Dancing with Murder

by Robert T. Jeschonek

"None whatsoever." Eddie grinned and waved in the direction of the front door. "Now go on and get outta here. I'll shut off the lights and lock the place up."

  "Thanks, Eddie." I started across the stage. "See you in the morning."

  "You bet," said Eddie Jr.

  As I headed down the stairs to the battered gym floor of Polka Central, I heard Eddie's footsteps marching across the stage behind me. When I looked back, all I saw was the gray curtain fluttering in the stage right wing, where he'd pushed through to get to the breaker box.

  Looking at that curtain, I felt a strange pang...an emptiness in my stomach. Did it have something to do with Eddie Jr.?

  I was suddenly thinking of the old days when we were together--but maybe that was just a yearning for simpler times. A yearning for youth. It couldn't have been anything more.

  Because Eddie Jr. and I were over centuries ago, and I had never looked back. There was too much to deal with in the here and now to waste time digging up long-dead feelings and all the baggage that came with them.

  It was better to keep moving forward. It was the only way I'd ever find my father's killer.

  And, hopefully, help Polish Lou rest in peace.

  *****

  Chapter 27

  Ghost the cat was waiting for me when I got home. As I pulled up and parked the red Hyundai at the DeeLite Efficiency Motel, I saw him pacing back and forth outside the door of my room. His bright green eyes flashed in the beams of my headlights.

  When I walked to the door, he went straight for my legs, rubbing his white-furred body against them. He purred, and I could feel the soft rumbling through my jeans. It was nice, though I was pretty sure he wasn't there just for affection.

  "Thought you'd pay another visit to the milk bar, huh?" His ears flicked at the sound of my voice, but he didn't look up at me. "Well, what makes you think the free drinks will keep on coming?"

  As if on cue, Ghost mewed. He dragged himself one way, then the other against my legs.

  "Is that so?" I planted my hands on my hips, as if the pose would mean anything to him. "You think you're some kind of V.I.P.? You don't have to pay your way like the rest of us?"

  Ghost mewed again, and I smiled. He was playing me, but the distraction was welcome.

  "Oh, I see." I jingled my keys, and he stopped pacing and gazed up at me. "Why didn't you tell me you were king of the world in the first place?"

  This time, Ghost let out a full-voice meow instead of a mew. He was certainly in a talkative mood.

  And I was glad for the low-stress company. But not in a hurry to let him into my room again. "Stay there, Your Majesty." I pointed at him and spoke sternly, hoping he'd get the message. As I turned my key in the lock on the doorknob, I never took my eyes off him. "I'll be right back with your royal toast, Sire."

  Ghost meowed but didn't move toward me. I didn't have to block the gap as I pushed the door open, but I did, just in case he had an impulsive change of heart.

  As soon as I squeezed through into my room, I shut the door. Mission accomplished...so far, anyway.

  I headed straight for the kitchenette and washed His Majesty's blue cereal bowl, which I'd left in the sink that morning. Pulling the carton of milk from the mini-fridge, I poured a half-inch into the bowl, just like the night before.

  Then, cracking the front door, I slipped outside and put the bowl on the sidewalk. "Dinner is served, King Ghost, sir. Sorry it's in such a humble bowl, but the diamond-encrusted solid gold one with the sapphire-and-ruby-studded saucer is at the jeweler's for a cleaning."

  Ghost had nothing more to say at this point. The second the bowl hit the pavement, he thrust his snout into it. From then on, he was all about the lapping.

  Seeing my chance to solve a mystery, I crouched beside him. I ran my hand lightly over his soft, white fur, hoping he wasn't a touchy eater.

  He ignored me and kept lapping. I kept petting him, leaning closer all the while, peering at his red collar. If only I could find out who his owner was...maybe even an address or phone number.

  But all I saw were rhinestones. The gold nameplate was turned downward, away from me.

  Could I rotate it toward me without spooking him? Gently, I pinched the collar between my thumb and forefinger. Ever so slowly, I turned it, tugging the red band clockwise through his fluffy fur.

  That lasted all of a second. Ghost's head snapped up suddenly, and he darted right away from me. I'd pushed him too far.

