A Tango Before Dying

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “What is it?” Jack asked as we parked.

  “It’s been such a short time since Madame Chantel died and already you’ve got a list of half a dozen suspects. Do we all have that many people in our lives who wish us dead?” Before Jack could reply, I thought about the murder investigation that had brought him into my life. Under the right circumstances, I suppose anyone could become the target of murderous intent. The murder at Catmmando Mountain hadn’t been my first brush with envy and rage that can end up in the death of a loved one like Madame Chantel. “Never mind. I don’t know why I asked that question. Besides, we don’t even have a good reason to be making a list of suspects, do we? Maybe we’ll be planning a memorial service to honor Charlotte rather than trying to uncover her enemies.”

  “Ah, that’s one of the reasons I love you so much. You’re the master at spinning events toward hope, not Max. Let’s go find out who killed Charlotte Chantel and why, shall we?” Jack made a phone call as we raced from the parking lot to doors that led into the hotel lobby.

  At that moment, I knew Charlotte’s death had become a murder investigation. I trust Detective Jack Wheeler’s more laid-back pronouncements much more than Miles’ trumpet-like blasts. My spin toward hope took a dizzying detour to fall in line with Jack’s ambition to find the killer. Was it a pipe dream to believe we could do that before someone else died?

  4 A Tango Before Dying

  When we stepped into the lobby of the high-rise hotel, it only took us a few seconds to make our way to check-in. The clerk standing behind the gleaming stone counter was expecting us. Not two minutes later, we were hurtling skyward in an elevator with a member of hotel security at our side.

  Charlotte Chantel’s suite wasn’t on the penthouse level, but it was on an upper floor divided into a few large multi-room suites. The view from the windows in her sitting room was dazzling. A bit vertigo-inducing, too, when a large jet already starting its descent glided by on its way to LAX. I was grateful that the charming dancer’s body wasn’t sprawled out on the ground in front of us.

  “Georgie, I’m so glad you’re here!” Carol jumped from the chair in which she’d been sitting and staring out the window. By the time she crossed the room, she was sobbing. A shoulder to cry on didn’t seem like much to offer given the enormity of her loss, but I held her close.

  “Jack, it’s great to see you, although I’m sure you wish we were all here for another reason, don’t you?” A tall, bulky gray-haired man stepped toward Jack and held out his hand. He’d been jotting down something when we entered the room and shoved a small notebook into the pocket of a maroon-colored blazer identical to the one worn by our escort from security. Jack grabbed the man’s outstretched hand and shook it.

  “You’ve sure got that right. Let me introduce you to my wife, Georgie Shaw. She oversees the Food and Beverage Division at Marvelous Marley World. Carol Ripley is Georgie’s Executive Assistant and our friend. This is Gary Peabody, a former colleague from the Sheriff’s Department.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Shaw. Marvelous Marley World is lucky to have you honchoing the food. Your cookies are legendary.”

  There was no way I could shake his hand given that Carol was still hanging on to me for dear life. I opened my mouth to thank him for the kind words about my cookies, but Max was done with the social amenities.

  “Yes, yes! Georgie’s a fine cook and an even better manager. Please, can we get on with the discussion about what to do next? We have a gala that’s going to start in less than an hour. One of the stars of tonight’s program, who was expected to perform once the gala was in full swing, is dead!” To my surprise, Carol let go and threw her arms around the rambunctious little man.

  “I’m sorry, Max. This is an awful situation for you, isn’t it? Georgie’s here now, so I’ll be okay. They need a boss to help figure this out and quick. You can go.” Max must have been caught by surprise. It took him a moment to react, but he put his arms around Carol in an awkward gesture that was almost a hug.

  “Should I do that?” Max asked as his eyes moved from me to Jack. Gary Peabody answered the question.

  “I’m sorry, but you’ll need to stay put a little longer than that. After hearing what Carol Ripley said about finding the door to her godmother’s suite open, and learning there was an earlier confrontation today, I called the police. Even if her death was due to a heart attack, I’d like to have it on record just in case we discover a break-in, or a confrontation preceded or even provoked her death.” Jack nodded.

