Dancing with Murder

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  Just as the milk was in mid-pour, the cell phone rang.

  As I cursed and put down the carton, the second ring sounded. The third ring hit as I ran the few feet from the kitchenette to the dresser.

  Grabbing the phone, I thumbed the wrong button...and got ring number four. Heart pounding, I went for the right button, afraid I wouldn't catch the call before the fifth ring sent it to voice mail.

  But I caught it in time. "Hello? Luke?"

  The line was silent for a moment, and I thought I'd missed the call after all. Then, I heard the sound of breathing, and a voice.

  Luke's voice. "Hey." He didn't sound even slightly upbeat.

  I lowered myself to the edge of the bed, wondering what was coming next. "What's going on out there? I've been trying to call you all day."

  "No kidding." Something was definitely wrong. I'd never heard him sound more down in the dumps. "I did try to call you back."

  "I was in the middle of a meeting," I told him. "Worst meeting ever."

  "I doubt it," said Luke.

  "Doubt what?"

  "That it was worse than the meeting I had yesterday." He sighed heavily. "With the bank." Long pause. "We're finished, Lottie."

  My blood ran cold. "Finished?" Why was I making him spell it out for me? "With the club?" I knew exactly what he was talking about.

  At least I thought I did. "With..." He paused and sighed again. Why such a struggle to get the words out? "With...everything."

  That was why. "Everything?"

  "I'm sorry, Lottie. We should be having this conversation face to face. Not like this." His voice faded, as if he'd drifted away from the receiver. And then he was back again. "But this is how it has to be."

  "So...wait. Back it up. Start at the beginning." I gripped the edge of the bed so tightly, my knuckles turned white. "What happened with the club? And the bank?"

  "They wouldn't give us an extension on the loan payment. They've foreclosed." Luke made a sound like he was sucking in air through his teeth. "End of story."

  "Oh my God." My head sagged forward, and I cupped my hand over my eyes. "I can't believe it," I said, though in truth, I could believe it. Since stepping on the plane to fly home and try to scare up some money, I'd known filing for an extension was a long shot. Especially since it was going to be our third extension.

  But hearing someone say it was over packed a punch all its own. I couldn't keep brushing it aside anymore, hoping for a miracle. I couldn't keep fooling myself that things were going to work out, and my greatest failure would somehow become my greatest success. The fairy tale of my L.A. dance club was over and done.

  "So what now?" I moved my hand from my eyes and looked at my image in the mirror on the dresser. "What do we have to do now?"

  "Nothing. They've taken it. It's done." Luke's voice drifted away again, then back. "I did manage to walk away with a few things you might want, though. A few odds and ends. They're in the storage unit."

  I frowned. "What storage unit?"

  "Your storage unit. The one..." Long pause. "The one with all your stuff in."

  It took a moment for what he'd said to sink in. Even after it did, I didn't say anything for a while.

  Eventually, he broke the silence by clearing his throat. "Lottie? You there?"

  I didn't answer him. I was having trouble processing what was happening. I understood it, I got the picture, but the reality of it wasn't quite taking hold.

  When I finally spoke, my voice sounded distant to my ears. It sounded small. "You put my things in a storage unit?"

  Luke and I had lived together for three and a half years. Things had gotten difficult, what with the club floundering, but still. Three and a half years.

  And now this. "It's like I said, Lottie. We're finished with everything."

  When my phone had been ringing up a storm back in Polka Central, I hadn't expected this. Bad news on the dance club front, maybe. A little stress-induced friction, most likely. But not this.

  But there it was. "I can't believe you're doing this." My stomach was twisting, my throat was tight. "I can't believe you're breaking up with me like this."

  Luke sighed. "Things haven't been good for a long time, Lottie. You know it's true."

  "What did you expect? We've been in the middle of a financial meltdown."

  "Not just that." He grunted, like he was struggling to find the words. "We haven't been...connecting. You've been pulling away from me. I know you blamed me for the club going down."

