Heather Graham - Dead On The Dance Floor

He looked up at Doug, ready to agree that it wouldn’t kill him just to check the place out and ask a few questions. Then he hesitated. “I need a break,” he said honestly. “I’m not even sure you want me handling a case that means so much to you.”

Doug shook his head angrily. “Quinn, you know better than to blame yourself for anything that’s happened—lately. You do your best with what you’ve learned and what you know. And sometimes knowledge and laws work, and sometimes they don’t. I still have faith in you—even if you’ve lost it in yourself.”

“I haven’t lost faith in myself,” Quinn said. Shit. Beyond a doubt, he was sounding defensive.

“No?” Doug asked. “Good. Because I’ve got some news for you that I think will change your mind about this case—among other things.”

Quinn looked at him questioningly.

“Your girl took lessons at the Moonlight Sonata studios. Right up until last November.”

Quinn frowned. “My girl? My girl who?”

“Nell Durken. I managed to sneak a look in the file cabinet at Moonlight Sonata, and Nell Durken’s name is there, right in the record books.”

Quinn hadn’t known a damn thing about Nell Durken’s dance lessons. But then again, he hadn’t known all that much about her, really. She had just hired him to find out what her husband spent his time doing.

So he had found out.

And the bastard had killed her.

“Actually,” Doug continued, “Nell was one of their advanced students. Then, last November, she just quit going. Never mentioned it to you, I guess. Curious, though. The records indicate that she was gung ho—and then just gone. Makes you wonder, huh?”

“Fine,” Quinn said flatly. “I’ll do some checking. I’ll take a few fucking dance lessons.”

“Hey, how’s it going?”

Ella Rodriguez tapped on Shannon’s half-open door, then walked the few feet to the desk and perched on the corner of it. Shannon sat back in her desk chair, contemplating a reply to her receptionist.

“I don’t know. How do you think it’s going? Personally, I think we should have shut down for the week,” Shannon said.

“We shut down for three days,” Ella reminded her. “That’s about what most corporations are willing to give for members of the immediate family when someone has passed away.”

“Her pictures are all over the walls,” Shannon reminded Ella.

“Right. And teachers and really serious students are going to miss her—one way or another—for a long time. But you have some students who aren’t all that serious, who never want to see a competition floor, and who are getting married in a matter of weeks, left feet and all. They need the studio open, Shannon.” Ella had short, almost platinum hair, cut stylishly. She had a gamine’s face, with incredible dark eyes and one of the world’s best smiles. She considered herself the least talented employee in the studio, but whether she was right about that or not, her warmth and easy charm surely accounted for many of their students.

Except that now Ella made a face that was hardly warm or charming. “Shannon, I’m well aware you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead. But truth be told, I didn’t like Lara. And I’m not the only one. There are even people who think that her dropping dead on the dance floor was a piece of poetic justice.”

“Ella!”

“I know that sounds terrible, and I’m really sorry. I certainly didn’t want anything to happen to her,” Ella said. She stared at Shannon. “Come on, you’ve got admit it—she couldn’t possibly have been your favorite person.”

“Whether she was or wasn’t, she was a dynamic force in our industry, and she started here. So this was her home, so to speak,” Shannon said.

“We’re all sorry, we know she was a professional wonder, and I don’t think there’s a soul out there who didn’t respect her talent.” Ella met Shannon’s eyes. “Hey, I even said all that when the detective talked to me.”

“You told him that you hadn’t liked Lara?” Shannon asked.

“I was dead honest. Sorry, no pun intended. Oh, come on, he was just questioning us because he had to. You know—when someone dies that way, they have to do an autopsy, and they had to question a bunch of people, too, but hell, everyone saw what happened.” Ella arched a brow. “Did you tell them you had adored her?”

“I was dead honest, as well—no pun intended,” Shannon said dryly. “Well, for all of the four and a half minutes he questioned me.”

Ella shook her head. “What did you expect? There’s no trick here. Her dance is on tape—her death is on tape.” Ella shivered. “Creepy. Except Lara probably would have loved it. Even her demise was as dramatic as possible, captured on film for all eternity. She got carried away, and she died. A foolish waste. There’s nothing anyone can do now. But you closed the studio in her honor. Now we’re open again. And you’ve got a new student arriving in fifteen minutes.”

“I have a new student?”

“Yeah, you.”

Shannon frowned and said, “Wait, wait, wait, I’m not taking on any of the new students. Me being the studio manager and all? I have too much paperwork and too many administration duties, plus planning for the Gator Gala. Remember what we decided at the last meeting?”

“Of course I remember. But as I’m sure you’ve noticed, Jane isn’t in yet. She has a dental appointment—which she announced at the same meeting. Rhianna couldn’t change her weekly two-o’clock, because we don’t open until then and her guy works nights. And this new guy is coming in because Doug bought him a guest pass. Actually, it’s Doug’s brother. Personally, I can’t wait to see him.”

“I keep telling you that you should go ahead and get your certification to teach,” Shannon said. Ella had the natural ability to become an excellent teacher. But she had come to the studio two years ago looking for a clerical position and still shied away from anything else.

As for herself, at this particular time, Shannon just didn’t want to teach, which was odd, because watching the growth of a student was something she truly enjoyed.

Everything, however, had seemed off-kilter since Lara had dropped dead. Naturally it had shaken the entire dance world. Sudden death was always traumatic.

But it was true as well that Lara Trudeau hadn’t been her favorite person.

Championships—no matter how many—didn’t guarantee a decent living, not in the States. Lara had coached to supplement her income. Gordon Henson had been her first ballroom instructor. He had maintained his pride in his prize student, and, to her credit, Lara had come to the Moonlight Sonata studio whenever he asked her, within reason. But after he had begun to groom Shannon to take over management of the studio, he had left the hiring of coaches to her.

And because Lara was excellent and a real draw for the students, Shannon had continued to bring her in. But unlike a number of the other coaches they hired, Lara was not averse to making fun of the students—or the teachers—after a coaching session.

Shannon also had other, more personal, reasons for disliking Lara. Even so, it still bothered her deeply that Lara had died. It might have been the simple fact that no one so young should perish. Or perhaps it was impossible to see anyone who was so much a part of one’s life—liked or disliked—go so abruptly from it without feeling a sense of mourning and loss. Part of it was a sense of confusion, or of disbelief, that remained. Whatever the reasons, Shannon simply felt off, and it was difficult enough to maintain a working mentality to deal with the needs of the upcoming Gator Gala, much less consider teaching a beginner with a smile and the enthusiasm necessary to bring them into the family fold of the studio.