The Dance (7 page)

“No, it was something Madame Leona gave me. Cinnamon-flavored syrup. I was sailing for a couple of moments, but it did the trick. In fact, I feel marvelous.”

Hank stepped back from Melanie and pretended to look her over. “You seem marvelous—you look and sound marvelous. You must be marvelous.”

Melanie grinned, then jumped at the sound of Frau Voska rapping her dance baton on the wall. Madame Leona loaded the cassette player.

“We've little enough time left today, ladies. Let's use it.”

The Tchaikovsky began, and Madame Leona positioned each girl as she wanted her while they listened. She lifted chins, propped hands on hips, and raised their arms into graceful arcs above their heads. Melanie relaxed. She felt the confrontation between Hank and Leona was ancient history, not worth thinking about.

Standing between Hank and Janell, Melanie saw Hank finger her medallion with its blue lapis lazuli. She adjusted the necklace so it fell perfectly across her breast. Following suit, Melanie did the same with hers.

To her surprise, she could feel that the rash the necklace had caused was gone. Her cold, sore throat—whatever the bug—had disappeared. Was it the medicine or the music? Was it magic or a miracle? She cocked her head and smiled at her thinking. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that she was a dancer. She had no doubts about that now. And she was a part of this special troupe of dancers. Nothing could take that away from her.

The Tchaikovsky started again from the beginning. The troupe was in motion. Swan-like, Melanie floated across the room, performing once more for the audience of two—and for herself.

six

And the demon Azael showed her his dwelling place, and she was intrigued.

I
N THE LOCKER
room, changing, Melanie slipped off the heavy medallion and stuffed it into her bag.

A thought came to her. “Hank, does this sound strange?” she whispered. “For a few minutes out there today, I forgot all about why I'm here. All I could think about was dancing—being wonderful in the show.”

Hank rubbed her neck and hairline with a towel. “No problem with that. You can do both. In fact, you'd better dance well or Leona will put you back on the street.”

“No, I get the idea that she feels she has to have seven dancers. And there's so little time left, she needs me. Are you going to the party?”

To Melanie's surprise, as they were leaving class, Anne, Nicol, and Janell had invited the whole troupe to their place for a party. To get better acquainted, Anne had told them.

“I guess so. Are you?”

“I was supposed to have a special date with Bryan, but this is such a good chance to talk to people. I haven't had time to ask one question about Paulie.”

“Maybe he'll think you're still home sick.”

“No, I'd better call him.” Melanie let Bryan's phone ring a dozen times. Just when she was about to give up, he answered.

“Melanie. Your mom said you were at the school. I was on my way out the door to pick you up. I'm glad you feel better. I was able to get our reservations back.”

“Oh, Bryan, the troupe is having a party. It's too good a chance to snoop around a little, ask some questions.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. Finally Bryan said, “But this is a special anniversary for us, Mel.”

Melanie made a face at Hank. “I'll make it up to you, Bryan, I promise I will. I have to do this.” Why? Why was she doing this to Bryan? There was nothing weird going on with Leona's dance troupe. Leona and Paulie had just not gotten along. Paulie was hard to get along with. Melanie had certainly known her long enough to know that. It was all coincidence that Paulie had wrecked her car right after she had had a fight with Leona and quit the troupe.

“Okay, Mel.” Bryan hung up, but she heard the disappointment in his voice.

“Oh, dear.” Melanie replaced the phone.

“He doesn't like it,” Hank guessed. Melanie nodded. “Mel, do you think he believes this stuff about Paulie being murdered?”

“I don't know. Sometimes I don't believe it. But before I got in the troupe I was
so
convinced that Paulie didn't wreck her own car, I made us all believe it.”

“Well, come on. You'll have to deal with Bryan's feelings tomorrow. I'm eager to see where the three witches live.”

The Seaton Arms was one of several exclusive apartment buildings in Bellponte.

“It's the one I thought it was,” Melanie said, as Hank parallel parked between two cars at the curb. All resident parking seemed to be underground, and the large metal doors appeared to be signal controlled. Hank's '74 Volvo slid on a patch of ice and came to a stop against the curb.

“Easy enough to get into,” Hank joked. “We'll worry about getting out later. So that's the Seaton Arms.”

