A Tango Before Dying

by Anna Celeste Burke

  Carol’s message arrived by text, perhaps because she couldn’t reach me by phone since Max called me first. He was strangely subdued for a man who usually reacts to trouble with outrage and bluster.

  “Georgie, I’m sure you and Jack must be about to leave for the reception hall, but I need you to come to Madame Chantel’s hotel suite first. Something terrible has happened. As impossible as it may be to believe, the vibrant, enchanting woman is dead.”

  “Oh, no, Max!” I cried. “Are you sure she’s dead?” Jack, who was leaning over to slip on his shoes, straightened abruptly and stared at me. Two blue-eyed Siamese cats sat on barstools next to him, peering at me in their feline “told-you-so” way. Miles, who somehow anticipates trouble, had tried to warn me with a preemptive blast of his trumpet-like voice when I answered my phone.

  He and his sidekick, little Ella, had been doing their loony cat thing for several minutes even before I got Max’s phone call and Carol’s text. Running from one end of the house to the other, they were absolutely bouncing off the walls. I’d attributed it to the fact that I was in the kitchen switching items from one purse to another—a sure sign I’d be heading out the kitchen door to the garage leaving them home alone.

  “Sadly, yes. I called my personal physician who got here almost as quickly as the EMTs.”

  “Do you suspect foul play?” I asked bracing myself for the worst. Miles yowled as if I’d asked him that question.

  “No. I don’t know. The EMT with her says her heart gave out. Carol told them that’s impossible since her godmother was in excellent health. Dr. Vincent agrees that Madame Chantel most likely died from a cardiac arrest, but he’s suggested an autopsy given the suddenness of her death.” He paused for a moment. “Nothing seems disturbed, but Carol says the door to the suite was unlocked when she got here.”

  “That’s not good. Have you called the police?”

  “Not yet. That’s why I want you and Jack to come and see if there’s a reason to report her death to the authorities. Please, hurry, will you?”

  “Hang on a moment, Max. I need to tell Jack what’s going on.” When I explained what little I knew about the unfortunate situation at the hotel, Jack took the phone.

  “Max, please ask Dr. Vincent and the EMTs to wait for us. We’re not more than twenty minutes away. Given the incident at lunch, I believe Carol’s right to be a little suspicious about the timing of her godmother’s death. Since her death was so sudden, Dr. Vincent’s right that the County Medical Examiner should be asked to weigh in on the matter.”

  “A member of hotel security is here, too. Should I ask him to stay?”

  “Who is it?”

  “I’m not sure. I think I heard him tell Carol his name is Peabody or something like that. Carol’s nodding, so that’s right. A gentleman by the name of Peabody. He’s wandering around in the suite somewhere. Do you want me to find him?”

  “No, you don’t need to do that. When you see him, please ask him to stick around and tell him Jack Wheeler is on his way, okay?”

  “Yes, of course. Oh, this is such a tragedy. You don’t believe that awful Natalie Bucco woman is still around and has done something horrendous, do you?”

  “I take it that means no one called from your security team to tell you they caught up with Natalie Bucco?”

  “No, they have not! If she’s behind this, and we could have stopped her but didn’t, heads are going to roll!”

  “Slow down, Max. It’s too soon to talk about heads rolling, or to blame Natalie Bucco or anyone else for a death that could have resulted from natural causes.” Apparently, Max was no longer giving credence to the natural causes idea because I heard him wail something about “a monstrous act” as Jack handed my phone back to me.

  “You’re up,” Jack whispered. “Time to wrangle with Rumpelstiltskin. Max is on the verge of a meltdown. I’m going to see if I can reach Gary Peabody. Hotel security. Former Sheriff’s Department officer. Retired,” Jack said switching to verbal shorthand as Max wailed again loud enough for both of us to hear him.

  “Max, it’s me, Georgie. I’m back. We’re walking out the door now.” Jack opened his trunk, pulled out the police light, and put it on the roof of his car.

  “Georgie, what are we going to do? Should I cancel the gala?” Before I could tell him no, he answered his own question. “No, no. We can’t do that! But our star is dead so what do we do about that?”

