2 Dancing With Death (13 page)

    
“Well?” Bill asked.

    
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Betty said, wishing the ground could rise and swallow her whole. She knew she was blushing… again.

    
“Let me get this straight,” Bill said slowly. You came down to the scene of a murder to check on me?” a tiny smile appeared on his lips. “That’s sweet Betty, but this is what I do for work. It’s not the first time I’ve seen a dead body.”

    
Betty laughed self depreciatingly and leant back up against the wall. “I didn’t say it made any sense.” In an effort to take the attention off herself, Betty asked, “Who was it?”

    
Bill hand his fingers through his hair and sighed heavily. “This is a tricky one. The victim is the same person we had pegged as the main suspect for the theft, but since they’ve been offed we’re at a dead end. There’s no way to know right now if the theft and the murder are connected, but my gut is telling me they must be.”

    
“Of course they’re connected,” scoffed Betty.

    
Bill raised his eyebrow. “Thinking of becoming a detective now Miss Crawford?”
    
Betty shook her head. “No. It’s just… a theft and a murder in the space of less than a day, in the same hotel? How can they not be connected?”

    
“Maybe,” Bill said. “But we have to prove it first. Listen, why don’t you head back to the competition and keep Clarise company? I need to get back to work.”

    
“Sure thing,” Betty answered. On an impulse, she reached out and gave Bill a quick hug. She pulled away before he had a chance to respond. “Be careful, okay?” she asked, echoing Clarise’s statement to Wes.

    
Bill smiled at her. “You don’t need to worry,” he said. “We’ll have these cases wrapped up soon. In the meantime, keep your eyes open and take care of yourself. I don’t want to have to worry about you as well.”

    
Betty assured him that she’d play it safe and started to walk down the aisle of carts again. The knowledge that a thief and a murderer were loose in the hotel, and that they were possibly the same person, had Betty on hyper alert. The frowning faces of rushing servers took on an ominous cast, and tendrils of fear crept up her back. She moved more quickly down the hall, keeping her eyes out for anything that seemed out of place or dangerous.

    
Betty refused to be the next body.

    
It was because she was in this heightened state of awareness that Betty noticed the key card on one of the used serving trays. In her mind’s eye, Betty remembered the door of the walk-in freezer where the body had been found.

    
She remembered the propped-open door.

    
The door must have been propped open because the door would still lock automatically if it swung shut. That meant the lock was still intact. There hadn’t been any forced entry.

    
Someone would have had to swipe their key card on the pad and enter the password to get into the freezer.

    
And here, lying discarded on one of the serving trays between a half-empty glass of orange juice and a plate with a few cold egg crumbs, sat a key card. The plastic spiral loop designed to hang around someone’s neck was lying half-across the plate, as though it had been hastily thrown there.

    
The murderer would have had a key card, and Betty had a suspicion that this was it.

    
She squeezed into the space next to the cart and called loudly, “BILL!”

    
A few servers turned to look at her before continuing on with their work, as if they could shush her with a glare. But Betty wasn’t about to leave the key card, in case the cart was moved by mistake.

    
“BILL!” she called again, hoping that her voice would reach through the distance and doors.

    
After what seemed like an interminably long wait, in which every person who jostled her position gave Betty a miniature heart attack as she thought the killer had come back for their evidence, Bill appeared through the doorways.

    
“Betty?” He asked, striding towards her. “What are you still doing here?”

    
Betty waited until he was almost on top of her to answer. She pointed to the key card.

    
“Finding this.”

    
A frown creased the middle of Bill’s brow as he looked at the serving table in confusion. “What about it?” he asked.

    
“The key card,” Betty answered. “I think it might be the one to the freezer door.”

    
Bill looked at her sharply. “How did you find it?”

    
Betty shrugged with a wry smile. “I didn’t go looking for clues, if that’s what you’re wondering. I was just paying attention.”

    
“Well,” Bill said, “if you’re right this may be the best clue we’ve had so far.”

    
“Excuse me?” came the voice of an exasperated waiter from behind Bill. “Can you move? I need to get this up to the third floor five minutes ago.”

    
Bill turned to face the waiter, blocking his progress instead of letting him pass.

    
“Actually,” he said, “No. I can’t. And if we’re right, we’re going to have to lock down this whole hall until we can do forensics.”
    
“What?” said the man. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but I have a job to do. So,” he said, trying to push past Bill, “Move!”

    
Betty had been feeling a moment of sympathy for the overstressed staff member up until that moment. She couldn’t imagine what it was like working in a hotel and being responsible for serving cranky, snowed-in guests. But nothing excused trying to run a police officer down with a room service tray. That was just bad manners.
    
Bill put his hands on the end of the cart, halting its forward momentum. “Try that again,” he said icily, “and I’ll have you arrested for assaulting s police officer.” He flashed his badge, and the waiter paled.

    
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t realize.”

