Authors: Cindy Sample
“Nice, um, disguise,” I muttered, taking in the curly wig and blue tinted glasses that rested on Dana's nose. With new lines etched alongside her pale lips, the getup made her look more like a faded rock star than a bank president's wife.
“A reporter followed me into town. Fortunately I'd already stuck this old wig into a bag in case I needed to make a switch. Then I stopped at Placerville Clothing Company and bought this new outfit to fake him out.” She stretched her arm toward me. “Don't you love the feel of this natural cotton?”
I rolled my eyes. Dana needed to focus on murder, not fashion.
She patted her artificial curls. “Gordon always loved this wig. Whenever I would put it on he used to...” She blushed and fortunately our server chose that moment to stop at the table and drop off some menus. The young waitress didn't bat an eye at Dana's strange disguise and I was thrilled with the server's interruption. The last thing I wanted to visualize was the portly president and his blonde bewigged wife engaged in some marital role playing.
We took a few minutes to peruse the menu. With a sleek bridesmaid dress to fit into, my choice was easy—the low fat, low calorie, low taste dinner of grilled fish and veggies. Once we ordered, Dana took off her oversized glasses and rubbed her eyes. “My life has been hell this past week. We've hired Michael Girling for Gordon's criminal defense work, but I had to put up a $250,000 retainer.”
The expression on my face must have reflected my thoughts. Ouch!
She nodded. “Right. And that's on top of the $300,000 that I gave to Dimitri, which used up our entire equity line. With property values still in the tank, we have no equity left in our house. We're also upside down on the value of a vacation home we own in Tahoe.”
The Chandlers owned a vacation home in Tahoe? I wondered if they ever let family, friends, or favorite employees stay there for free.
“The attorney is trying to get Gordon released on bail, but it's not easy on a homicide charge. Even if the DA allows it, the bail amount will be a huge sum of money like two million dollars and we don't have the collateral for that.”
“Can your family help?”
She lowered her eyes. “No, they're not...well, let's just say our relatives are not happy about this situation, nor are they able to help financially. And I can't see Gordon approving for me to hold a spaghetti fundraiser at the Elks Lodge to raise bail money. He has his pride.”
One would think that wearing an orange jump suit 24/7 might erase some of those prideful notions, but what did I know?
“Dana, I wish I could lend you money, but since there were no Christmas bonuses,” I threw that in because technically it was her mess that impacted all of the bank employees, “my balances on my credit cards far exceed the balances in my bank account.”
Her face grew paler than the platinum wig she sported.
“I'm sorry,” I said. “That was out of line.”
“No, you're absolutely right. My crazy idea to open a dance studio with Dimitri has led to the murder of my teacher, the arrest of my husband, and bank employees possibly losing their jobs. Maybe even the closing of the bank.” She wiped her palm over damp eyes. “Can you ever forgive me?”
The waitress chose that moment to bring our dinners. I looked at my diet plate with distaste. This conversation would be far more palatable if some batter-fried onion rings were smiling up at me instead of the overcooked veggies.
“There's nothing to forgive, Dana. Let's concentrate on figuring out a way to spring your husband. Do you have any idea what evidence the police have other than him parking his car close to the studio the night Dimitri was killed?”
“The police probably haven't shared everything with me but Gordon evidently called Dimitri a couple of hours before he was killed and left a threatening message on Dimitri's voicemail. They have proof of the call on his cell.” She fiddled with her salad, rearranging the greens and ending up with one tiny piece dangling on her fork. “I still can't believe my husband went to the studio to convince Dimitri to end our so-called affair. How could Gordon believe I would be unfaithful, after all of these years?”
“Um, well, you did give all that money to your dance instructor without telling your husband.” Dana's naivete amazed me. She needed to get out of her mansion and experience life in the real world. I looked at the slightly askew wig on her head and decided she was already learning about the seedy realities of life.
“Anything else?”
“Not telling the detective he was at the studio is, of course, a huge deal, but I think it's understandable. My husband knew
he
didn't kill Dimitri so he didn't think it was necessary to share.”
