Marcia Talley - Dead Man Dancing

Tessa spun away from the barre in a series of spot spins that made me dizzy just watching. She staggered to a halt in front of her mother. ‘What do you think about that? Good, huh?’

I hated seeing a little girl sweat.

Before her mother could answer, Alicia appeared, clapped her hands and said, ‘C’mon little sugarplum fairies! Time for your exercises!’

Ten little figures scrambled to the barre, rested their left hands lightly upon it, lined up like sparrows on a telephone wire. ‘Position one!’ Alicia shouted as the music began. ‘Plié. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.’

‘That’s so sad.’

Tessa’s mother couldn’t have been talking about the barre exercise. ‘What’s sad?’ I asked.

‘Tessa was going to dance a sugarplum fairy in The Nutcracker this year, but Annapolis Ballet Theater decided to team up with another studio. Idiots! Tessa was so disappointed.’

‘Demi plié!’ cried Alicia. ‘One, two…’

Across the room, Tessa raised a graceful arm and bent her knees, stealing a moment to glance at her mother who nodded in approval.

‘I was disappointed, too,’ Tessa’s mom continued. ‘I even considered taking Tessa out of class, but in the end, I just couldn’t do it. I’ve always been loyal to Jay and Kay.’ She turned to me and beamed. ‘But it’s just as well, isn’t it, because now there’s nothing to conflict with preparing Tessa and Henry for Tiny Ballroom !’

‘I guess not,’ I said, disliking the woman intensely. I’d taken dancing lessons as a kid, too, but prancing around the Rec Center – step, together, step, kick – to the Beatles’ ‘Yellow Submarine’ at one dollar a lesson was just plain fun. Nobody expected to turn me into Ginger Rogers. And when I said I’d rather swim, please, my parents just smiled and said, sure, no problem. Maybe if they’d cajoled and wheedled and bribed me a bit, I’d have been just as accomplished as Tessa at nine.

But without the fake tan and hair extensions.

‘If you’ll excuse me, now,’ I said, ‘I need to go powder my nose.’

It wasn’t until I got into the dressing room, and locked the door of the toilet stall behind me, that I realized I never asked Tessa’s mother her name.

But, since I never planned to talk to her again if I could help it, what did it matter?

Four days before Christmas, Ruth left a message on my cell, asking if I’d stop by J & K to critique the routine she and Hutch had been practicing for Shall We Dance? Paul was working late at the Academy, getting finals marked and end of semester grades turned in to the academic dean, so I thought, why not.

On the way, I braved the icy roads, stopped off at Graul’s Market to buy a pound of coffee and a pint of half and half, so I got to J & K a little late, only to discover that Hutch had beaten both me and Ruth to the studio. ‘How’s it going, Hutch?’ I asked, peeling off my hat, gloves and scarf as I entered the studio and the air enveloped me in a superheated wave.

Hutch tapped his watch, as if it might be broken. ‘Ruth’s late, and she didn’t call. With the icy roads and all, I’m a little worried.’

I shrugged out of my coat. ‘She’s probably delayed in traffic.’ I hoped I sounded more reassuring than I felt. In point of fact, Ruth would be coming from downtown and using the same roads I had, and there had been absolutely no traffic problems for me. ‘She’ll be along.’

‘I tried her cell phone,’ Hutch said, ‘but it goes straight to her voicemail.’

Now that was odd. Ruth never turned her cell phone off. By the worried look on Hutch’s face, I realized he knew that, too. ‘Maybe the battery died,’ I suggested.

‘Maybe.’ But he didn’t sound convinced.

‘Are Jay and Kay here?’

‘No. We’re working with them tomorrow. Just Chance.’

‘Let’s sit down,’ I suggested, casting about wildly for ways to distract the man. ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.’ We settled ourselves comfortably on one of the spectator benches, then I patted Hutch’s knee and said, ‘So, truth or consequences. Where are you taking Ruth on your honeymoon?’

Hutch brightened. ‘I’m not sure if I’m supposed to tell.’

‘Ruth’s been a bit cagey, but she’s got everything else organized within an inch of its life, so I figured the honeymoon was laid on, too.’

‘I’ll give you a hint, Hannah. It’s warmer than Annapolis in the wintertime.’

‘Surprise, surprise, surprise!’

‘If you won’t tell Ruth that I spilled the beans…’

I pantomimed locking my lips and throwing away the key.

‘We’re booked into a resort called Maya Tulum on the Yucatan peninsula. Alicia taught yoga there and recommends it highly. Alicia says it’s perfect for us, a modern resort, but with New Age sensitivities. Eco tours, beach front cabanas, vegetarian cuisine, the whole mind-body-spirit sort of thing.

‘Sounds very Ruth,’ I said sincerely. Ruth would love it.

‘It is.’ Hutch hopped to his feet. ‘So, where the hell is she?’

‘Car trouble?’ I offered, hopefully. Ruth drove a clunker, a battered green Ford circa 1990. ‘I didn’t see her Taurus in the lot.’

‘Damn thing died. Not worth fixing. She’s driving a rental until we can replace that old heap.’

‘What kind of car is she renting, Hutch?’

‘A Ford Focus.’

Suddenly I could hardly breathe. I could picture the car clearly. I’d just seen it outside, a red Focus, bright as lipstick against the snow bank that had been plowed up into piles all around the parking lot. ‘Is it red?’ I asked, praying that it wasn’t.

‘Yes. Why?’

‘Oh my god! There’s a red Focus in the lot. Come with me.’

Without taking time to grab our coats, Hutch and I flew out the door. ‘This way!’ I yelled. We raced around the building and through the lot, slipping on patches of black ice where the day’s run-off had refrozen on the tarmac.

‘That’s it, that’s the car,’ Hutch shouted, pointing wildly.

By that time, I was close enough to the vehicle to see through the window on the passenger side. ‘No one’s inside.’ I paused, breathing hard. ‘Maybe it’s someone else’s car.’

‘No. That’s Ruth’s. See that striped hat in the back window? That’s hers.’ Hutch swerved to avoid a pothole, tripped, arms pinwheeling to keep his balance. By some miracle, he managed not to fall.

I recognized the hat, too, so I pumped my legs harder, rounding the rear of the vehicle and arriving at the driver’s side.

Ruth lay sprawled on the ice, face up, whimpering. At first, I thought my sister had slipped on the ice and fallen. Until I saw the blood.

I knelt on the cold ground beside her. ‘Ruth! What happened?’

She simply moaned.

Hutch screeched to a halt behind me, his arms dangling helplessly at his sides. ‘Ruth. Oh, god. You’re hurt.’

‘He stole my purse,’ she sobbed. ‘It had the cash receipts for the day in it. I couldn’t let him… Ow!’ she cried as I touched her leg.

‘Screw the money, Ruth.’ I looked up at Hutch. ‘I think her leg is broken.’

Ruth sucked in her lips and rocked her head from side to side.

Hutch knelt beside me and squeezed my arm. He jerked his head in the direction of Ruth’s leg, and I saw what he saw. A piece of metal – Glass? Bone? – poking through the fabric of Ruth’s blood-soaked tights.

‘Hutch is here,’ I told my sister as her fiancé and I, via some form of telepathy, agreed to exchange places. Hutch lifted Ruth’s head to his thigh and pillowed it there. ‘You’ll be fine, Ruth,’ he soothed.

‘The son of a bitch stole my money! Eleven hundred dollars!’