  Jack was right that Max was decompensating. Panic was taking over. He’d soon be throwing a fit to convince himself he’s in control when he isn’t. The pint-sized tyrant can strike terror into the hearts of Marvelous Marley World Associates with all his “off with their heads” bellowing.

  What scares me most is the toll it takes on him. Madame Chantel may have been in excellent health; Max Marley isn’t. He’s not only ten years older, but shouting at the top of his lungs and jumping up and down like a fairytale troll is about as close as he gets to exercise.

  “Listen, Max, don’t do anything until I get there. Jack’s going to use his light and siren to get us there as fast as possible. Then, we’ll talk it over and figure out how to handle the gala.” I slipped into the passenger seat of Jack’s car as he put the police light on the roof.

  “Yes,” he said. “I understand, but…”

  “Here’s what you can do now. Carol—who’s probably standing within earshot of our conversation—has just lost one of the most important people in her life. She needs someone to play the hero. You’re a master at spinning events toward hope. Do it now for her, okay?”

  Max went silent. The wheels in my head were turning wondering what other appeals I could make to keep him from going off the deep end if this didn’t work. When he spoke again, he was somber but focused—for the moment.

  “That is one of my gifts, isn’t it? I’ll do my best. I also have obligations to my people at Marvelous Marley World and to the public. I need to call Stacy.”

  “I understand. I’ll call her once we’ve come up with an appropriate way to handle Madame Chantel’s death.”

  “Time is of the essence as you well know from your brief stint in PR!” I glanced at Jack and rolled my eyes. Jack took off and the garage door closed behind us.

  “I don’t know about Madame Chantel’s heart troubles, but our Carolita must be heartsick. Time is of the essence for her, too. Please sit down and keep her calm until we arrive. Find her a bottle of water to drink. Why not ask your doctor or the EMTs to check you both while you’re waiting for us?” Jack gave me a thumbs up when he heard my last suggestion to Max. As he passed through the gates leading from our community in Crystal Cove, he started the siren. When traffic stopped, Jack made a right turn, and sped North toward LA on Pacific Coast Highway.

  “Can you hear the siren? Detective Wheeler’s on the case!”

  “Tell him thank you, will you? I knew I could count on you both. Let me talk to the medical people in the room and make sure Carol gets the attention she needs. Then I’ll see what I can find to drink. To hell with water, though. I need something stronger than that!” Then he hung up.

  “Max is hitting the bottle.” Jack shook his head.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised at anything Max does. Good work calming him down.” Jack swerved around a slower vehicle before he continued. “I can’t believe he hasn’t blown a gasket long before now.”

  “At least there are emergency personnel in the room if he does,” I sighed. “All poor Carol needs is for her boss to rant, careen around the room like a cartoon character, and then keel over on the floor in front of her.”

  “I’m sure you’ve saved her from such a fate.”

  “I hope so. Did you reach Gary Peabody before we left?” I asked, hoping there was at least one untraumatized adult in the room who could take charge if necessary. The EMTs would never be able to hold their own against Max unless they heavily sedated him. Of course, Dr. Vincent was there too, and he’s had plenty of practice managing “Mad” Max’s health-rela
ted problems over the years. That’s why he doesn’t count as one of the “untraumatized” adults in the room.

  “I tried, but my call went directly to his voice mail. I left the same message I asked Max to relay to him. I’m sure Gary Peabody’s already done it, but I asked him—not Max—to report Charlotte Chantel’s sudden death to the police.” Jack honked the horn as he slowed and then sped on through an intersection on a red light. “I also asked him to locate Natalie Bucco, if he can, while we’re on our way. I have a few questions for her.”

  “Like where she went after assaulting Max and Madame Chantel?” I asked since that thought had occurred to me.

  “Exactly. If anyone ever needed an alibi, it’s Natalie Bucco.”

  “It’s not a good sign about her mental state that she thought she could run away from the trouble she caused in front of an audience of park associates and guests while an LA TV film crew documented it. Hello, it’s ‘film at eleven,’ if not sooner than that!”