  "That's not true. I blame myself. I always have."

  "It doesn't matter what you say. I could see it in your eyes. I can hear it in the sound of your voice. I wrestled with it for a long time, Lottie." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Then, I finally just gave up."

  I stared at the face in the mirror, as if the woman there could somehow give me guidance. But of course she was as clueless as I was. Just as surprised, confused, pissed off...and in denial. "We should wait till I come home." She and I said it at the same time. "Maybe we can work things out now that the stress from the club is..."

  "No." Luke snapped out the word...then faded again. "I'm...I'm..."

  "What? You're what?"

  "There's somebody else." He said it firmly, unequivocally, leaving no room for interpretation. His voice, which had faltered and drifted and faded, was suddenly full of conviction. "So there's no chance for you and me. No more chances."

  Stunned, I lowered the phone from my ear. The pressure of tears burned my eyes, and I knew I was going to cry.

  It couldn't be true. It didn't seem real. The last time I'd seen him, there'd been no clues...none I'd noticed, anyway. We weren't happy, but who would be, in the middle of a failing business venture and impending bankruptcy?

  I wondered when it had changed for him. How long had he been out of love with me? When had he decided to make this call?

  And then there was the biggest question, of course. The one that was foremost in my mind. "Who?" I raised the phone to my ear and barked out the word. "Who is it?"

  Luke coughed. "I'm not going to talk about it."

  "Who is it?" Tears rolled down my face as I shouted into the phone. "Tell me!"

  "It doesn't matter."

  "How long have you been seeing her?" I got up from the bed and started pacing across the room. "Oh, God! How long have you been cheating on me?"

  "It doesn't matter!" He sounded angry, as if he had any right to be. "We are over! You need to let go."

  "Let go? Let go? You just told me about all this five minutes ago!" I was so mad, I kicked over the wastebasket on my way past. The housekeeper must've emptied it, because nothing spilled on the rug. "Sorry for dragging this out for you!"

  "Would you rather if I hadn't called?" said Luke. "Would that have been better for you?"

  "Gee, thanks." I ground out the words with pure hatred, even as the tears kept rolling down my cheeks. "Thanks for calling long-distance to dump me after my dad's funeral. Thanks for waiting till I left town so you wouldn't have to do this face to face!"

  "That's not how it is, Lottie. I'm trying to do what's right for both of us here."

  "Go to hell, you coward!" I pulled the phone from my ear, held the receiver close to my mouth, and let loose. "I wish I'd never met you!"

  I could hear his voice stammering, but I couldn't tell what he was trying to say. Shouting him down like that gave me a grim sense of satisfaction. I would've preferred reaching through the phone and choking him, but this would do for now.

  I cursed him every way I could think of, really letting him have it. He shouted back at me with curses of his own, one after another. It was the first time we'd ever had a fight so extreme, so laden with profanity.

  We burned every bridge, and then we scorched the earth around them, too. It was the kind of exchange a couple doesn't come back from, ever.

  And even as it was happening, the tears kept coming.

  In the end, he hung up first. It took me a minute to realize he was
gone, as I plowed through my latest tirade.

  And when I did figure it out, I felt incomplete. Cheated in more ways than one. Because having the satisfaction of being first to hang up would've made me feel a little better. As sad as that sounds.

  I felt the urge to hurl my phone against the wall, but I settled for pitching it on the bed, instead. I kept pacing back and forth, propelled by a restless tumult I couldn't control.

  Too much had happened for one day, for one person. I felt overloaded in every way, to the point of collapse.

  So much had happened, I was having trouble processing it all. From Father Speedy's surprise meeting at Polka Central to Peg's death threat to the loss of my club and boyfriend, I'd been pounded from all sides. My life had changed profoundly in the short time since I'd woken up that morning.

  Just like that, almost everything was different. Polkapourri was back in New Krakow, unless Father Speedy found a way to sabotage it. My lies about moving the festival to Valhalla had been dispelled by another set of lies.

