themselves with the newer men. No longer the main attraction on the menu, Roland consoled himself with the visiting instructor from Augusta.

  Antonia turned down the volume and called the class to order. “Today we’re going to work with waiting—finding the moments of silence within the music.” As she continued to develop her theme, watching the faces of her students to see how well they were tracking, Antonia saw their attention waver and she realized they were looking over her shoulder. She pivoted.

  Morrow stood in the doorway, hands clasped in front of him. He’d lost the tie so it must be casual day at the office, but his face displayed all the warmth of a Buckingham Palace guard. Well, if he was mad he could just be that way. It wasn’t fair to blame her for destroying evidence; without her there wouldn’t have been any evidence to destroy.

  Barbara flapped a hand at him in greeting. “Look who’s here!”

  “I warn you,” Antonia called out to Morrow, “if you set foot on my dance floor I expect you to participate.” She meant it as a joke but the challenge was real. Maybe it was perverse to want to mess with him but she couldn’t help herself.

  He cupped his hand over his chin, like the Thinker, only standing up. He didn’t say anything.

  So, in honor of Pugliese, she waited.

  He stepped deliberately onto the dance floor, looked her in the eye, and nodded.

  A cabeceo.

  Of all the nerve.

  Keenly aware her students were marking every move, she picked her way through the traffic cones and strode across the floor until she stood directly in front of him. Normally he had a few inches on her but since she’d worn her stacked heels that day she was able to look directly into his eyes. His breath smelled like wintergreen.

  “Detective Morrow.”

  “Ms. Blakeley.”

  The soul is not really united unless all the bodily energies, all the limbs of the body, are united.

  She wasn’t sure why Buber’s quote popped into her head just then. How embarrassing. “Ready?”

  “I’m not here to dance,” Morrow said under his breath, catching her by the elbow and spinning her around with a move he’d probably perfected on criminals. He steered her back to where the students congregated and they stood side by side, facing her class, surrounded by traffic cones. “Ms. Blakeley has graciously allowed me a few minutes,” he said. “I have a few questions. No need for the rest of you to leave. Pure routine.”

  For once Morrow didn’t take out his notebook. “First, for those who were at the Halloween party—show of hands.” He raised his. “How many of you had ever been to Shawna Muir’s house before the night Nathalie LeFebre died?”

  Was he trying to figure out who knew where Shawna kept her kitchen knives? Or had he some other inscrutable purpose? For all she knew he just wanted to see who was right- or left-handed. That would be just like the man.

  Only Roland and Barbara responded: both righties. Antonia raised hers. What if one of us was ambidextrous, she mused. How would Morrow handle that?

  Morrow said, “Thank you. Now, tell me, who has traveled outside the US in the last year and where?”

  Those who’d left the US all raised their hands. Roland won the prize for most countries visited: France, Argentina, Dubai, Italy, and Switzerland.

  Morrow asked him, “Ever been to Colombia?”

  “I forgot. Yes, I did go there.”

  “For business?”

  Roland smiled. “I certainly wouldn’t go there otherwise.”

  “Buy anything?”

  Roland blinked. “Not on that trip, if I recall, unfortunately.”

  Morrow scratched his chin. “Because we found a couple of invoices at Nathalie LeFebre’s apartment. One for a drum table and a
nother for a Colombian emerald.”

  Roland’s mouth opened and closed, stupidly, like a fish. Finally he said, “I don’t recall.”

  Morrow reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He opened it. “Here, it says Klement Antiquedades.”

  Bobby blinked and took off his glasses.

  Eduardo said, “There’s a shop by that name in Argentina.”

  Morrow appeared to look more closely at the invoice but by this point Antonia was certain he was just going for the theatrical effect. “You’re right, my mistake. Buenos Aires. Sold to Rothenberg and Guest European and Asian Acquisitions. Would that have been you, Mr. Guest, or your late partner?”

  Roland answered, “Miles and I both went to Latin America so it could have been either of ours. Sorry, you know how it is; our firm does a lot of business. You can’t expect me to remember every transaction.”