The complex was six stories high, and from the air would look like an
H
. Two wings—one facing north, the other south—were joined by a connecting building, probably housing the office, recreation rooms, an indoor pool, and a sauna. Melanie watched a large plume of steam rising from a vent on the roof. That was, she guessed, the pool or sauna.

The outside was an off-white stucco, and the roof was made from tiles interrupted by long rows of high, white chimneys with tile-clapped tops. Wrought-iron railed stairs were visible throughout, and tall, cut-glass windows rose from the ground up at the end of each wing fronting the street.

“I'm hungry,” said Hank. “And I'm cold. Let's go.”

“In a minute.” Melanie needed to gather her thoughts. “How well did you know Pauline McMasters, Hank?”

Hank shrugged. “Not well at all. I met her when I got in the troupe. She was fiery, though, I'll give her that. She and Leona had some bang-up fights. You thought you saw a fight between me and Leona today. You ain't seen nothing till you see—” Hank realized what she was about to say. “I'm sorry. It's so easy to forget.”

“What do you think happened between her and Leona, Hank? Why do you think she quit the troupe?”

“She decided it wasn't worth the work and putting up with Leona, I guess. But you know, Mel, there was one thing funny about that situation.”

“What?”

“We got to where we could almost count on a fight every rehearsal, or at least a severe disagreement. But the last two days Paulie came to rehearsals, she seemed different.”

“How different? Describe her.”

“Well, she seemed distant, fuzzy, not really there. Pauline didn't do drugs, did she?”

“Of course not, Hank. Did she act like she was on drugs?”

“I sure wouldn't say she was herself. Leona took Paulie into her office a couple of times, and Paulie would come out looking subdued. It was like Leona had found the magic words to make Paulie behave. Until that last day.”

“What happened then? None of us knows. Paulie was going to tell me about it, but she didn't get a chance.”

“I'm sorry. I liked her.” Hank looked out the window for a minute. “Paulie stormed into the school, and before Leona could talk to her, do anything, Paulie backed Leona into a corner. Can you imagine backing the dragon-lady into a corner?”

“I can't. I wouldn't have the nerve.”

“Well, Paulie did. I guess that was the source of their problems. Anyway, none of us could hear what Paulie said to Leona. Believe me, we wanted to, but for once they kept their voices down. Whatever was discussed must have gotten out of hand. Paulie shrieked, jerked off her necklace, and threw it at Leona. Then she marched out, past Vodka, past all of us, not looking at anyone, out the door, slamming it behind her. It was a good show, but I wished we'd heard all the lines.” Hank laughed.

“So do I.” Melanie said. “So do I.” She grabbed a grocery bag with two loaves of French bread, jumped out of the car, and slammed her door. Suddenly she was starving, but at least she finally had some food for thought.

seven

W
HEN THEY WENT
through the dark wood doors in the center of the building, they found a security door and a wall of buzzers for each apartment.

“Which one do we want?” Hank asked.

“Number C–6.” Melanie shifted the bag so she could see.

Hank pushed the button for C–6, then spoke into the two-way wall speaker. “Hello the house.”

It was Anne who answered. “Come on up. Elevator's on the left, up six floors, the third door on the left.” The security door hummed for a second, then clicked open.

On the elevator, Melanie said, “I wish we had some kind of plan, Hank. If you get a chance to mention Paulie's name, do so. Stuff like, ‘Too bad about Paulie, wasn't it.' Then watch people's faces.”

“I wonder, Mel, if anyone knows anything about what happened to her except for Madame Leona?”

“Maybe not. And now that I've been around her, I realize she's a fanatic about dance, but I can't believe she'd kill anyone.”

“Especially for no more reason than dropping out of the troupe.”

Melanie stepped between the doors as they whooshed open, keeping the elevator stopped but not getting out. “That sounds crazy, doesn't it? And I'm sure it is, but we just need to know. None of us feels good about all of this, and maybe we're grasping at the proverbial straw, but we're grasping.”

“You'd never feel right about a friend dying, Mel. But to think someone killed her, well, that's pretty serious business.”