  Peg's life had been threatened, probably by the same person who'd killed Dad. Disregarding the danger, she'd driven off to find the killer on her own.

  Then, in the course of one terrible phone call, I'd lost both my business and my boyfriend. Two of the things that had defined my life in L.A. had gone up in a puff of smoke. If I went back there now, I would be without a home, without a man, and without a dream. All of a sudden, there was nothing left for me on the West Coast.

  I'd never imagined, when I'd gotten on the plane in California to travel East, that I was saying goodbye to my old life for good. But that was exactly what I'd done.

  All I had left now was in New Krakow.

  *****

  Chapter 35

  As I stomped across the room, my thoughts roiled with regret and sad nostalgia for the life I'd lost...also superheated hatred for my ex-boyfriend. I hated him for his gutlessness, his cheating, his lousy timing. I hated him for carpet-bombing my perfectly good life into oblivion.

  I hated myself, too, for not picking up on any of the clues that must have been there. For not seeing it coming. For not stopping it somehow.

  And I hated myself for letting it upset me, for letting him get to me. He didn't deserve my sadness or my anger. He didn't deserve any claim on my emotions after what he'd done.

  I was better than that.

  It was time to get hold of myself. Stopping in my tracks, I drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then again, and again. I forced myself to calm down in spite of the overload.

  But then I spun up again in no time. It was just too much to handle, especially on the heels of Dad's murder. I couldn't seem to get my arms around it all.

  The next thing I knew, I was snatching up my purse and digging for the cigarette Ellie had given me in the back yard at Bonnie's place.

  I expected it to be crushed or broken, but it came out fine, not even creased. I ran it under my nose and inhaled deeply, relishing the familiar smell of the tobacco. Nothing like it in the world.

  Now this would make me feel better, at least for a little while. I knew it for a fact. It was good to have that one thing to depend on.

  I also knew I'd feel bad later for giving up all the progress I'd made. Quitting hadn't been easy in the first place; it had taken many false starts and some very real withdrawal pains to get it right and get this far.

  But that all seemed awfully unimportant as I rolled the cigarette between my fingers. As I imagined how good it would taste and smell and feel. It was just like an old friend rushing to the rescue in my hour of need.

  I found my lighter in the bottom of my purse and went outside. It was the tail end of dusk out there, with a pale gray light slowly giving way to the encroaching blackness.

  Closing the door behind me, I stepped into the parking lot and leaned against the driver's side of my car. I could barely resist the temptation to light up the cigarette immediately.

  My last defenses tried to wrestle back the urge, but I could feel them weakening. After the kind of day I'd had, it was harder to imagine not smoking.

  Smoking was the one last thing I could fall back on, a reliable constant in a changing world. I wasn't going to deprive myself of it, not now, when I needed it most.

  I lifted the cigarette to my mouth. It felt so natural as I slid it between my lips, so right. Then I raised my sky blue lighter, automatically fitting my thumb to the striker switch.

  One last moment of doubt made me hesitate. What if this was my last chance to stay on the wagon? What if I never managed to quit again? Was I doomed to suffer from lung disease like Baba Tereska, maybe even die from cancer?

  Then again, what did it matter if my life was in the crapper like it was now?

  I flicked the lighter to life, and a steady yellow flame appeared. As I gazed at it, however, I glimpsed two smaller, greenish glows out of the corner of my eye, under a car across the parking lot.

  When I snapped off the lighter and looked in their direction, the glows vanished. Though I hadn't seen them clearly, I thought they might have been cat's eyes. Ghost's eyes, maybe?

  But I didn't see him scoot out from under the car or zip across the lot. He might have been watching from afar, but he seemed to have no intention of coming closer. Even he was letting me down today.

  Better to focus on something more dependable.

  I switched on the lighter again. No one could blame me for this; others had done far worse after days like the one I'd just had.

