A Tango Before Dying

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “Straight from the horse’s mouth, I heard her! Take care of yourselves and thanks for caring about what happened to Charlotte and me. I’ll be sure to bring up the things that you said the cops need to hear. I need to hear a few things from them, too.” Then he turned to the detective. “They won’t say, but you haven’t told me everything you know about what happened to Charlotte Chantel, have you?” I leaned over and gave Kevin Whitley a kiss on the cheek.

  “Get well soon!”

  “You heard what Georgie told you—you’d better not let her down,” Jack added, shaking Kevin’s hand.

  “I’ll do my best,” he replied as we scooted out of the room and nodded at the uniformed officer sitting in a chair across from Kevin’s room.

  “I’m glad LAPD has posted an officer to watch over him. When Julie burst into his room like that, I was afraid it might be another attempt on his life.”

  “I’m glad, too, although I doubt his killer would barge in that way. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

  “Natalie might if she’s mixed up in this mess and can get away from her babysitter.”

  “Nothing anyone has told us gives us a reason to suspect she’s a co-conspirator with the woman in that video or anyone else. Her grievances with Charlotte started well before the crime spree here in LA.”

  “She’s definitely played her part in what you’re calling a crime spree. Natalie must be a member of the U.S. chapter of the World Ballroom Dance Association.”

  “She is. I learned that today. If you’re arguing that she and the woman in that video know each other, that’s possible. That’s not enough to conclude they’re in cahoots. Natalie’s too tall to be the woman in the video so that rules her out as the killer.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. That was a sad saga Kevin shared with us. It almost makes me feel sorry for his grandson.”

  “Not me. Carter’s taken advantage of his grandfather’s guilt. It sounds as if Carter’s uncle, who raised him like a son, gave him a decent life. Raymond Whitley inherited the same genes and grew up enduring his father’s ‘missteps.’ There’s always room to make good choices even in bad situations.”

  “I pondered some of the same issues when Max had so much trouble with his daughter. Mental illness is a challenge—especially something like bipolar disorder. It would be wrong, though, not to acknowledge how many people with disorders like that manage to contribute in a positive way despite their illness. Carter is such a talented dancer; it’s too bad he can’t do that.”

  “I know. You can’t make up your mind about Carter either, can you? He says he was in his grandfather’s dressing room waiting for him when Kevin had his fall. What made me believe him is that he said he and Katrina almost collided when she came charging out of there just as he was going in.”

  “Okay, well that’s a darned good alibi, isn’t it?”

  “I’d say so, although I haven’t checked it with Katrina. I can ask her, if you think I should. I figure we ought to have a little faith that Julie will do her job. It’s exhausting trying to understand other people’s problems, isn’t it? I prefer it when we have our weekends to ourselves.”

  “Come on, it’s kind of nice to have Carol around. It’s like having your daughter home for a visit from college. Are you too tired to have more of those berries in a basket?”

  “Never, although I’m on to you. Berries are good for me, and the meringue baskets are fat free.”

  “I’m not ashamed about using a few tricky moves to improve your diet without violating your ‘eat dessert first’ approach to life.”

  “Keep it up. I’ll take all the improvements you can manage with stealthy tactics like berries in meringue.” The elevator pinged. When the doors opened, a short woman with jet black hair and eyes to match emerged. Wearing a hospital volunteer uniform, she pushed a cart with treats on it. Jack and I stepped aside to let her pass. She looked me in the eye and thanked me, but there was something other than gratitude in her eyes. Recognition? Apprehension? Fear?

  Before I stepped into the elevator, I turned to see her speaking to a nurse who held the door open for her. The nurse patted her on the shoulder and laughed as if they were old friends. I sighed with relief.

  “I hate it when we get to this point in a murder investigation, and I’m so paranoid, everyone I meet appears suspicious to me.” Jack put a hand up to stop the doors from closing as he eyed the woman, too. Then he pulled me into the elevator with him.

  “She’s short, has a similar build to the woman in the video, and she’s pushing a cart. You’ve spent a big chunk of your day focused on figuring out who the woman is who may have murdered a delightful friend and a person dear to Carol. A bit of paranoia goes with the territory.”