Typical CEO response.
“Oh, and they went through Gordon's car after they arrested him. You know what a stickler my husband is about making sure all of the bank regulations are strictly followed? He's the same way with his car. He personally makes sure that all maintenance items are done right on schedule. With the first snowstorm of the season predicted, it was no surprise to me what he had stored in the trunk of his Mercedes.”
I contemplated my arsenal of winter supplies. “A shovel? Window scraper?”
“Of course. Gordon is prepared for every eventuality,” she said. “That's also why he had an open container of antifreeze.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
* * * *
It was looking more and more like the only way to get my boss a “get out of jail free” card was to figure out who killed the two dancers. While it didn't surprise me that Mr. Chandler carried a supply of antifreeze in his car for a winter emergency, it sure didn't help
our
case since the odorless and colorless liquid was the ultimate cause of Yuri's death. If the District Attorney and the sheriff were positive they had the culprit, it was going to take the skill set of an underwriter to prove them wrong.
Dana and I parted with hugs. She agreed to keep me informed of any new updates and I promised to continue investigating. With the wedding taking place at the same location as the Holiday Ball, I might be able to ferret out some information.
I returned home just in time for the ten o'clock weather forecast. The weather guy stood next to his electronic map and not alongside the highway freezing his icy butt off which meant it wasn't snowing yet. Why television news shows think their audience enjoys watching ice crystals form on a reporter's face every time a blizzard blankets the mountains never ceases to amaze me.
According to the forecast, there should be no new snow until the morning of New Year's Eve at the earliest. I had no problem with that. We'd be safe and cozy in our mountain lodge and there was nothing prettier than watching soft snowflakes fall on the cobalt blue water of Lake Tahoe.
Especially from inside the resort.
The phone rang and my maternal autopilot kicked into gear. I ran into the kitchen to grab it, worried something had happened to the kids. My caller ID revealed there was no need to fret. “Hey, Stan, what's up?”
“I'm so screwed.”
“How eloquent. What's wrong?”
“My car won't start and I need a ride.”
“Up to Tahoe? Sure. Without the kids and their gear I have room for you. What time will you be ready to leave in the morning?”
He cleared his throat. “Umm, how about now? I'm at the Golden Hills Studio. AAA said it wasn't the battery so they're towing the Beemer to the dealer.”
“What are you doing at the studio this late?”
Stan emitted a sound that was a combination of a moan and a wheeze. “Anya talked me into competing in the newcomer tango event at the Holiday Ball. We just finished practicing, but she already took off. Said she had to be somewhere by ten.”
“Are you kidding? Why didn't you tell me you're competing?”
He blasted a sigh over the phone line. “I didn't want anyone to find out in case I totally embarrassed myself.”
I was stunned Anya had talked Stan into dancing at the New Year's Ball. It was worth the drive to find out how she'd managed to do it. When I arrived at the studio twenty minutes later, Stan catapulted out the door and into my car almost before the vehicle came to a full stop.
“Anya sure has amazing persuasive abilities,” I commented. “She should join the legal profession. How come you were able to practice tonight? Boris told me the studio was closed this week.”
“The teachers all have keys in case they need to rehearse their routines before an event. I can't believe I'm competing either, but Anya is positive I'll take first place in newcomer tango.” Stan shifted in his seat and turned in my direction. “Did you know that the more awards the teachers and their students take in a competition, the better opportunity they have of winning the Top Teacher award for that event?”
“No, I didn't know and I don't particularly care, although...” I mulled over his statement. “So what do they get if they win Top Teacher? A trophy? Money?”
“Anya said this competition is so big the top award is ten thousand dollars.”
“Wow. That is a big prize. Would that be significant enough to kill someone?”
My eyes were glued to the road, but Stan's snickering echoed throughout the car.
“Laurel, no one would kill for $10,000.”
“Hit men kill for less than that. Plus the prestige of winning Top Teacher could result in additional clients. Those hourly rates add up.”
