A Tango Before Dying

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “If you haven’t decided on something from the menu, I hope you’ll permit me to offer you a special lunch dish prepared with you in mind, Madame Chantel. I heard you are a fan of the savory French tart, and I have paired fresh wild mushrooms and Gruyere cheese with a flaky pastry.”

  “Oh, that sounds delicious! I’d love to try it.”

  “Me, too,” my assistant said. “Thanks to my godmother, I’m mad about mushrooms, especially the wild ones!”

  “Two orders of the mushroom Gruyere cheese tart.” I was about to chime in when I caught Jack’s eye. He’s a surprisingly adventurous eater for a cop who survived for decades on fast food eaten on the run. When I’d mentioned we were meeting here for lunch, he hadn’t been particularly enthusiastic about the prospect until I’d reminded him that they serve steak. I gave him a reassuring smile.

  “I’d love to try your special too, Tomás, but Jack is a huge fan of your Steak au Poivre. I’ll bet you anything he’ll break ranks and order that instead. Am I right?”

  “We haven’t even been married a year, and she can already read my mind,” Jack said. “I’ll have the steak with those little roasted potatoes.”

  “I’ve worked with Georgie long enough that I can read her mind,” Tomás said placing his fingers to his forehead in mock psychic mode. “She insists that I bring you a spring salad as an appetizer and add a side of fresh steamed vegetables to your plate.” I nodded enthusiastically.

  “Well done, Tomás!” I said. With that, the chef snapped his fingers and our original waiter, who’d been sulking in the background, came running to refill our glasses. Brett frowned when Max stepped in between him and the dancer he admired so much.

  “Now that lunch has been settled, may we impose upon you to come with us? Chef Tomás will see to it that everything about your meal is perfect! You must let me show you the gardens of Versailles that sit just below the veranda.”

  Max had relinquished Madame Chantel’s hand when Chef Tomás had extended his. Max now offered his hand to her once again as our waiter pulled back her chair. As she rose to a standing position, Max’s eyes followed with admiration.

  “You will put all the other blooms in the garden to shame,” he added as he led her away and tucked her hand around his arm. Cellphones clicked rapidly as the couple strode toward a wide stairway that led down into the gardens. Jack smirked as Max raised his free arm in the sweeping, expansive gesture of an impresario or a diminutive emperor.

  “What a smooth-tongued devil!” Jack muttered.

  “He’s gaga, isn’t he?” Carol asked, speaking just above a whisper. “More than usual, I mean.”

  “I agree! No mind reading required—Max is obviously smitten with your godmother,” Jack added.

  “She does have that effect on men,” Carol agreed. As she said that, I looked at our waiter who had switched from frowning to glaring as he stared at Max and Charlotte, standing arm-in-arm while guests snapped photos. Brett appeared as if he might be considering vying for his lady fair in true swashbuckler fashion. I was so absorbed in watching the waiter that I jumped out of my skin when shouting erupted behind me.

  2 The Foxtrot

  As I turned to see what was going on, Brett darted past us. Festooned as a Dumas musketeer he was running, not with a sword or musket in his hand, but a spray bottle. When the shouting began, an irate woman had called out Madame Chantel’s name. As I stood and turned to get a better view of the altercation, the dark-haired woman wearing a colorful print shirt with a big scarf tied at the neck and dark leggings continued her spiteful tirade.

  “This is outrageous! Is the fix in again, Madame Chantel? Are you celebrating yet another stolen victory before you’ve even danced a step? You can’t get away with this! I’ll see you pay!” She grabbed a glass of wine from the dining table closest to her. The diners had fled, so no one protested.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” Brett shouted as he lunged for the woman who waved her fist in the air as she continued to shriek, hurling vile insults and threats at Madame Chantel. Some guests fled for the exit, while others whipped out their phones to record the wild scene. Max had stepped in front of Carol who towered over him. He brushed something from the sleeve of his jacket with a napkin or handkerchief.

