Ella Barrick - Quickstep to Murder

She nodded. “Or I could talk to your DEA”-she nodded toward her minder-“and provide details about Héctor’s business dealings, and they would help me reestablish myself somewhere else, maybe in Canada or Australia.”

“The witness protection program?”

“Something like that.”

“So your husband’s a drug dealer?”

“He has many business interests,” Victoria waffled. “He-” She stopped as her minder shook his head sharply. “You’re safer not knowing the details.”

The sincerity in her voice made me shiver. That’s all I needed-an Argentinean drug lord thinking I was clued in on his smuggling routes or something. “I don’t want the details,” I said hastily. “What does all this have to do with me, other than I assume you’re going to return my wallet?”

“Phineas has your stuff,” Victoria said. “Part of the deal is that he’s sharing my fingerprints with the police. Since I can’t be tried here, anyway, and I’ll be set up somewhere else, it can’t hurt me and it will get you off the hook for Rafe’s murder.”

I leaned back against the cushy leather, stunned. “But… did you kill Rafe?”

“Of course not!” Victoria’s eyes flashed.

“If the police think you did, they’ll stop hunting for the real killer.”

“Phineas seemed more concerned with ensuring the police don’t arrest you than with hunting down the murderer,” Victoria said.

“So the murderer gets to wander around, scot-free? I don’t think so.” I didn’t try to hide my indignation.

Victoria shrugged. “Take it up with Drake.”

“I certainly will.”

The minder tapped his watch and Victoria grimaced. “Time’s up.” She looked forlorn, and I tried to place myself in her shoes: betraying her husband to the cops, going into exile alone, leaving behind her family and friends. Her situation had echoes of Taryn’s, but at least Taryn had Sawyer. Both women were object lessons on how one bad decision-not pausing for a condom, saying “I do” with the wrong man-could totally alter the course of your life.

“Take care,” I told Victoria.

She smiled ruefully. “Always.”

As I stood in a semicrouch to climb out the door the chauffeur had opened, the man beside Victoria spoke for the first time. “Is it true you’re a champion ballroom dancer?” he asked, leaning forward to look at me around Victoria.

Startled, I nodded. He had rather attractive blue eyes when he wasn’t concentrating on looking grim and threatening.

“Cool. Can my girlfriend and I come for lessons? She wants to learn the West Coast Swing like they do on Ballroom with the B-Listers .”

“Sure,” I said, bemused. I pulled a slightly dented business card from my bag. “Here.”

Alone on the sidewalk, I hitched my dance bag onto my shoulder and headed for home, intending to have a heart-to-heart with Mr. Phineas Drake.

Mr. Drake was in court, his secretary politely informed me when I called. She’d let him know I was interested in a meeting. I could hear “brush off” in her voice, but I thanked her and hung up gently, rather than slamming the phone down like I wanted to. Picking the phone up again immediately, I dialed Tav Acosta’s number.

“I just talked to Victoria Bazán,” I announced before he could even say hello. “Drake has set it up so the police think she killed your brother, but I don’t think she did, so the killer’s going to get away with it.”

To his credit, Tav didn’t say, “What the hell are you babbling about?” Instead, he said, “I am on my way over. Give me forty-five minutes.”

Feeling antsy, I returned to the studio, where the whir of the refinisher’s sander practically deafened me. The cleaning crew had gone and I was impressed with how much lighter the walls looked, now that they had removed the film of smoke and chemicals. Spotting me, the refinisher shut down his machine and pulled off the white mask that covered the lower half of his face. “It’s coming along,” he observed. “I’ll do the first coat of polyurethane tomorrow and another couple coats by the end of the week. Let it cure over the weekend and you should be good to go early next week.”

“Thanks,” I said, relieved that we could resume classes in the ballroom so soon.

“Oh, here.” He dug in his pocket. “I found this wedged between the baseboard and the floor when I removed the baseboards. It probably got pretty wet, but it doesn’t look burned. I don’t know if you can get anything off it, though.” He handed me a small red item with a metal piece at one end.

It took me half a second to recognize it as a flash drive. My fingers closed over it. “Thanks,” I managed.

I was sitting at my desk, newly showered and changed, turning the flash drive over and over in my hand, when Tav arrived. I hadn’t worked up the nerve to see if there was anything on it, and I hadn’t yet called Sherry Indrebo… I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because it felt like a last link with Rafe; he must have had it on him the night he was killed. That alone made me think I should be careful with it. I slid it into my jeans pocket and rose to greet Tav. He kissed me on both cheeks, Continental style, and a little buzz hummed through me.

“What is this about Victoria?” he asked.

We sat on the love seat, where I could look down at the street, and I told him everything Victoria had told me. I ended my summary: “So she’s off to Canada or someplace and Bazán gets to run around doing his thing until the feds get together enough evidence to throw him out of the country, I guess, or turn him over to your country’s authorities, and whoever killed Rafe gets a ‘get out of jail free’ card.”

“Victoria’s fingerprints were on the gun?”Tav frowned.

“Yes, but I kind of believed her explanation. I don’t think she killed him.”

Tav tapped his fingertips together. “I have known her family a long time. It is hard for me to believe she could shoot Rafe in cold blood, or to believe that he would do anything that would prompt her to kill him in the heat of the moment.”

“If Victoria didn’t kill him, then who did? Bazán?”

“Possibly.” Tav nodded, and sunlight streaming through the window made his hair glint blue-black. “Say Bazán had some inkling that Victoria had turned to Rafael for help. He comes here, looking to get the truth out of Rafael. Rafael feels threatened-”

“Who wouldn’t?” I put in, remembering Bazán’s quiet menace.

“-and pulls the gun. Either they struggle for it and it goes off accidentally-”

I snorted and finished, “Or Bazán grabs it from him and kills him.”

We fell silent, picturing the scene. After a moment, Tav said, “Is Bazán the only one with a motive for killing Rafael?”

“I liked Leon Hall for it, because he thought Rafe got his daughter pregnant. But it turns out he’s got an alibi.” I told Tav about Taryn and Sawyer stopping by on their way to South Carolina.

“What kind of man kicks a sixteen-year-old out of the house?” he asked, his face darkening. “Not one who deserves the title ‘father.’ ”

“And I wondered-” I stopped.

“What?”

I told him the questions Mark Downey had raised in my mind with his behavior at the competition.

“I met him, yes? The man with the light brown hair?”

I nodded.

Tav looked doubtful. “He seemed intelligent; surely he would realize, since you and Rafael were going to sever your partnership after the competition in England anyway, that killing my brother would be an unnecessary risk. Did many people know you and Rafael were splitting up your dance partnership?”

“Everyone,” I said, impressed and relieved by his logic. “And there could be someone else.” I fingered the flash drive through the denim of my pocket. “I’m not sure what Rafe’s relationship with Sherry Indrebo really was. The floor refinisher found a flash drive. I think it’s the one we were looking for, the one Sherry wanted me to find.” I pulled it out of my pocket. “Rafe must have had it with him that night.”