  The familiar ritual fell smoothly into place. I tipped my head to one side and brought the flame to meet the tip of the cigarette. Then, I sucked on the filter, drawing in fire and air so the paper and tobacco started to burn.

  After that, I inhaled deeply. For the first time in six weeks, my lungs filled with smoke.

  That part alone was enough to make me groan with pleasure. The smell and taste of it were heavenly; the ritual itself was soothing and exciting all at once, even before the nicotine kicked in.

  Closing my eyes, I breathed out through my nose. As that first lungful emptied out, I felt the nicotine start to take effect. Since I'd been clean of the drug for weeks, it hit me harder than normal, leaving me lightheaded and a little dizzy.

  In other words, it was glorious. I inhaled again, savoring the feelings washing through me...glad to be focusing on something other than the disaster area my life had become.

  Opening my eyes, I gazed contentedly at the darkening sky. How many times before had I smoked just like this, outside at nightfall, bathing in the crisp evening air as the warm smoke filled me up inside? How many times had a cigarette made me feel better?

  I smiled. Too many to count.

  So what if Dad was gone and Luke had left me and the club had failed? At least I could count on this moment of simple comfort to keep my problems at bay.

  I tapped off an ash and took another pull on the cigarette. It was actually making me feel stronger. How could I have forgotten?

  So what if I'd given up in the face of adversity? So what if I'd surrendered to my addiction?

  The shame I felt in my heart was a small price to pay for the overall relief and well-being flowing through me.

  *****

  Chapter 36

  Soon after I'd finished that cigarette, I wanted more...but my cravings couldn't overcome my exhaustion. I walked into my room, planning to grab my car keys for a drive to the nearest convenience store. Instead, I sat down on the bed with my phone to put a call-block on Luke's number and ended up asleep in a matter of minutes.

  I made up for lost time the next morning, though, and stopped at a convenience store on my way to work. I bought two packs of my favorite brand of cigarettes and tucked them into my purse. Mission accomplished.

  Now I was feeling like a full-fledged smoker again.

  By the time I pulled in at Polka Central, it was six o'clock on the dot...and I was the first one there. Peg's car wasn't there yet, which worried me, but maybe she was just running a l
ittle behind. It didn't necessarily mean she'd gotten herself in trouble hunting the killer.

  For now, I continued with business as usual. I opened the front door with the key Peg had given me, then marched inside and switched on the lights at the stage-right breaker box. The few lights that still had working bulbs hummed to life throughout the place.

  Next, I headed straight for the back door alcove, opening a pack of cigarettes on the way. As I peeled off the cellophane wrapper and tore open the foil flaps with practiced ease, I felt like I'd never stopped being a smoker at all.

  I had a fresh one in my mouth by the time I reached the door. I lit it with one hand while I used the other to crank open the eye-level deadbolt and push the bar to release the latch.

  The door creaked as I gave it a shove...then stopped dead. I pushed again, and it wouldn't move any further.

  "What the heck?" When I put my shoulder into it, I felt a little give. The door budged a few more inches, but that was it.

  I leaned into it even more, pushing still harder to no effect. The door just wasn't going to open another inch for me. Whatever was blocking it was heavy, dead weight.

  I let it fall shut and backed away, breathing hard from the exertion. It was only then I noticed I'd stepped in something and was leaving tracks.

  The light in the alcove was pretty dim; the overhead lamp was one of those with a dead bulb. I could see the prints of my sneakers stamped on the floor in what looked like an inky substance, but I couldn't make out the color or consistency.

  Good thing I had a portable light source at hand. Crouching, I flicked my cigarette lighter to life above one of the prints, trying for a better look before the flame started to singe my thumb on the switch.

  I lowered and tipped the lighter, getting it as close as I could to the sneaker print. Leaning down, I stared past the flame at the glistening lines and loops left behind by the sole of my shoe.

  And I saw that they were red. Whatever I'd stepped in was deep red. Deep red and sticky.