    
Bill pointed his hand toward the crime scene. “I have a woman strangled in the other room and a piece of evidence right here. I have more important things to deal with than arresting you for being in a rush. Just don’t do it again. And,” he said, “wait here.” He raised his voice. “Attention!” He called over the clattering of dishes and silverware. “Everyone in this hall stop what you’re doing. We’re on temporary lockdown. If I see anyone moving to leave this hall or touch anything on any of the carts, I’ll have you in lock-down before you can blink.”

    
The hotel staff stared at him, gob-smacked.

    
Wes came rushing up.

    
“What’s going on?” he asked.

    
“I need a pair of gloves and an evidence bag,” said Bill briskly. “And then I want you to watch the door and make sure no one tries to leave.”

    
“Yes Sir!” Wes said.

    
While he went to fetch the items Bill had ordered, Betty kept her eye on Bill. She couldn’t recall ever seeing him wound this tight. Yes, during the investigation in Lofton he’d been intense, but right now Bill seemed drawn as tight as it was humanly possible to be drawn. He was practically humming, and it was clear by his tense posture and flickering eyes that he was taking in every single detail of his surroundings. He’d even shifted so that his back was to Betty, and settled back into a perfectly balanced posture. As though… as though he were preparing to fight.

    
That’s when it occurred to Betty that Bill had most likely already swept the hall for evidence.

    
Which meant that the key card had been placed there recently.

    
The killer might still be in the hall.

CHAPTER 15

    
With Wes guarding the hall, Bill donned rubber gloves and gingerly held the key card by the edges as he carried it to the walk in freezer. This time, when Betty followed him into the crime scene, Bill didn’t protest. In fact, he barely acknowledged her presence as he swiped the card through the key pad.

    
Betty saw one black high-heeled pump lying on the floor. She took a step forward, unable to stop herself from reacting to her curiosity. A breath later, she wished she’d stayed by the door.

    
Marissa, Miss Knolhart’s assistant, lay on the floor. Betty had always heard that dead people looked like they were sleeping. Well, here was evidence that dead people only looked like they were sleeping after the mortician had finished painting and primping them like porcelain dolls.

    
Marissa lay in the freezer amidst shelves of frozen food. She was no Snow White, asleep in a glass coffin that preserved her beauty indefinitely. Her death had not been as simple as one bite of a poisoned apple. No. Marissa had fought. Her neck was lined with scratches where she’d tried to dig her fingers under the rope around her neck. Her face was bloated, her tongue sticking out. Dried blood covered her chin, as though she’d bitten her tongue heavily in the struggle. She was wearing one shoe. The other one, the shoe that had caught Betty’s eye, lay several feet away.

    
The smell was horrendous.

    
Betty backed away, holding her hand to her mouth against the sudden nausea. She looked around frantically for a waste bucket, just in case she lost her battle with the feast she’d eaten earlier. Somehow, she doubted it would taste as good coming up as it had going down.

    
Click.

    
The light on the pad turned from red to green as the locking mechanism moved in the door.

    
Bill grinned. “Gotcha!” he muttered. He placed the key card in a plastic bag marked “Evidence” in big black letters. He improvised a label out of paper and masking tape and wrote down the contents of the bag, along with the date and time it had been collected from the crime scene.

    
“Great find Betty,” he said, turning to her at last. His expression changed to one of concern immediately, and he came over to steady her. “You okay?”

    
Betty shook her head, gesturing helplessly at the walk-in freezer. Bill understood immediately.

    
“Pretty gruesome, isn’t it? There was a reason I didn’t want you seeing that.”

    
Betty nodded, still unable to speak. Now she heartily wished that she had the ability to squash her curiosity. Discoveries and clues be damned, Marissa was too young! Just last night Betty had seen her rushing to attend Miss Knolhart after her accident. She’d thought at the time that the young woman’s nervousness had to do with her demanding employer. It hadn’t even occurred to her to think that she might be nervous because she was involved in the theft. And now she was dead.

    
“Listen,” Bill said, “whoever did this was crazy at the time. There’s no way that a struggle this violent could be undertaken by a sane person. They were strong enough to hold her through the struggles, and out of their mind enough to go through with the murder. Your powers of observation seem to be pretty on par this evening. Have you noticed anyone, shall we say, unbalanced in the competition?”

    
While Bill was talking he steered her carefully out of sight of the body, to the side of the room with the swinging doors. The air was more breathable there.

    
When Betty heard Bill’s question, her first reaction was to laugh. Her giggles might have had an edge of shrill hysteria to them, but Betty wasn’t about to force herself to stop. The idea that there was only one unstable person in the competition was worth laughing over. If it was up to Betty, she’d commit half the contestants to rooms with white padding on the walls and nice little straight jackets and send the others into intensive out-patient therapy. Between the betting, the cattiness, and the cut-throat competitiveness Betty wasn’t sure who if anyone belonged on the “balanced” list, and she told Bill exactly that.