  “I’m sure those film clips have been leaked by now even if the news department hasn’t broadcast them. Natalie Bucco was definitely not behaving rationally, and that earns her a place at the top of my suspect list.”

  “Does that mean you don’t believe Carol’s godmother died from natural causes?” Jack honked and hit his brakes trying to keep from side-swiping another driver who started to pull into the lane ahead of us. I grabbed the dashboard just as the driver got the message and stayed put. I’ve done ride-alongs like this with Jack before, but I’m still not used to the way he navigates an obstacle course at top speed.

  “Numero uno,” he said, sensing my distress. For a second, I thought he was still talking about Natalie Bucco’s rank among suspects in Madame Chantel’s sudden demise. Then I remembered that was Jack’s way of reminding me that he’d placed first in his most recent police driver training course. I tried to relax.

  “It’s not you I’m worried about,” I muttered as cars in front of us tried to pull over on the heavily traveled roadway. When Jack made a quick right turn onto a less crowded route, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Has Carol ever said anything to you about her godmother having heart trouble?”

  “No. Just the opposite, in fact. Her godmother was a dynamo with the blood pressure and heart rate of a much younger woman.” A shudder ran through me as I recalled that last ear-splitting yowl from Miles—as plaintive and otherworldly as any note ever played by his namesake, Miles Davis. “You heard Miles’ mournful warning. When is he ever wrong about foul play?”

  “He is a feline with K-9 potential. Those whiskers must pick up disturbances we can’t detect.” I glanced at Jack to see if he was putting me on. My by-the-book detective, who never likes to get ahead of the evidence, appeared to be seriously considering the prospect that Miles has some sort of extraordinary feline sensibility. “Or he could just have been upset because we were leaving without giving him a special treat.”

  “He and Ella both got special treats when we showed up early thanks to your suggestion that we play hooky. Which was a purrfect idea,” I said dragging out the purr in perfect.

  “The extra treats or playing hooky?” Jack asked, grinning without taking his eyes off the road.

  “You’re the detective, handsome. What do you think?” I asked as I reached over and ran my fingers through his hair. Racing along at breakneck speed, the car wobbled, and he slowed a little.

  “I’m going to have to ask them to include wifely distractions during my next round of driver training. You’re more dangerous than you look, which is gorgeous, I might add.”

  “Dressed to tango and wearing your favorite color!” The red dress with lacy three-quarter-length sleeves and a short slit in the skirt could pass as a cocktail dress, but it was made for dancing. “We won’t be on the dance floor tonight, will we?”

  “Au contraire, my love. We might not get to the gala as early as we’d planned, but we’ve got more reason to show up, not less. A tango is in your future if you feel like it.”

  “I suppose a turn or two on the dance floor would be a good way to mask our snooping as mingling. Maybe someone will let something slip or give us a hint about who held a grudge against Madame Chantel. Besides Natalie Bucco, that is, who sure makes the world of ballroom dance competition appear more cutthroat than I ever imagined.”

  “Competition of any kind often fuels jealousy and other bad feelings. I’d be surprised if Natalie Bucco’s the only one of Madame Chantel’s rivals who’d prefer she wasn’t on the dance floor tonight or any other night.”

  “Well, here’s another person to consider while you’re lining up suspects—Kevin Whitley. Carol has mentioned him before as her godmother’s former dance partner. Their tango tonight would have been the first time they’d danced together in years. Maybe the reunion stirred up old feelings for Kevin if their dance partnership didn’t end amicably.”

  “That’s an interesting angle. Do either of them have dance partners who might be unhappy about a reunion between Charlotte Chantel and Kevin Whitley?”

  “From my conversations with Carol, I recall that Charlotte has had several. I don’t know about Kevin. I got the impression that when Charlotte moved on, he quit competing. Given how quickly Charlotte accepted Max’s invitation to accompany him this evening, I assume she didn’t have a date. That doesn’t mean there’s not a jealous lover lurking in the background who didn’t want to watch one of them tangoing with an old flame.”