  “I agree. When we arrived, and there weren’t any police parked near the ambulance, I called, and someone from dispatch said LAPD is already on their way along with a member of their forensic team.”

  “They would have sent uniformed officers sooner, but I told them I’d secured the scene. The Medical Examiner’s office is also sending someone to investigate before the body’s moved.” As he said that, the two EMTs who’d been huddled together sighed with relief.

  “If the police and someone from the ME’s office is on the way, that means you won’t need us much longer. There’s nothing more we can do here.” One of them said. “We’ll submit a written incident report along with Dr. Vincent’s declaration that she was dead at the scene. Personnel from the ME’s office will move her, right?”

  “I assume they will. It shouldn’t take them much longer than it took Georgie and Jack to get here, so they ought to arrive any minute now. I’ve taken your statements already so the handoff will be quick.”

  Jack did a quick visual sweep of the room, and his eyes stopped as he reached a pair of French doors. When I followed his gaze, I saw what had stopped him. From where I stood, all I could see were Charlotte Chantel’s feet and ankles.

  “Do those doors lead to her bedroom?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Carol answered. “That’s where she was when I got here, although I didn’t see her at first.”

  “Can you remember what time that was?” Jack asked.

  “Yes. It was almost four-forty-five. My godmother asked me to meet her here by then so Max could take us both to the hall where the gala’s being held. We planned to get there with plenty of time before the doors opened at six and she was scheduled to perform at six-thirty or seven.”

  “She couldn’t have been here more than a minute before me because I arrived at four-forty-five on the dot,” Max offered, still standing close to Carol who’d let go of him. As she tried to speak again, she swayed a little. Max and I both reached out to steady her.

  “I’m okay,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “When I got to her suite, I was so excited about going to the gala, I didn’t notice that her door wasn’t completely latched until I knocked, and it swung open. Even then, I didn’t get it. I thought she’d opened it and I expected to see her standing there.” Carol paused, and her sobbing returned.

  “I’m sorry,” Jack said. “Please continue, if you can. You stepped inside the suite. Then what?” Carol took a few steps toward the seating area, reenacting what she’d done at the time.

  “I called out to my godmother, and when she didn’t respond, I thought maybe she couldn’t hear me. Music was playing.” With that, Carol moved to a large armoire with the doors still open wide. She pointed to a button on a DVD player. “That turned it off. When I turned around, I saw her and ran to see if I could help her.” As she said that, she moved toward the double doors. I followed her, reluctantly.

  “I thought she must have fallen or fainted, so I knelt down to speak to her. When she didn’t answer, I searched for a pulse. I couldn’t find one. I bent down and put my head on her chest, listening for a heartbeat. That’s what I was doing when Max asked me what was going on.”

  Lying on her back on the floor, Madame Chantel appeared to be sleeping. Nothing in the large bedroom behind her was out of place—the bed was perfectly made. The drapes were open, and only a gauzy veil of fabric hid the view. A closet door was ajar, and I caught a glimpse of the red dress she’d worn to lunch. Madame Cha
ntel had changed her dress and shoes for the tango she was expecting to perform later.

  “Was it tango music?” I asked not sure why that mattered.

  “Yes, it was. I thought maybe she’d been practicing or just listening to the music to get into the mood of the dance. It was a little too loud, which is why I shut it off. I figured that’s why she didn’t come to the door or hear me call her. I’ve never seen her that quiet and still. I want her to get up and dance again—that can’t have been her last tango.” My heart broke hearing the despair in Carol’s voice. When Max spoke, his tone was soft, even gentle as if he understood her perfectly.

  “I wish I’d arrived minutes earlier, so you weren’t alone when you found her. The door was still ajar, but the music was off when I walked in,” Max said picking up the story. “When no one greeted me, I said ‘hello’ not wanting to startle Madame Chantel. Then I saw Carol kneeling next to her godmother. I didn’t mean to do it, but I scared her when I rushed over to see what was wrong. Then she startled me.”