  “Is this the emerald?” Morrow brought out a zip-lock baggie and upended it. A tiny green stone tumbled into his palm.

  If that’s Roland’s it’s probably fake like him, Antonia thought.

  “No.” Roland glanced away. “Just because you may have found them together doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Of course. Maybe the Professor would take a look.” Morrow passed the emerald and the invoice to Bobby. “You authenticate stones. Does this match the description in the invoice?”

  Bobby put his glasses back on and peered at the invoice for several seconds before examining the stone.” I can’t confirm it without my instruments but I don’t think so. This appears to be an inferior quality stone.”

  Roland said, “I told you it wasn’t one of mine.”

  Morrow took back the emerald and the invoice and put them back in his pocket. “One last question for those of you who were at Shawna’s the night Nathalie died. Hobbies.”

  Nervous laughter spilled from the class in a verbal volcada.

  “What kind of hobbies?” Barbara asked.

  Morrow shrugged. “What do you do when you aren’t working or dancing?”

  Antonia knew almost everything there was to know about her students’ attitudes and behaviors when it came to tango. Bobby loved milongas because he could find the beats. Roland liked to dance with women he could “educate” and loved leading molinetes. Shawna loved vals and hated milongas. Eduardo felt women shouldn’t learn to lead because it ruined them as followers. Barbara liked the physical torque of sacadas and voleos. Christian enjoyed Piazzola’s music but wouldn’t dance to it because the rhythms were, as he’d say, too squirrelly. But tango dancers rarely talked about their outside lives. It was funny how little she knew. She started the group off: “I love to cook and I study capoeira—that’s a Brazilian martial art, but I like its dance qualities. And, of course, there’s the Braves. Bobby, what about you?”

  Bobby felt for the pocket of his shirt. “I play chess. Tournaments, actually. I like to barbeque outdoors on weekends.”

  Eduardo asked Bobby, “Have you ever been to an Argentine asado? We grill the entire cow.”

  Bobby raised his eyebrows. “No, but I would be very interested—”

  Antonia cut him off. “Shawna, what about you?”

  Shawna cleared her throat. “I read and collect antiques, including Asian weapons, as you know, Detective Morrow.”

  “I was admiring your Japanese shuriken. Ever thrown one?”

  “Heavens, no.”

  “Hobbies?” Eduardo seemed to be trying the question on for size. “I see no harm in answering. When I was younger I used to play polo. I read for pleasure, mainly history, and I occasionally paint.”

  Antonia didn’t know what Morrow was going for but she could see he wanted everyone talking so she asked, “What kind of painting?”

  “Oil and watercolor. Landscapes. Nudes.”

  Barbara rubbed her nose. “I don’t see the point of this but I collect South American weavings and textiles and I sew.”

  “She made her Halloween costume,” Bobby said proudly.

  “What about you, Roland?” Antonia asked.

  Roland seemed to be weighing what answer might incriminate him the least but before he could find something completely banal to say Shawna answered on his behalf. “Roland goes dove hunting with his buddies every season. I don’t know what he sees in it.”

  Roland smiled indulgently. “You can’t begrudge me that. Did I complain when you spent all your weekends remodeling that money pit of yours, by hand?”

  Morrow slipped his hands into his pockets. It was the first time Antonia had seen him do that in their acquaintance. It seemed to signal “off duty”. “Thank you very much, everyone, that’s all I had. Ms. Muir, you can pick up your keys at the station tomorrow night after six thirty. Detective Jackson will meet you at the house at around eight for a walkthrough. Make sure we haven’t broken anything. Sorry it has to be so late. For those of you who may have left any personal belongings at Shawna’s house you’re welcome to pick them up any time after that.” He turned to go.

  In Detective Morrow’s spare time, Antonia thought, when he’s not saving the world he likes cow tipping and puns. He’s won several tournaments for both. “What about your hobbies, Detective Morrow?”

  He turned back. “I’m thinking of taking up fishing.”

  “You should try dancing tango. Let me show you.” Her students immediately agreed and clamored for Morrow to try it out.

  Eduardo’s aristocratic voice cut through their chatter. “You should let Antonia give you a lesson. She is a fine instructor. And she follows beautifully.”