  Perhaps it was the wine the woman had thrown on him from the now empty glass she still held. As she dodged Brett who was spraying her, the glass flew from the woman’s hand and crashed into pieces when it hit the floor. Brett spun around and shouted over her screams, as he doused the woman in squirt after squirt of whatever was in that spray bottle. I smelled vinegar and something soapy.

  “How dare you!” He repeated as the woman grabbed for a napkin on the table nearest to her to wipe her eyes and dripping hair. As two Marvelous Marley World security guards came running out onto the veranda, the woman tipped the table on its side, sending everything on it crashing to the floor. Then she shoved a chair into Brett’s legs. He yelped as she dashed past him and fled down the steps into the gardens.

  With his cellphone in hand, Jack did a little quick step, navigating the chaotic scene to make a grab for the woman, but couldn’t reach her. Carol and I were right behind Jack and dashed toward Charlotte and Max. Carol reached them first.

  “Are you okay?” I asked as Carol embraced her godmother.

  “Please say yes!” She cried.

  “Yes, thanks to the quick action of Max and Brett. Thank you, gentlemen!”

  “Our foxy friend does have some moves, doesn’t he?” My assistant added as a little smile flitted across her lips.

  “Aw, it was nothing,” Brett replied tugging at his mustache. “You should see my foxtrot.” He took a few quick steps demonstrating his agility with that dance. Brett beamed, basking in the praise and the attention he was getting.

  Meanwhile, Max was fuming, growing more irate by the moment. He was pacing, not dancing, and on the verge of one of his world famous tantrums. Well, world famous among those of us who work at Marvelous Marley World, anyway.

  “Outrageous! Who is she to say such a thing? What’s outrageous is that a creature like that could time her disruptive behavior so perfectly. How could this have happened?” He asked in a voice that went up in pitch with each word, pointing his finger skyward in a well-rehearsed gesture.

  “It was no secret that Madame Chantel was going to be here at Arcadia Park today, but we haven’t published her itinerary anywhere. Uh, have we, Kathleen?” Stacy asked the events coordinator. When I heard her first name, I remembered being introduced to Kathleen at a business function when she was hired a few months ago. Kathleen Fowler, as I recalled, now that she wore a wide-eyed, owllike expression.

  “No, er, um, not me,” Kathleen replied in a voice that cracked. I’m sure the distress in her voice wasn’t caused just by the PR disaster that had become a photo op unlike any they could have imagined. Max’s face had taken on an unnatural color as he continued to fume. He was also up on his toes, the last step before he jumped up and down like an angry troll. Jack went into police investigator mode.

  “Brett, will you make sure no one gets cut on the broken glass, please?”

  “Can I clean it up or is this a crime scene now?” Brett asked.

  “Hang on for a minute. I’ve already sent her photo and a text message to my colleagues at the Sheriff’s Department, so the incident’s on record. I’m sure we’ve got it all on film, too, don’t we?” The videographer nodded in agreement. Then Jack turned and spoke to Madame Chantel.

  “She obviously knows who you are,” Jack offered. “Do you know who she is?”

  “Unfortunately, I do.” My assistant who stood next to me nodded slowly as if she knew, all too well, that what her godmother said was true. “If you want to join us in the gardens below, I’ll explain. I’m sure Max would prefer to get some better photos.” The red and purple hues faded from Max’s face, washed away by a radiant smile of admiration for the dancer. Almost magically transformed back into his benign ruler mode, Max made a pro
nouncement in a booming voice.

  “The excitement is over!” He announced. The video camera was rolling again. “Allow me to apologize for this unfortunate disruption. Please sit down and finish your lunch. If your food is cold, order more. Or try one of our chef’s delicious desserts. Lunch is on me!” He added with his finger, once again, pointing skyward.

  Little gasps and excited murmurs issued from those still sitting and from members of the crowd that had been awkwardly milling about. Many stopped, did a double take, and then returned to their seats. Those at the exit, who hadn’t left yet, did a quick about-face and dashed back to their tables.

  “Get this mess cleaned up!” Max added speaking to Brett. The waiter looked at Jack before making a move.

  “Thanks for asking before rushing to clean up what could be evidence, Brett.” Brett beamed as he glanced at Madame Chantel perhaps hoping for more words of approval from her as well.