  “I’m sorry about that, Max. I was so out of it, I didn’t hear you say hello. When you stepped up behind me, I screamed because by then, I realized someone had killed my godmother. Right before you spoke, it dawned on me that whoever had killed her might still be in the suite.”

  “The scream was bloodcurdling like a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie,” Max said as his momentary display of empathy passed. “I’m afraid I reacted with a loud yelp of my own. Nor am I ashamed to say I felt faint when Carol said her godmother had been murdered.”

  “Is it the open door that led you to believe someone had killed her?” Jack asked. Carol nodded in agreement.

  “Yes, I guess so. Besides, what other explanation could there be? You all saw her at lunch. She was fine—even after that awful woman tried to attack her. Have you caught up with Natalie yet?” Jack and I both turned our heads toward Gary.

  “No. She’s registered as a guest but hasn’t returned to the hotel. We’ve got eyes on all the entrances and exits. We’ll hear about it the moment she arrives.”

  “That means she’s not a local or she wouldn’t be staying at the hotel.” What I really wondered was whether the wretched woman had someplace else nearby where she could go to hide out.

  “She’s a dance instructor from Santa Barbara. Natalie took lessons at Charlotte’s studio years ago until she quit and opened her own studio. The confrontation today wasn’t the first time she’s antagonized or embarrassed my godmother.”

  “Has Natalie Bucco ever threatened to harm her?”

  “Not physically, if that’s what you mean, Georgie. At least, not that I can recall. Natalie’s accosted her on the street before, accusing her of being a fraud. She claimed Charlotte was defaming her reputation as a dance instructor and accused her of stealing her dance students. I’m too upset right now to recount all the stupid grievances she’s filed with authorities claiming that the Madame Chantel Studio was in violation of one local ordinance or another. I urged my godmother to take her threats more seriously, but she refused. Now look what’s happened!” Carol twisted the tissue she held in her hands, and her shoulders shook as she dissolved into angry tears.

  “The woman’s obviously not well. I’m sure Madame Chantel realized that.” Jack’s comment was posed almost as a question.

  “Yes, she said Natalie was sick. She was mentally ill, and for some reason, fixated on Charlotte. She blamed my godmother for turning the judges against her and accused her of getting someone to remove the entry form she’d submitted to a regional dance competition. There was other off the wall stuff, too, like sabotaging her costume, stealing her shoes or makeup. I believe she was banned from competing for a short time for some reason and blamed my godmother for that, too.”

  Why hadn’t Charlotte requested a restraining order or taken other legal measures to stop the ongoing harassment? I wondered. I wanted to ask that question and a few others, but I saw Max take a worried glance at his expensive watch.

  “Jack won’t let Natalie Bucco put anything past him. With her track record, he’ll be able to find out plenty about her background—including her ties to anyone in the LA area where she might stay if she doesn’t want to return to the hotel right away,” I said.

  “That’s one of the first things my colleagues with the LAPD will do, now that there’s a chance she made good on the threats she uttered at lunchtime. Although, if she’s the one who was in here, I can’t believe she could have restrained herself from trashing the place. Nor can I believe Madame Chantel would have let her in. Did anyone report a disturbance?”

  “No,” Gary responded.

  “You’re right, Jack. My godmother would not have let her in here after what went on at lunchtime. Not without a fight, anyway. I could tell Natalie shook her up more than she let on today. Someone else must have been in here because Charlotte would never have left the door unlatched like that.”

  “Her visitor must have been in a hurry to leave. It would have only taken another second to close the door securely enough that it would have locked on its own. I checked with the front desk, and no one asked to see Charlotte Chantel or inquired about her room number or anything like that. She did get flower deliveries. One was from the organizers of the charity event, and one from you, Mr. Marley.”

  “Yes, I sent them. I can assure you that I used the same reputable florist who handles all my personal gifts. As Jack pointed out, there wasn’t any sign that a fight had gone on, or that Madame Chantel had been attacked or injured. Carol checked again for a pulse, while I called 911 to get the EMTs here hoping they could do something to revive her. They must have been close because someone from the front desk called us only minutes later to tell us they were on their way up here.” We all looked at the EMTs.