  “Let’s not forget the nightmares. Her hair is darker, and the cut isn’t anything like the woman’s in the video. The bob on the hospital volunteer is almost identical to Natalie’s hairdo. My mind is mixing them up like it did in my dreams—a waking nightmare!”

  “Your day wasn’t all bad. You had that soak in the hot tub with Carol, steaks grilled on the barbeque by your adoring husband, a gorgeous sunset, and berries in meringue baskets.”

  “Okay, so I’m a spoiled, paranoid snoop. I admit it.” By the time we’d reached the lobby, my adoring husband had managed to make my head spin for an entirely different reason.

  When we got home and let ourselves into the house, music was playing. I heard laughter too. The cats were sitting sphinxlike, side-by-side, and staring out through the sliding glass doors at the veranda. Whatever was going on was so fascinating they didn’t bother to greet us. To be fair, we hadn’t been gone long. In cat consciousness, a before dinner greeting probably still counted.

  I stood behind the cats to see what enthralled them. Carol and Brett were on the tiled veranda, practicing dance steps. Their feet moved quickly—too fast for my weary mind to catch what they were doing. They didn’t greet us either as they repeated the fancy footwork that ended with Carol wrapped in Brett’s arms.

  “Now those are some tricky moves.” Jack went to the light switch and flicked the lights a couple of times.

  “Stop it!” I said as I moved away from the sliders, kicked off my shoes, and hung my jacket on a hook. “They would have figured out we were home any minute now.”

  “They seemed pretty engrossed in what they were doing. Don’t you think it’s polite to ask them if they want berries and meringue?” The door slid open, and a cool breeze blew in carrying the scent of the ocean. My whole body relaxed as I also caught the familiar sound of the waves as they roll onto shore. The roar is impressive even though our house sits across the street and high above Crystal Cove Park.

  “Time for dessert!” Jack exclaimed when Carol rushed indoors with Brett half a step behind her.

  “Great! We’ve been dancing almost the entire time you were gone. It’s time to refill the tank. The heater is on, and it’s toasty out on the veranda. Can we eat out there?”

  “Sure. You want to fix decaf cappuccinos for us, Jack, while Carol and I dish up dessert?”

  “Please, allow me!” Brett said. “I’m sure I’ve fixed more cappuccinos and espressos than anyone else here. I’d like to do something to help. In fact, if you two will have a seat on the veranda, Carol and I will serve coffee and dessert.” He clicked his heels as he’d done at Versailles Veranda. Carol was delighted. Jack seemed a bit flummoxed by his routine, but I took it as it was meant—a gesture of gratitude.

  “That would be sweet of you both. We don’t mind being spoiled, do we?”

  “I could get used to it,” Jack responded gazing at the dessert Carol had set on the counter. I grabbed my phone and took it with me as the image of the woman in the hospital came back to haunt me. Something about her made me want to have another look at the woman in the video footage. I stared at each frame in which she appeared.

  “Jack, what’s this?” I asked.

  “What’s what? I don’t see anything.” I reversed
the video footage and started playing it again.

  “Watch as the woman comes out of Charlotte’s room.” He stared closely, trying to understand what I was trying to say. “When she raises her arm, she shields her face from view.”

  “Yes, that’s probably what she’s trying to do.”

  “Look closely, right there,” I said pausing the video. “There’s something on her arm near her wrist.” Jack tried to zoom in on the spot, but the image blurred.

  “Is it a birthmark or a mole? I can’t tell.”

  “I think it could be a tattoo—like the one I saw on Kevin’s arm when he raised it to point to the bottle of bourbon. You saw it, too, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. Why would she have Kevin Whitley’s initials tattooed on her forearm? Show me again, please.”

  “I’m not sure the letters are the same, but the script sure is.”

  “Our cappuccinos are ready. Foam or no foam?” It took me a few seconds to respond.

  “Foam, please!” Jack replied.

  “Me, too,” I said.

  “Two votes for foam,” Carol said, relaying the message. “What are you two looking at?”

  “Georgie’s looking at the woman in that video again. She thinks she’s found something.”