  Without pausing, he scampered off around the corner and was gone. So much for solving that mystery, at least for now.

  And so much for the company, too. Which suddenly struck me as a bigger missed opportunity than the clue. Maybe I didn't want to be alone tonight, after all.

  In which case, maybe it was time for an overdue phone call to the West Coast.

  Leaving the milk out for Ghost, I went back into my room and closed the door behind me. My purse was on the dresser, right where I'd dropped it when I'd come in for the milk. I fished out my phone--and saw that the screen was dark. The power was off.

  Not good. Thinking back, I realized I'd never turned it on that day. I'd been too busy and had had too much on my mind; I'd switched it off the night before, and it had stayed that way ever since.

  As I pressed the power button, a feeling of dread crawled through me. God only knew how many messages had piled up in my voice mail inbox. Anything could've happened while I wasn't paying attention.

  I hated to look, but I did. As soon as the phone cycled past the introductory screen to the function menu, I tapped the icon for voice mail. An image of a mailbox appeared, with the number of new messages listed below it.

  That number was zero.

  I couldn't believe it. I hadn't checked my voice mail for close to twenty-four hours, and no one had left me a message.

  I was especially surprised that Luke wasn't on there, begging for a status report and good news about my inheritance. It wasn't like him, in the heat of a crisis, not to bug me.

  Maybe he'd called, even if he hadn't left a message. Switching out of voice mail, I checked the number of missed calls that had come in--and again, I was stunned. According to my phone, Luke hadn't even tried to call me once that day.

  My heart beat faster as I wondered what was going on. Was Luke holding back because I'd been putting him off? After all, I hadn't talked to him since Saturday; he'd called Sunday, and I hadn't answered or called back. Maybe he was giving me a taste of my own medicine.

  Or was it more than that? Had something happened? Had something gone wrong in a big way?

  Our dance club, Beat Down, was running out of time. Luke had been trying to get an extension on our loan payment. Had the bank done the opposite instead and pulled the plug prematurely? It would explain why Luke was on radio silence.

  I knew one thing for sure: it was time to call my boyfriend. Opening my contacts list on the phone, I scrolled down to Luke's number and pressed the button to dial. Then, I waited while it rang.

  And I waited some more. No answer.

  Luke's voice mail picked up, and I left a message. "Hi, honey, it's me. Haven't heard from you in a while. Is everything all right? Please give me a call."

  My heart was pounding as I hung up. I was probably worrying too much; there were lots of good reasons that might explain why he wasn't answering. But still.

  There was a knot in the pit of my stomach. I had a bad feeling about this.

  So I called him again. I tried three more times, in fact...and the result was always the same. Luke's phone rang six times, then went to voice mail.

  Giving up on his cell, I moved on to the number for the club. Nobody answered there, either. It wasn't cause for panic, as Beat Down was closed Monday nights, but it did make me worry more. Luke was almost always there, working on one thing or another, whether the club was open or not.

  I finally gave up and put down the phone. But as I got ready for bed, I couldn't stop thinking about Luke's silence. Just a day ago, I'd let one of his calls
go to voice mail; I hadn't wanted to deal with his stressed-out fretting about the club and his need for constant updates on my inheritance situation.

  Now that he wasn't taking my call, I desperately wanted to talk to him. I needed reassurance that he was okay, that nothing terrible had happened.

  Because as much as he drove me crazy sometimes, as much strain as the failing club had put on our relationship, I still cared about him. And the last thing I needed right now was another mystery to deal with, especially one that was based in L.A., over two thousand miles away.

  Though that was exactly what I'd been given.

  *****

  Chapter 28

  The milk bowl outside my door was empty when I woke the next morning. It was also upside-down. I had no way of knowing if Ghost had drunk it dry and flipped it over, or another animal had done it, or something or someone else had upended it and spilled the contents.

  But I hoped Ghost had drunk his fill. And I hoped I hadn't driven him away for good. I couldn't stand to lose contact with anyone else just then.

  Speaking of contact, I checked my voice mail for messages as soon as I woke up...but there were none. I couldn't call Luke yet, either; I'd gotten up at five in the morning, which would be two A.M. West Coast time. As anxious as I was about Luke's radio silence, I thought it would be better to wait and try again later.