  “We were only a few blocks away when we heard the call go out. An earlier call we received was canceled and the dispatcher redirected us to the hotel.”

  “They brought Gary Peabody with them. By then, I’d also called my personal physician. When the person called us from the front desk, I asked them to send Dr. Vincent up when he arrived. I barely had the door shut after letting hotel security and the EMTs into the suite when I opened it again for him.” Dr. Vincent took that as his cue to speak.

  “I joined the EMTs while they were still examining Madame Chantel.” He paused and glanced at Carol before going on. “Her body was still warm, so I can understand why Carol and Max called the EMTs. The ME will give you a more accurate estimate of when she died, but it hadn’t been long. I declared her dead at 5:06 p.m. At that point, my guess is she’d been dead for less than an hour.” Jack and Gary were both taking notes. “That’s on the form I signed for the EMTs that will be included with the incident report they file.”

  “So, you didn’t see any sign that she was injured or involved in a struggle?” Jack asked.

  “The ME will do a more thorough exam, but there was nothing obvious—no bruising or scratches. Hardly a hair out of place, in fact, which is one reason I concluded so quickly that she died from sudden cardiac arrest. Those who die from a massive heart attack are more likely to grimace or to clutch at their chest. If I’m correct, she most likely passed out and died without pain or suffering.” We were all silent for a moment. I’m not sure about the others, but I was searching for consolation in Dr. Vincent’s words.

  “When Max called Georgie, Gary, I spoke to him, and he said you were looking around. Does that mean you didn’t find any other evidence that someone was in here?”

  “I wasn’t in the room when he made that call, so that’s probably true. I didn’t find anything to suggest she had a guest. The place is tidier than any hotel room I’ve ever been in. There’s a box on the bar that’s got cake in it and a single highball glass next to it. If it had been me, I’d have poured myself a glass of milk to go with the cake. What the heck, if she preferred bourbon, who am I to say anything about it?” That got an immediate reaction from Carol.

  “Bourbon? No way!
My godmother wouldn’t have had a glass of bourbon with cake or anything else. She didn’t care for hard liquor and hated bourbon,” Carol said as she dashed over to the bar. Jack and I were at her side and Max followed. The glass sitting on the bar was empty. I could smell the faint odor of bourbon, and a bottle sat near it.

  “Please, don’t touch anything,” Jack said as he reached out and caught her hand that reached for the glass.

  “I know. Gary already told us not to touch anything when Max wanted to get me a glass of water. The EMTs gave us bottled water instead. I’m upset I didn’t notice this sooner. I didn’t see that either,” she added as the blood drained from her face. She pointed to the little pink takeout box Chef Tomás had given Charlotte with the uneaten cake and that lovely cake topper in it. While we’d tried the cake, none of us had touched the beautifully crafted dancers. I felt sick, now, as I gazed at the contents of that box. A creepy silence stole over us as Carol, Jack, Max, and I stood crowded together around it.

  “My godmother didn’t do it, I promise you. She loved it and hoped she could store it in the hotel freezer and take it home with her. That’s sick!” Gary gave it a quick glance, and so did Dr. Vincent.

  “I see your point,” Gary said as he stepped away. As silence stole over us again, I imagined Natalie Bucco doing such a thing—gleefully. That made me shudder. I jumped out of my skin when the silence abruptly ended.

  5 Ahead by a Whisker

  Several of us cried out when someone banged loudly on the door. Not just me, but Carol and Max, too. There was another yelp from someone behind us who must have been caught up in the suspense at our rapt attention on the contents of the takeout box.

  Even after I turned away, I could see the figure of Charlotte, torn from her dance partner, lying on top of the remaining cake. Someone had pierced it with a fork that separated the head from the body. I know it was only sugar and food coloring, but the head staring up at us was vivid enough that my heart had started to rev up even before someone banged on the door.