  Morrow grinned. “I’ve never seen that side of her.”

  The class cracked up.

  “Come on, don’t be shy.” Antonia walked over to the CD player and selected Di Sarli’s “Organito de la Tarde”. “We’ve all cooperated so humor us,” she said. “Maybe you’ll like it.” She smiled, telegraphing her challenge: I dare you.

  Her students seemed to sense that this was a threshold. They nodded their encouragement to Morrow.

  He passed a hand over his mustache, smoothing it into place. Then, to her intense gratification, he walked over and stood in front of her. There they were, mano a mano. She felt her skin tingle. She stretched her spine to stand taller and she saw his back straighten in an answering signal, triggering her, in turn, to stretch a millimeter taller.

  “Come here,” she said. “Closer.”

  He stepped closer until their noses were about an inch apart.

  “That’s good,” she said. “Put your right arm around me.”

  He slid his arm around her upper back. Now they were too close for her eyes to properly focus; all she could make out was a blurred view of his face.

  The thought of having Morrow on her turf and off balance was too delicious for words. It somehow evened things out between them. She moved in to position her chest to his, planting her weight equally on both feet, then shifting her weight to her left foot. Staying on her axis, she raised her left arm and draped it around his shoulders. She felt her leotard brush against his sweater and her right cheek graze his, but they weren’t fully connected yet. She expected some show of nervousness but he stood calmly, his left arm loose at his side, smelling like his clothes had just come out of the dryer. She held up her right hand and felt his warm, calloused fingers close over hers.

  Morrow said, “Nervous?”

  Now that he’d pointed it out it did feel like Niagara Falls was pouring out of her palm. “Don’t be silly.”

  “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

  “Of course not.” She couldn’t see his face but she felt the muscles in his cheek tighten and she knew the bastard must be grinning.

  “Now what?”

  “Embrace me.”

  Morrow drew her in. There was no need to make the usual accommodations in how they stood, how he held her in his arms, how she held him in hers, where she placed her head, where their chests touched. They’d just … docked. She felt his heartbeat quicken slightly. S
he inhaled deeply and exhaled, closing her eyes, letting her cheek relax fully against his.

  He’d shaved. The so-and-so had expected her to challenge him.

  “Okay, Morrow,” she said into his ear. “The lead I feel comes from your chest and our embrace so you have to make sure I can feel the connection to your body. I need to feel your weight changes. Try shifting from your right foot to your left.”

  “Like this?” Morrow shifted on to his left foot and she shifted with him.

  Not bad, she thought. He really did have good posture. He kept the connection in his chest and his heart beat nice and steady. If only she could stop hers from pounding like jungle drums in the King Kong movie where the natives tied up the girl and prepared to sacrifice her.

  “Now, back to your right foot,” she said, and he shifted back.

  “Eso, that’s it,” Eduardo said. She opened her eyes to find Eduardo at Morrow’s side, correcting his dorsals.

  “Show me what you got.” She helped him into a forward walk. Then she got him to try a syncopated walk and Morrow was able to find the beat. Pretty soon the class was cheering him on.

  “I didn’t actually come to dance with you.” Morrow’s voice rumbled in her ear. He took a few steps then rocked from foot to foot. “Not that I’m not enjoying myself.” He rocked some more.

  She back-led him to take a forward step. “Then why are you still here?”

  “To get your help.” He took a back step, against the line of dance.

  “Don’t do that, you’ll run into somebody,” she said. “What do you want from me?”

  He stepped to the side. “Meet me tomorrow morning, your house, ten o’clock. Can you have Shawna join us?”

  Antonia blinked and felt her right eyelashes brush his cheekbone. Morrow brought his feet together, causing her to collect hers. It took her a few seconds to realize he’d stopped leading. They stood, still in the embrace, breathing in time together, as one.

  Partners.

  CHAPTER 47

  Love

  THE CONVERSATION ABOUT the Argentina asado had put Bobby in the mood for a good steak. When Eduardo suggested they go one better and cook an authentic Argentine meal after class, Bobby had entered into the adventure with enthusiasm.