  “If she’s up for it, let’s ask Carol about how her godmother’s partnership with Kevin ended and any romantic entanglements that have been volatile, too—old or new. Love-gone-wrong is always a possible motive for murder.” Jack was quiet for a few moments as he navigated a snarl in the traffic.

  “So, what happens now?” He asked when he’d cleared the traffic jam. “Will they cancel the tango demonstration, or will someone fill in for Madame Chantel?”

  “Hmm, that’s an interesting question. I’ve already promised Max that I’ll get on the phone with Stacy Peterson and Kathleen Fowler to give them the bad news—soon,” I said, glancing at the time on the dashboard clock. “I’ll be sure to ask what they plan to do about the tango demonstration now that Kevin Whitley has lost his partner. That decision might be left up to Katrina Milan, the choreographer for this evening’s event.”

  “Does Charlotte have an understudy like an actress in one of Max’s movies?”

  “As in an understudy so eager to dance her way into the spotlight that she’d murder Charlotte?” Jack shrugged and nodded at the same time.

  “Something like that.”

  “I’ll find out. Even if she does have an understudy, the stakes aren’t as high in the world of competitive dancing as they are for the lead actress in a feature film. One of Max’s films has the potential to reach millions of viewers, compared to thousands who flock to dance competitions. There will be even fewer people in attendance at the gala tonight. Maybe it’s still a large enough audience to inspire murder. How someone who resorts to murder calculates the value of a human life when it comes to getting ahead is a mystery to me.”

  “There’s not always a single motive behind a murder. If the killer was also carrying around the ill will Natalie Bucco displayed today, it could be about hatred or revenge, too.” As Jack said that, an image of Katrina Milan suddenly appeared before me along with a recollection of that eye rolling incident.

  “This may be nothing, but I caught an odd moment as it passed between Kathleen Fowler and Katrina Milan.” It only took a second to recount what I’d witnessed. “I wouldn’t say it was hateful, but there was disrespect or contempt in it.”

  “Katrina could have been reacting to an offhand remark about Max. He does evoke frequent eye rolling as we’ve both demonstrated in the past few minutes. It could have been a gesture of exasperation rather than contempt. I remember being introduced to her, but I don’t recall her saying much at lunch today, do you?” Jack asked.

  “No, I don’t.�
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  “If Madame Chantel and Katrina Milan were already acquainted, introductions wouldn’t have been necessary.” I nodded in agreement.

  “Yes, they’ve both been in the business for a long time so they may be well acquainted. It’s also likely they met earlier today to go over the staging of the tango for the gala tonight. Still, given their flair for the dramatic, as you so aptly put it, I would have expected an effusive greeting replete with Continental-style air kisses. And, I don’t remember seeing Katrina again once the altercation broke out between Natalie Bucco and Madame Chantel. I wonder where she went?”

  “If you don’t get around to asking Katrina Milan that question, I will. Since you’re better acquainted with the woman than I am, why don’t you see what you can find out by bringing it up in a casual conversation? That’s true for Kathleen Fowler, too. I’ll bet you can get her to tell you what she said to Katrina Milan that got her to react as she did.”

  “I don’t know either woman very well, and this is hardly small talk. I’ll do my best to work it into the conversation. If this turns into a formal murder investigation, you or someone in charge of the investigation will have to interview them both anyway.”

  We fell silent for a few minutes as Jack made his way down crowded LA streets toward the hotel. The stunning hotel was adjacent to the Marvelous Marley World Entertainment Center where both this evening’s gala and the dance competition were being held.

  From the highway, we’d caught a glimpse of the whimsical spirals adorning the state-of-the-art auditorium that anchors the large entertainment complex. Max and his team had created a variety of other venues onsite to feature various arts and entertainment events. The massive hall was even more impressive as we drew closer—a cathedral to the creative spirit.

  Newly built, Max’s big dream is to host the Academy Awards. So far, it’s still just a dream, but when Max had invited bigwigs in the industry to the premieres of his latest films, he’d made a favorable impression on many of them. As Jack pulled into the hotel parking garage adjacent to the entertainment complex, I was hit by a wave of apprehension and sadness.