Heather Graham - Dead On The Dance Floor

“She hasn’t even been dead a week yet,” Shannon said. “She hasn’t even been buried yet.” Because Lara’s death had to be investigated, she had been taken to the county morgue until her body could be released by the medical examiner. But once his findings had been complete, Ben, Lara’s ex, along with Gordon, had gotten together to make the arrangements. Lara had come to Miami for college almost twenty years ago, and sometime during the next few years, her parents had passed away. She’d never had children, and if she had any close relatives, they hadn’t appeared in all the years. Because she was a celebrity, even after her death had officially been declared accidental, the two men had opted for a Saturday morning funeral.

“Shannon, she breezed through here to dance now and then, and yes, we knew her. She wasn’t like a sister. We need to get past this,” Ella insisted. “Honestly, if anyone really knew her, it was Gordon, and he’s moving on.”

Yes, their boss was definitely moving on, Shannon thought. He had spent yesterday in his office, giving great concern to swatches of fabric he had acquired, trying to determine which he liked best for the new drapes he was putting in his living room.

“I don’t know about you,” Ella said, shaking her head. “You were all upset when Nell Durken died, and she hadn’t been in here in a year.”

“Nell Durken didn’t just die. Her husband killed her. He probably realized he was about to lose his meal ticket,” Shannon said bitterly. Nell Durken had been one of the most amazing students to come through the door. Bubbly, beautiful and always full of life, she had been a ray of sunshine. She’d been friendly with all the students, wry about the fact that she couldn’t drag her husband in, but determined to learn on her own. Hearing that the man had killed her had been horribly distressing.

“Jeez,” Shannon breathed suddenly.

“What?” Ella said.

“It’s just strange…isn’t it?”

“What’s strange?” Ella asked, shaking her head.

“Nell Durken died because her husband forced an overdose of sleeping pills down her throat.”

“Yes? The guy was a bastard—we all thought that,” Ella said. “No one realized he was a lethal bastard, but…anyway, the cops got him. He was having an affair, but Nell was the one with the trust fund. He probably thought he’d get away with forcing all those pills down her throat. It would look like an accident, and he’d get to keep the money,” Ella said. “But they’ve got him. He could even get the death penalty—his motive was evident and his fingerprints were all over the bottle of pills.”

“Have you been watching too many cop shows?” came a query from the open door. A look of amusement on his face, Gordon was staring in at the two women.

“No, Gordon,” Ella said. “I’m just pointing out what happened to Nell Durken. And hoping the bastard will fry.”

“Fry?” Gordon said.

“Okay, so now it’s usually lethal injection. He was so mean to her, long before he killed her,” Ella said, shaking her head.

Gordon frowned. “What brought up Nell Durken?”

“Talking about Lara,” Ella said.

Gordon didn’t seem to see the correlation. “We’ve lost Lara. That’s that. She was kind of like Icarus, I guess, trying to fly too high. As to Nell…hell, we all knew she needed to leave that bastard. It’s too bad she didn’t. I wish she’d kept dancing.”

“She stopped coming in when he planned that Caribbean vacation for her, remember?” Shannon said thoughtfully. “They were going on a second honeymoon. He was going to make everything up to her.”

“And we all figured they got on great and things were lovey-dovey again, because she called in afterward saying that she wasn’t going to schedule any more lessons for a while because they were going to be traveling. And, of course,” Ella added pointedly, since Gordon was staring at her, his mouth open as if he were about to speak, “like a good receptionist, I followed up with calls, but I always got her answering machine, and then, I guess, after about six months, she kind of slipped off the ‘things to do’ list.”

“It’s horrible, though, isn’t it?” Shannon murmured. “I hope we’re not bad luck. I mean, an ex-student is murdered by her husband, and then…then Lara drops dead.”

“You think we’re jinxed?”

Shannon looked past Gordon’s shoulder. Sam Railey was right behind Gordon, staring in.

“Jinxed?” Gordon protested. “Don’t even suggest such a thing. Nell was long gone from here when she was murdered. And Lara…Lara is simply a tragedy.” He held up three fingers. “The Broward studio lost two students and an instructor last year.”

Shannon hid a smile, her brow quirking upward. “Gordon, the students were Mr. and Mrs. Hallsly, ninety and ninety three, respectively. It wasn’t such a shock that they died with a few months of one another. And,” she added softly, since she had been very fond of Dick Graft, the instructor who had died, “Dick had an aneurism.”

“I’m pointing out the fact that people die and we’re not jinxed,” Gordon said.

“Man, I hope not,” Sam said. “Because that would be two for us. And you know, things happen in threes.”

“Sam!” Gordon said.

“Oh, man, sorry. Hey, don’t worry, I’d never say anything like that in front of the students.”

“I should hope not,” Gordon admonished.

Gordon might have given the management over to Shannon, but if he were to decide that an instructor was detrimental to the studio, that teacher would be out in seconds flat.

“Hey,” another voice chimed in. Justin Garcia, five-eight tops, slim, with an ability to move with perfect rhythm, was on his toes, trying to look over the shoulders of the others gathered at Shannon’s door. “Psst.” He stared at Ella, still perched on the desk. “New student out front. I’d try to start the lesson myself, but he’s one big guy, and I think he’d cream me if I gave it a try.”

“Doug’s brother,” Ella said, jumping up.

Doug was definitely one of their favorite new students. He’d come in to learn salsa for a friend’s wedding and started out as stiff as a board, but within a week, he’d fallen in love with Cuban motion and wanted to learn everything.

He was a cop and he would laugh about the fact that his fellow officers teased him.

He was definitely appreciated by the studio’s many female students—not to mention his teacher, Jane Ulrich. Jane loved the dramatic. With Doug, she could leap, spin and almost literally fly. She was an excellent dancer, and he had the strength to allow her to do any lift she wanted to do. He was tall, blond, blue eyed and ready to go, everything one could want in a student.

Ella pushed past the men, hurrying toward the front of the studio, where she could greet their new student and get him started on paperwork.

Shannon, rising, was startled when Ella burst her way back in almost instantly, her eyes wide. “Damn, is Jane going to be sorry she had that dental appointment. Get up! You gotta see this guy.” Ella flew out again.

“Makes mincemeat out of me,” Justin told Shannon with a shrug.

Curious, Shannon followed the group on out. By then, Ella was greeting the man politely, and the others were standing around, waiting to meet him.

They didn’t usually circle around to greet their new clients.

Doug’s brother. Yes, the resemblance was there. They were of a similar height. But where Doug had nice shoulders and a lithe build, this guy looked like he’d walked out of a barbarian movie. His hair was dark, his eyes a penetrating blue. Nice face, hard, but even lines. In a cartoon, he might have been labeled Joe, the truck driver.