  “Since we haven’t had a chance to review the video footage, if you’d like to press charges for assault and battery, Max, I could get someone out here to preserve the shards of glass. The bigger pieces, anyway, that might have a fingerprint on them.”

  “I’ve rerun the video clip, and you’ve got her caught in the act,” the television reporter’s cameraman commented. “There’s a closeup of her face that’s clear as a bell!”

  “Okay, that’s fine. Do you want me to have an arrest warrant issued for her?” Jack asked. Max didn’t respond but searched Madame Chantel’s face. When she shook her head no, he sighed.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Max said. “I’m not concerned about me, but I must insist you protect Charlotte from this woman. I’ll do whatever’s required to help get a restraining order put in place, so she’s required to keep her distance from Madame Chantel. Whoever she is, she should not be allowed to attend the International Ballroom Dance Championship events.” He had more to say, but one of the Security Associates came bounding up the steps, out of breath.

  “Sir, I wanted to let you know that she’s no longer in the gardens. My colleague is still after her although she’s put that scarf around her shoulders, so she’s harder to spot in the crowd. We’ve alerted security personnel about the route she’s taken, and we’ll do our best to catch her.”

  “How did she outrun you?” Max asked in an irate tone.

  “She ran into guests and knocked them down right in front of us. We had to stop and make sure they were okay. As I said, we haven’t given up.”

  “Don’t worry, Max,” Madame Chantel said before Max could get wound up again. “I not only know who Natalie Bucco is, but I know where she’s going. Keeping her away from me may be more difficult than you imagine, my dear man. She’s a fellow competitor.”

  “A vicious loser is more like it,” Carol whispered to me. “This isn’t the first fit she’s thrown, although it may be the most public one.” Jack cocked his head to one side as he heard what Carol said even though she’d spoken so quietly. Madame Chantel gasped as we moved down the steps into the Versailles Gardens and she got a clear view of the area.

  “This is a wonderland!” Max was in his glory as he beheld this little corner of his kingdom. She was right, of course, although everything bore the distinctive mark of Marvelous Marley World’s take on the grand gardens in France. The lush foliage was adorned with topiaries shaped like the characters, props, and emblems born of Max Marley’s creative genius.

  Paths to the right and left disappeared into separate gardens. Even though we couldn’t see into them from our vantage point, I knew them well. One is dedicated to roses, and the other is a Zen garden that features a labyrinth of grass and rock. Directly in front of us was a tree-lined promenade that encompassed a large reflecting pond. Beyond that was an amazing fountain in front of a glass greenhouse that, as Max explained, is filled with orchids and exotic plants. We were all silent as Madame Chantel stood enchanted by the sight. When she took another step down into the gardens, Jack spoke, picking up the conversation about Madame Chantel’s assailant.

  “Where’s Natalie Bucco going?” Jack asked.

  “She’s a guest at my hotel. So, you see, Max, she could easily have followed me here without any advance notice of my itinerary.” Stacy and Kathleen sighed with relief that they weren’t going to be held responsible for leaking information. “We must hurry now, though, so we can finish taking the photos. I can’t wait to try that amazing tart the chef is preparing for us. Where would you like us to stand?”

  Several people rushed to respond to her question. Stacy and Kathleen motioned for her to follow them to a lovely spot they must have previously selected. In moments, the staged photos were taken. A few guests were snapping photos, too, now that the fracas was over.

  Jack scrutinized everyone around us, even though he moved in a nonchalant way as he kept watch. Eventually, I relaxed, won over by Madame Chantel’s gracious manner and ebullient spirit. Carol, who stood at my shoulder smiling again, almost flew to her godmother’s side when the photo session was over. It was obvious how much my young assistant’s exuberance is rooted in the bond she shares with her godmother.

  By the time our small party returned to our table, it was as if the nasty encounter between Madame Chantel and Natalie Bucco had never occurred. There was no broken glass. Upturned tables and downed chairs had been righted and reset, leaving no hint of trouble. I did notice one change; however, an extra seat had been added at our table. Max had decided to join us—either on his own or at the invitation of our guest of honor.