No response. I briefly took my eyes off the road and glanced at Stan. He was stroking his chin with his index finger, always a sign of deep intellectual concentration. Probably adding up all of the money he'd recently spent on his private lessons.
“You could be right,” he said at last. “Anya told me if she had enough points from competing in different approved dance events throughout the year, she could win an additional $50,000 grand prize. But I can't imagine Anya eliminating other instructors in order to win the top teacher title. Plus, she needs as many points as possible and that includes dancing in the professional round. With two of the three male teachers from the studio out of the picture, she's forced to dance with Marcus. He's good but not nearly as accomplished as Dimitri and Yuri were.” Stan chuckled. “Marcus is totally gaga over Anya. But I don't think it's reciprocal.”
“I'd love to see Anya and Marcus dance together in the competition,” I said.
“This might be your last opportunity to watch her perform. She told me tonight she's moving to Miami as soon as she has enough money.”
“That's a big step. Is she relocating because of the murders?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? It's difficult enough understanding her tango instructions. She keeps muttering something about how it's too hot for her here.”
“Too hot?” The thermometer gauge on my car indicated the outside temperature was thirty-two degrees. “Anya thinks Miami will be cooler?”
“Honestly, that woman does not make a lot of sense. She mumbled something about getting away from the bad government men who are following her. She's the most paranoid person I've ever met.”
I slowed down when I noticed a black and white highway patrol car hidden behind a curve on the highway. “What does she mean by bad government men? Like the CHP?”
“I thought maybe she was referring to immigration officials. She's in this country on some sort of visa. Boris sponsored all of the Russian dancers: Anya, Dimitri, Irina, Marcus and Yuri.”
That was an interesting tidbit of information although I couldn't see any relevance to the recent murders.
“Have you asked her if she knows anything about the deaths at the studio?” I asked.
“I wanted to but she's been too jumpy during my last couple of lessons. I attributed it to nerves because of the upcoming competition. It's not easy switching dance partners at the last minute.”
“She and I spoke the night Yuri collapsed,” I said, “but she was really evasive and all I learned was that she has a part-time job elsewhere. When I see her at the resort I'm going to try talking to her again.”
Stan raised his left hand. “Hey, no bugging her until after my dances are over. I don't want Anya wigging out on me. She's more volatile than a Molotov cocktail right now.”
The last thing we needed was to make the situation more explosive. I would tread lightly through the ballroom minefield.
THIRTY-NINE
* * * *
Sunshine and deceiving cerulean blue skies greeted me the next morning. While it looked cheery outside, the temperature in Tahoe would be in the teens and twenties. When Liz first announced her engagement, I envisioned a beautiful summer wedding in a winery or some other picturesque venue in our rolling green foothills. But for some reason, the woman who had waited forty years to tie the knot decided a winter wonderland would be the perfect backdrop for her nuptials. The fur-trimmed wedding gown she discovered in one of her numerous bridal magazines might have played a part in her decision.
Liz's wedding planner had scored a last minute cancellation on the wedding chapel and small banquet room attached by a covered walkway to the new Royal Tahoe Resort. The imperial theme of the resort fit perfectly with my friend's concept of a regal wedding. The only issue had been arranging everything in less than three months. Armed with wedding magazines and an Excel spreadsheet listing every conceivable detail, right down to the pastel sugar-coated almonds, it was amazing what an organized Bridezilla could accomplish.
Although this wedding wouldn't be on the scale of the Prince William/Kate Middleton nuptials, it could be a close second as far as pomp and circumstance. I didn't have a problem with her fur-trimmed sheath-style white velvet wedding dress, but if Liz decided to accessorize with a tiara, her lady-in-waiting would officially crown the bride-to-be herself.
Packing for a winter wedding is not a minimalist venture. Between my bridesmaid gown, several cocktail dresses, shoes and bags in three different colors, ski parka, practical snow boots, my new impractical cute boots, a shovel and bag of salt in my trunk, it was a good thing the kids had gone ahead. Otherwise, I would have had to strap them to the roof of my car.