“I realize that. Maybe I shouldn't have burdened you with this, but I need help. I'm not asking you to get involved, but will you keep your eyes open tonight, Hank? Look around for anything, even the slightest thing, that looks out of place, suspicious, out of the ordinary.”

“Listen, Mel, the Madame herself is way out of the ordinary.”

“Hank—” Melanie put her hand on Hank's arm. She realized Hank was really disturbed by all this. “Listen, forget I told you this. You're right, Leona may be strange, but she's not a killer. I've about decided that myself. I—”

“Melanie, thanks for trusting me. You took a big chance doing that. You don't know me. I think you're absolutely off balance here, nutty as last year's peanut brittle, but I'll look around. I'm good at that. In fact, I'm a terrific snoop. What harm can it do? It might liven up tonight's little shindig so much that I'll enjoy it.”

Melanie relaxed. “You're special, Hank. Thanks. We'd better go before one of the witches comes after us.”

“We can always tell her someone cast a spell on her elevator.”

Hank was going to take this in fun. Melanie was pretty sure of it. But that was all right. Four eyes and ears did double the work of two.

They knocked on C–6. Anne opened the door with what seemed to Melanie a bit of reluctance. She was expecting them, wasn't she? The smells of fine food and wood smoke from a fireplace pulled her and Hank inside. With no ceremony, just a quick “hello,” Anne took their coats. “Make yourselves at home.” She disappeared around a corner.

Hank and Melanie walked down six carpeted steps with wrought-iron rails into what Melanie thought was the plushest apartment she'd ever seen. Where did these three young women get the kind of money to have this layout? Rich parents? Certainly, they didn't earn this with teaching dance for Madame Leona.

The living room was tiered into three levels. In the middle of the lowest was a stone-island fireplace with screens and glass doors on four sides. The brick chimney climbed high above it to a cathedral ceiling. Jean, Laurie, and Janell sat between Melanie and the fire and she couldn't tell one from the other.

Hank elbowed Melanie. “Did you scope out Anne's outfit?”

Melanie nodded and drew a dollar sign in the air with her forefinger. She knew she owned nothing like the expensive gray jacket Anne was wearing, with its cluster of gold-colored buttons fastened to one side. It had slightly padded shoulders. The jacket went perfectly, she thought, with Anne's skirt, a light cream color. Anne's choice of clothes made her look taller than she seemed at the theater. Also, Melanie decided, her dark brown hair, which swirled down and was swept over one shoulder, added to the effect. Naturally, Anne wore her medallion with its clear purple amethyst.

Hank pulled Melanie closer to her. “Mel, do you suppose ‘strictly informal' has two meanings, or are we in the wrong apartment?”

“Hey,” Melanie replied as she jabbed Hank in the ribs. “Think of us as modest and unassuming.”

“In other words, poor.”

Nicol left the others by the fire and greeted them. “Melanie, we haven't formally met. Hannah seems always to have you to herself at the studio.”

“Oh, I'm such a hog.” Hank mimed dismay and shock. “Melanie Clark, this is Nicol, Nicol, meet Melanie Clark. I love your outfit, Nicol. Is it yours?”

Melanie cringed at Hank's blatant remark. The black shoulder-to-shoulder wrap sweater and light blue knit skirt suited Nicol perfectly. Her medallion with its jet black stone seemed perfectly matched to the dress.

Melanie used the sudden, heavy silence that hung between Nicol and Hank to feign embarrassment at not having her medallion on the outside of her sweater. She pulled it out, let it drop between her breasts. “Hannah, love, you are quick. This is Madame Leona's. Since we wear the same size, she let me have it for the evening.” Nicol turned to Melanie. “We've traveled a lot together, myself and Madame Leona. All over the world. We borrow from each other frequently. She lives in the opposite building, you know.”

“Oh, right,” Melanie said. “I knew that.” Melanie didn't, but she was glad for the information. She wondered how she could get into Leona's apartment and look around.

“Tonight, though, the party is just for us girls. I'm going to turn up the lights a bit so you two can see to get some snacks and something to drink. There's hot mulled cider, fruit punch, or Perrier. Soft drinks are in the fridge. Come on, Melanie.” Nicol gestured as if to lead them to the fireplace. “Let's join the others. Oh, you too, Hannah.”