  Instead, I made coffee, showered, fixed my hair, and dressed for work. I put on the last decent outfit I'd packed--a button-down black blouse with tone-on-tone pinstripes and collar--and made a mental note to stop at the store and buy some clothes on my way home that night. I'd packed three days' worth, and now I needed enough to get me through a full week.

  Gulping my coffee, I hit the road with time to spare. I pulled in at Polka Central a full five minutes before six o'clock. Peg's beat-up white Oldsmobile was already there, along with a purple Honda that I guessed belonged to Glynne, but according to the clock I wasn't late.

  Even so, it looked like I'd missed a lot of activity. I counted at least twelve big black garbage bags piled along the curb, all stuffed to the limit.

  As I walked up the front steps and opened the door, I felt a little apprehensive. Would Peg still be upset about Dad keeping his planned reunion with Eddie Sr. a secret from her?

  The answer appeared to be "no." Peg greeted me at the door with a bag of garbage in each hand...and a big smile spread across her face.

  "Hey there, sweetie!" She looked downright perky, as if she'd had a good night's sleep. It was quite a change from finding her asleep at her desk the day before. "Trash pickup in half an hour!"

  I held the door for her and followed her out to the curb. "Need a hand?"

  "No, thanks." Peg walked to the curb and dropped the bags in the grass a dozen feet behind my car. "You'll be plenty busy today, what with moving Polkapourri to Valhalla."

  "About that..." I searched my mind for the best way to tell her the move was bogus and Polkapourri was now homeless.

  She brushed past before I could come up with the right words. "Not to mention our other situation."

  I hurried up the front steps after her and closed the door. "Is Eddie Jr. here?" I hadn't seen his truck outside, but I asked anyway.

  "Glynne's here. She's sorting equipment in the storm cellar." Peg said it over her shoulder as she marched across the gym floor. "But there's no sign of Eddie yet.

  "However, he's already given us something to go on. That story about the Polish Princes reunion. Maybe it's important somehow."

  I hadn't thought about it much. I'd been too busy worrying about Luke. "I don't know." I trailed her up the stage steps. "Who wouldn't want to see Lou and Eddie Sr. play together again?"

  Peg stopped suddenly and whirled to face me. "Exactly!" She jabbed an index finger in the air. "Who wouldn't want a reunion to happen?"

  I shrugged. "One of Dad's enemies?"

  Peg stepped back and straightened her sweatshirt--navy blue with a Polish Fly emblem outlined in white on the front. "Why would it have to be an enemy?"

  I stayed there, frowning, and considered it as she turned and hurried away across the stage. Was it possible? Could someone close to Lou have stood to gain from nipping a reunion with Eddie Sr. in the bud?

  "A friend?" I jogged after her through the gray curtains into the office space. Looking around, I saw that she'd done some extreme tidying up. Most of the junk and newspapers that had littered the floor were gone, either thrown out or put away somewhere. Likewise, the heaps of records, t-shirts, posters, and mementos had disappeared from the filing cabinets. The mountains of paperwork overflowing the desks had been reduced to a few neatly stacked and rubber-banded foothills. "Are you thinking of someone in particular?"

  "Not yet." Peg headed for the desk with the laptop. "I'm just throwing it out there. We need to consider all the possibilities, right?"

  I went to the coffee maker and loaded a filter with grounds from the big red can beside it. "But I can't imagine a friend killing Dad. Especially over a reunion concert. It doesn't make sense."

  Peg sat down, switched on the laptop, and watched the screen flicker to life. "What if it was more than a reunion? What if Lou and Eddie Sr. were going to merge their two bands into one? They could sure cut the overhead, couldn't they?"

  I nodded as I picked up the empty pot. "They wouldn't have room for all the musicians. Someone would have to go."

  "And maybe that someone saw the writing on the wall. Or maybe he got an early warning." Peg tapped the laptop's touch pad and shrugged. "Or not. Who knows? Without some kind of clue, we're in the dark here."