  “Let me see.” With that, Carol slid open the door and came out carrying a tray full of desserts. When she set the tray on the table, I handed her the phone with the image frozen on it.

  “Hmm, that does look like something—letters, maybe. An M and a W, intertwined.” I glanced at Jack who shrugged, noncommittally. “Don’t you have someone who can enhance the video?”

  “I could find someone. Do you really see letters?”

  “I think so. Could they be her initials or the initials of a lover or spouse?”

  “It couldn’t be her, right?” I asked Jack. “She’s dead.”

  “Who’s dead? Who’s MW?”

  “Let’s not get too excited. I’m not even sure that they’re letters. If they are, they could mean anything—not just her name. Even if it’s a tattoo, it could be the initials for a club or a special event,” Jack cautioned. Miles bellowed as Brett opened the patio door with one hand, balancing a tray with our cappuccinos on it with the other. “Or the initials for a favorite big-mouthed pet.”

  “Initials? What initials?” Brett asked. Carol handed him the phone which he took in his free hand.

  “I’ll take that,” she said, as she carefully lifted the tray from his hand and set it on the table in front of us. “What do you see?”

  “MW. Who’s MW? It’s a woman’s arm, but not Natalie Bucco or the initials would be NB. This must have something to do with Charlotte Chantel’s death or you wouldn’t all be so excited about it on a perfect Sunday evening in your little corner of paradise.”

  “You’re right. The video is from a surveillance camera in the hallway outside my godmother’s suite. The arm belongs to the last person seen entering Charlotte’s room not too long after you left, by the way. Proof that my godmother was still alive after your tango with her. Georgie and Jack were just about to fill us in on why the letters matter, whose initials they could be—except that MW is dead.”

  “Fascinating,” Brett said as he sat down eager to hear what we had to say.

  18 Fall Guy

  Carol and Brett were still in their rooms when Jack and I stepped out onto the veranda to drink our morning coffee and plan our day. I’d had more nightmares and sought solace from the view in our ‘little corner of paradise,’ as Brett had called it.

  Last night my nightmares focused on getting out of the way of a woman trying to run me down with an oversized cart loaded with hypodermic needles. The letters MW weren’t on the woman’s arm but emblazoned on her forehead as she morphed in appearance from the woman in the surveillance video to the woman we’d seen at the hospital, to Natalie, and then back again. I explained it to Jack when he’d shaken me awake in the middle of the night after I’d moaned, ‘no, no, no’ repeatedly. He hadn’t needed to do that since Miles had already wakened me with a trumpet blast two inches from my ear.

  “That was Gary. You can forget about Natalie Bucco causing you or anyone else any more trouble. She’s dead.” I jumped out of my seat, banged my knee on the wrought iron table, and dodged hot coffee that I slopped in the process.

  “How did she die?”

  “Gary says she fell and broke her neck.”

  “On the stairs like Kevin?”

  “I’m afraid she fell farther than that…” My phone rang, and I knew who it was before I even answered it.

  “Hello, Max. I already heard about Natalie Bucco. Gary Peabody just called Jack.”

  “Then why aren’t you in the car on your way to the hotel?”

  “I’m sure Detective Spencer is already there. More interference from us is not going to make her happy.” Max cut me off.

  “I don’t care what makes her happy! I’m unhappy, that’s what should concern you. If she was any kind of detective at all, there wouldn’t be another body at the hotel—this one lying in a courtyard after falling from a fifth-floor balcony.”

  “She fell off a balcony?” Jack nodded. “How did that happen? Her lawyer was supposed to be babysitting her until she had a psychiatric evaluation tomorrow. Where is he?” I looked at Jack, again, who held his hands out and shook his head.

  “Lawyer? Babysitting? Psychiatric evaluation?” With each word, his voice grew louder, and his tone became more strident. Suddenly, Max quit speaking. The silence was as worrisome as his ranting. I was about to tell Jack to call 911 when Max spoke again, the hysteria in his voice only barely under control. I got up and paced from one end of the veranda to the other. “Does that mean Natalie Bucco was in jail and a judge let her out on bail?”