  Apparently, a meal had been ordered for Max who slid into a chair next to Madame Chantel and dug into a salad that had just been served. All the excitement must have worked up our appetites since no one waited for our new server to pour champagne from a bottle chilling in a bucket of ice. Brett was nowhere to be seen. I scanned the area wondering if he was off in a corner brooding about the fact Max had moved in on the dancer with whom Brett had seemed to be so infatuated. Jack must have wondered something similar.

  “Where’s Brett?” he asked the server who filled his glass.

  “His shift ended, and he left to get ready for a big evening he’s got planned. Don’t ask me what that could be since the guy’s virtually a recluse.” Carol interrupted before the server could say more since his tone was a little snide.

  “Well, he was friendly and helpful to us. I was hoping I’d get another chance to thank him for his heroics.” Jay, according to his name tag, stopped what he was doing and stared at my assistant with his mouth gaping.

  “Heroics,” he muttered almost as if speaking to himself.

  “Yes, please tell him Madame Chantel is most grateful and give him this, will you? It’s my card asking that the organizers of the competition give him a backstage pass and add him as my special guest at the awards ceremony later this week.” When she handed the card to Jay, Chef Tomás swooped in and grabbed it.

  “Allow me, Madame Chantel! I’d like to thank Brett, too. If he hadn’t acted so quickly, your lunch might have been ruined.” With that, the chef took the bottle from Jay’s hand. Our server stood as if frozen in place either by the words he was hearing about Brett or the stern gaze Max directed his way. Badmouthing fellow associates in public is a no-no around here. Once he’d handed over the bottle, Jay took off, never to be seen again as we finished our lunch.

  Jack and I spent most of the time speaking with Carol since Max monopolized the conversation with her godmother. I knew we wouldn’t have much chance to get a word in edgewise once Madame Chantel asked Max about his inspiration for the founding of Marvelous Marley World. She seemed spellbound by the story of his rise to fame and fortune.

  Their chatter only stopped once when Chef appeared to offer coffee and to bring us a special dessert fashioned in our guest’s honor. Even Jack had gasped at the site of the small six-inch cake covered in fondant icing. It was the cake topper that had drawn the gasps. Fashioned in the form of a couple dancing the tango, the edible creation was remarkably d
etailed. There was no mistaking the identity of the woman dancer—it was Madame Chantel!

  Apparently, Max had put his time with Madame Chantel to good use. We’d barely finished the delicious cake when Kathleen Fowler appeared at the table to remind him of his next engagement. As Max stood to leave, he confirmed the plan they’d made.

  “I’ll pick you up at 4:45,” Max said as Kathleen made a note on what must have been his schedule leading up to this evening’s gala.

  “It’s a date!” Madame Chantel replied as she stood to say goodbye and then bent down, kissing him on both cheeks.

  “A date, how do you like that? Max didn’t waste any time, did he?” I whispered to Jack.

  “That’s great news, Georgie. If Max has a date, we can get out of that It Takes a Tango thing fast. By the way he’s fixated on Madame Chantel, I doubt he’ll know if we’re there or not, so I say we ditch the entire affair.”

  “It Takes More than Two to Tango is a charity event. You’re married to a corporate VP who’s not allowed to ditch. Not to mention that this is personal as well as professional for Carol. I don’t want to let her down, and neither do you.” Jack glanced at Carol and Charlotte who had their heads together chattering about something. Then he looked at his watch and sighed.

  “I know, I know. I get brownie points at work, too, for going to this event. It’s just that we’ve only got a couple of hours before we’ve got to get cleaned and dressed up for the next round. It hardly seems worth it to go back to work. Want to play hooky?” I couldn’t resist the hopeful look on his face.

  “You’re a smooth-tongued devil, too, aren’t you? You talked me into it.” We’d done the right thing to play hooky because, by the time we were dressed for the charity event, all hell had broken loose.

  3 Heartsick?

  As often happens, bad news came by telephone and text. My assistant was brief. Max was not.

  At the hotel. I need your help! Bring Jack.