Ella Barrick - Quickstep to Murder

“Are you suggesting I set the fire?” I asked. I could understand him suspecting me of Rafe’s death, but this was ridiculous. “Two weeks without being able to hold classes will put a huge dent in my finances,” I said. “Some of the students will go to other studios and they won’t come back. Why in hell would I do that?”

“To make it look like someone’s out to get you, to make us think there’s someone else out there who might have killed Mr. Acosta,” Lissy answered promptly. “First you tried to distract us with the story about Bazán attacking you-which he completely denies, by the way-then-”

“She was with me,” Tav put in firmly, before Lissy could finish building his case. “From three o’clock on. There is no possible way she could have set the fire.”

“With you, hmm ?” Lissy said, eyeing Tav speculatively. His gaze went from Tav to me and back again. “Very interesting.”

“It is not ‘interesting’ at all, Lissy, and I resent the implication,” Tav said.

Not one whit perturbed by Tav’s anger, Lissy said, “You two seem very cozy”-he gestured to us as we sat side by side on the love seat and I self-consciously moved my knee from where it had been in casual contact with Tav’s, making Lissy smile with satisfaction-“and it’s a common enough scenario.”

“What is?” I asked.

“Man gets offed by scorned lover and her new man, and they inherit-”

“I was the scorner, not the scornee,” I objected. “I broke it off with Rafe. And that was months ago. I only met Tav after Rafe was murdered. And-”

“You have a prurient mind, Detective Lissy,” Tav said coldly. “Immigration records will show I only arrived in this country after my half brother was killed. You can check them.”

“Be sure I will.” The man stood, brushing at his immaculate slacks.

“My relationship-connection-with Stacy is purely a business one brought about by my brother’s death, not causing it. Since I inherited his share of Graysin Motion, we will have unavoidable interactions until I can sell it.” He didn’t spare me a glance as he said it and I felt unaccountably hurt.

“Whatever you say, Mr. Acosta,” Lissy said with fake amiability. “Just don’t plan on leaving the area without letting me know about it.”

“I am taking Rafael’s body home later this week.”

“We’ll see about that,” Lissy said, striding toward the door.

I followed him, mostly to make sure he left, because I wasn’t exactly in gracious hostess mode. Flipping on the porch light, I opened the door for him and said, “Good night.”

He stepped out, glanced at a moth beating itself against the light, and said, “Your door needs painting.”

I awoke Tuesday morning with a headache-probably from the smoky smell-and a burning desire to get away. I couldn’t teach today, Tav was tied up with business stuff so we couldn’t go over options for the studio, and I just couldn’t face doing paperwork in my kitchen while a specialized cleaning crew tackled the studio. After I got hold of a floor refinisher, I decided, I would go somewhere… anywhere. Having made these very logical decisions, I couldn’t force myself to get out of bed. I lay there on my back, staring up at the ceiling, feeling as congealed and lumpish as a bowl of oatmeal left out all morning. My arms and legs were heavy, refusing to respond to my brain’s halfhearted order to move. A small spider industriously working on its web in the corner where the ceiling met the wall finally motivated me to move. If a stupid arachnid could be up and at ’em, so could I.

A shower and a couple of Excedrin somewhat improved my outlook, and a cup of coffee made me think getting out of bed wasn’t the absolute worst idea since gaucho pants. I called the floor refinisher who had last polished the boards upstairs and he agreed to drop his current project and start on my floors for only fifteen percent over his usual rate. A real philanthropist. Waiting for the cleaning crew to show up, I dialed my sister’s number and told her what had happened.

“I want you to come stay with me,” she said immediately.

“Why?”

“Someone’s out to get you. Maybe he won’t stop at torching your floor next time. Maybe he’ll come after you with a hatchet or a chain saw.”

“I told you not to go see Saw 53 with Coop,” I sighed.

“They haven’t made that many,” she said, “although with a constantly replenishing population of ghoulish teenage boys, they may get there.”

“I’m going on a road trip today,” I said. “Wanna play hooky from work and come with me?”

“Where are you going?”

“West Virginia.”

“West Virginia!”

From her tone, you’d’ve thought I’d said Antarctica, not a state fifty minutes away. The idea had popped into my head and I’d latched on to it with the desperation of a drowning person grasping for a piece of driftwood. “I’m going to visit Rafe’s cabin.”

“Why?”

Not an unreasonable question. “To see if maybe Victoria went back there. To see if Rafe left anything there that would explain what’s going on, why someone murdered him. To just effing get away from here for a day.”

Danielle must have heard the stress in my voice. “I’m in,” she said. “Give me half an hour to call in sick and change.”

I sped to her apartment forty minutes later, where she was waiting outside, dressed in cargo shorts, a beige camp shirt, hiking boots, and a hat that looked suitable for a Botswanan safari. “We’re driving to West Virginia,” I greeted her as she buckled her seat belt, “not doing a death march across the Gobi.”

“You said the cabin was remote,” she said, “so I’m prepared.” She patted a fanny pack. “Compass, map, water bottle, matches, mosquito repellent.”

I laughed, feeling better than I had since spotting the flames in my ballroom. “What, no food?”

Her eyes widened with dismay.

“Don’t worry,” I said, putting the car in gear before she could get out and make sandwiches. “I’m pretty sure they have convenience stores, and maybe even fast-food joints, in West Virginia.”

Two hours, three wrong turns, and a couple of Big Macs later, we were headed up a deeply rutted drive to what I hoped would be Rafe’s cabin. I’d downloaded directions before meeting Danielle, but the roads were mostly marked with numbers instead of names and we’d had to backtrack a couple of times since leaving Capon Bridge and ending up on gravel and then dirt roads. Forest crowded in on both sides of the narrow road, pine trees or fir trees-I never could remember the difference-scraping the car’s windows. It was cooler here than in Old Town and I rolled down the windows an inch or two to breathe the nature-scented air. The piney, loamy, sunwarmed scent of the woods beat the heck out of the charbroiled polyurethane stink of my house and the smoggy, warm asphalt smell of Old Town.

“Are you sure we’re on the right road?” Danielle asked just as we popped out into a small clearing.

“Yup,” I said, more relieved than I wanted to admit to see the small log cabin centered in the clearing. I was afraid we’d been headed for parts of the country that even Daniel Boone and his buddies hadn’t explored. “This must be it.”

I opened the door and climbed out, stretching my arms over my head. The cabin, not unexpectedly, was unprepossessing, being not much larger than the average suburban garage and made of splintery looking logs. Firewood was stacked beneath a tree a few feet from the front door, and a rickety wood building I assumed was the outhouse listed near the tree line behind the cabin. A faint trail led off into the woods behind the outhouse, beaten down by… what? Rafe on his hunting trips? Deer? A bear? Skittering sounds spoke to the presence of squirrels or other rodents and a crow cawed loudly from somewhere to our left. I wasn’t much of a nature girl and either the vastness of the woods or the empty cabin was making me nervous.