  “Yes, that’s what it means. Her lawyer argued that she had serious mental health issues that needed to be addressed. He asked that she be released into his custody so she could seek psychiatric care. The judge agreed.”

  “What a disaster! Mark my words, this is only the beginning unless you get to the hotel and make sure Jack cordons off the entire courtyard if necessary. He must take control of the situation.” Max’s voice trembled with the ardor of a televangelist forecasting the apocalypse. “Stacy’s on her way to speak on our behalf if someone makes a connection between this woman’s death and the incident at Arcadia Park.”

  If? I thought. That outcome was unavoidable given that the videos of Natalie in what the media tagged as her Assault on Versailles Veranda had gone viral. I heard the sliders open and shut. When I turned around, Jack stood inside dangling his keys. Then he pointed toward the garage.

  “Stacy needs you. She doesn’t know any more than I do about a lawyer and a psychiatrist, or a judge letting such a desperate woman loose. If you don’t get over there quick, it’s as if you’ve thrown Stacy to the wolves. The media will devour her if she’s perceived to be criticizing a mentally ill woman who’s killed herself, accidentally or on purpose.”

  I don’t know why I bother to fight with Max. He commands. I obey. I swigged the last drop of coffee, picked up my dishes, and took them into the house. To be completely honest, it wasn’t just at Max’s insistence that I agreed to go. Natalie’s death must be related to Charlotte’s murder. My curiosity had me in its clutches from the minute Jack told me the news. I’m aware of the warning that “curiosity killed the cat.” I prefer to believe the version of the proverb that adds, “but satisfaction brought it back.” Finding Charlotte’s killer would bring me some satisfaction.

  “Jack has gone to the garage. We’ll be on our way in a minute.”

  “Go, then. Don’t let me stop you. You know what? Don’t wait until you get to the hotel. Call Stacy now, so she’s not ambushed before you can get there.” Max hung up without waiting for me to respond.

  “What is it? What’s going on?” A very sleepy Carol asked as she wandered into the kitchen rubbing her eyes. I gave her a quick hug.

  “Jack’s waiti
ng for me in the car. Max probably has a drone hovering above the house and if I’m not out of here in sixty seconds the house will go up in flames—or worse—he’ll call me again. I don’t want you to hear it on the news even though we don’t have many details. Natalie Bucco has fallen from the fifth floor of the hotel.”

  “Suicide or murder?”

  “No one’s mentioned murder, but accident and suicide have both come up as possibilities. Jack and I have been drafted into finding out what’s going on before it’s the end of the world—Marvelous Marley World anyway. As soon as we know anything, we’ll call you. If we get the video footage back from the guy Jack sent it to last night, I’ll call you about that, too.”

  “Or tell Jack to forward it to me. Brett and I can review it, and we’ll call you if we find anything important.”

  “We brought you both here to keep you safe, and here we go leaving you alone. I wanted to help you figure out what to do next for Charlotte.”

  “Don’t worry about me. Brett’s going to help me plan a tribute to my godmother that’s worthy of her. He’s really nice.” Carol hugged me. “Now, go, go, go! We don’t want the house to explode from a drone attack, or, heaven forbid, for Max to call!”

  “Okay, but don’t go anywhere. Keep the doors locked and the alarm on. If anyone comes to the door—don’t answer!”

  “Yes, Mom.” Then she began moving in a jerky, robotic way as she spoke in a nasal tone. “Your sixty seconds are up in ten seconds. Nine. Eight. Seven.”

  I ran for it. Jack already had the police light mounted on the roof of his car. The engine was running, and the garage door open. Once I had my seatbelt fastened, Jack took off.

  “Carol’s awake and in fine form. She asked me if Natalie’s death was suicide or murder. What did Gary tell you?”

  “We’re supposed to believe she committed suicide, but he says she was murdered. He’s also afraid the killer is rapidly decompensating because the faked suicide is even more poorly orchestrated than the attempt to frame Brett Henson.” Jack honked as he barged through an intersection. Traffic was lighter on a Sunday morning than it had been during our last mad dash to the hotel on Friday, but the roads are never empty in the OC or LA.