  I went off to the bathroom, filled the coffee pot with water from the spigot, and came back. "Should we work on a list of Dad's friends as well as his enemies, then?"

  Before Peg could answer, a man's voice rang out from the far end of Polka Central, beyond the curtains. "Hello? Anybody home?"

  I was surprised we were getting a visitor so early in the morning. It wasn't even six-thirty yet.

  Frowning, I put down the coffee pot and whispered at Peg. "Who's that?"

  She didn't look surprised at all. Annoyed, maybe, but not surprised. "We'll be right out, Nunzio," she shouted.

  Nunzio Caputo. The notoriously dirty--and popular--city council chairman who'd played poker with Eddie Sr. the day before. He was also, according to Peg, one of the names on Dad's enemies list.

  And, as I soon discovered, he was very hard of hearing. "What's that?" he yelled.

  Peg blew out her breath and shook her head. "On my way, Nunzio!"

  "What?" said Nunzio.

  Peg rolled her eyes at me and got up from the desk. "Let the fun begin," she said as she marched past me.

  He was waiting at the foot of the stage when we passed through the curtains. He was a tall man, as tall as me, but I found myself looking down at him.

  At a glance, I thought he was in a state of disarray, like he'd been in a rush to get there. His curly salt-and-pepper hair looked windblown, his bushy mustache tousled. His necktie, striped green, red, and white like the Italian flag, was flopped over one side of his prominent beer gut. The photograzed lenses of his wire-framed glasses were still shaded deep red from the morning sun as he gazed up at us.

  "Good morning, ladies!" Nunzio had a deep, resonant voice with a growling undertone like the revving of an engine. "You are such a sight for sore eyes!"

  "Why thank you, Nunzio. Good to see you, too." Peg raised her voice so he could hear her.

  But he couldn't. "What's that?"

  Peg spoke even louder. "Good to see you, too!"

  Nunzio grinned and nodded, showing off his impeccable white teeth. They might have been dentures, actually; he was in his late sixties at least, maybe even mid-seventies. "Wonderful! Marvelous!"

  I wondered if he'd heard a single word she'd said so far. I also wondered how he'd managed to stay so powerful and popular. Probably coasting on his reputation from the old days, before the hearing went...or maybe the hearing loss was just a
n act. After all, it had its advantages.

  "What can we do for you, Nunzio?" Peg said it loud and overenunciated every syllable. She looked right at him in case he needed to read her lips. "What brings you to Polka Central?"

  "Poke a general?" Nunzio scowled. "That doesn't even make sense."

  Peg raised an index finger. "Hold on!" She smiled, but I could tell it was a thin façade. "I'll be right down!"

  The two of us walked down the stage stairs to the gym floor. Just as we passed the back door alcove, the door swung open, and Glynne strolled through. Her white t-shirt and jeans were covered with grime from her work in the storm cellar. Her red hair was a tangled mess, caked with gray dust and what looked like bits of straw.

  She held out her arms and flapped her fingers. "Who wants a hug?" Then, her eyes slid past us and lighted on Nunzio. Her expression changed in a flash, switching from silly to disturbed. "Oh, wait. I just remembered I left the fuse lit on a stick of dynamite. Gotta go!"

  As Glynne whipped around and zipped back outside, Peg and I kept walking. As soon as we came face to face with Nunzio, he turned his back and lumbered away from us.

  I frowned at Peg. Her frizzy afro wobbled as she shook her head in irritation.

  Nunzio took two more steps away from us, then looked back with eyes narrowed. "What's this I hear about Valhalla?" he said.

  Peg started to say something, then caught herself and walked over to him. When she was close enough, less than two feet away, she spoke. "You tell me."

  "No more Polkapourri in New Krakow." Nunzio balled up his fists, then threw them open with fingers turned upward. "Gone. You're moving it to Valhalla."

  Peg sighed. "Who said so? Father Speedy?"

  Nunzio squinted and cupped a hand behind his ear. "Who?"

  Peg leaned closer and talked louder. "Father Speedy. Did you hear it from him?"

  "It doesn't matter." Nunzio brushed a hand through the air. "Is it true?"

  "Yes." Peg nodded. "We're moving Polkapourri to Valhalla this year."