Dying for a Dance Read Online Free PDF

me?”
    “You're free to go.”
    I blinked. “I am?”
    Tom nodded. “I know where you work. Where you live. And where you're going to be Saturday evening.”
    [Back to Table of Contents]
----

    SIX
    * * * *
    Never doubt the encyclopedic memory of a homicide detective. I'd almost forgotten the elementary school holiday program was scheduled for this Saturday. Tom's daughter, Kristy, and my son, Ben, were in the same second grade classroom. Despite their initial meeting, which consisted of a soccer confrontation between the super-sized little girl and my undersized son, they had formed a close friendship.
    Since my interrogation was over, at least for now, I could head home. Paula stood in the reception area, a shiny gold key chain in her palm. Dimitri's talented student looked forlorn, a feeling I sensed most, if not all of his students would soon experience.
    “Are they done with you?” I asked.
    Paula nodded as she slung her large leather carryall over her shoulder.
    “What an ordeal,” I said.
    Her lower lip trembled. “It's so horrible. I simply can't imagine dancing with another teacher.”
    Uh-oh. Was Paula implying she also had been involved in a romantic relationship with the deceased dancer? I was beginning to wonder if Dimitri spent more time practicing his hip thrusts in the bedroom than on the dance floor.
    Paula noticed my questioning look and shook her head. “No, nothing like that. Dimitri and I are...I mean we were, supposed to compete on New Year's Eve at the Holiday Ball in Lake Tahoe.” She sniffed. “It's one of the biggest dance competitions in the country.”
    “What a shame you'll have to miss it. What level are you competing at?”
    “In the Pro Am open gold division.”
    Impressive. The Pro Am division paired an amateur like Paula with a professional teacher. Competing in the gold category meant Paula had previously won first place in the lower bronze and silver levels.
    “Wow. I didn't realize you were competing at that high of a level. What kind of dances do you perform?”
    “All the International Standard dances.”
    I must have looked puzzled because she elaborated. “It's like American Smooth but with one extra dance.”
    “American Smooth?” These ballroom dancers spoke an entire language of their own.
    She smiled and her eyes lit up. You could tell ballroom was her passion. “In American smooth you perform the fox trot, waltz, tango, and Viennese waltz. International Standard is a European version of the same dances. The style is different because you always remain in a closed hold with your partner. You also perform one additional dance called the quickstep.”
    Quickstep? I didn't know what that dance entailed, but I was having enough problems with the “slow slow” concept of foxtrot. My clumsy feet would never catch on to something called quickstep.
    “Why don't you compete with Bobby?”
    Paula's keys clanged together as they dropped to the floor. She chuckled as she bent over and scooped them up. “Laurel, it's not that easy to switch partners. Plus Bobby has only been dancing five years himself. Dimitri and I have been practicing ten to twelve hours a week for the past three years trying to get me up to this level.”
    Ten plus hours a week? If I practiced that much I'd be as good as...
    I looked down at my bunion-enhanced size nines. Nah. No amount of practice would turn me into Ginger Rogers. Or even Paula.
    She sighed and went back to her key jangling. “I'll talk to Boris and see if he'll compete with me. Did you know he was a world champion ten years ago?”
    I knew Boris had won some competitions, but not at that level. So those photos in his office did represent a successful dance career and not just an uber-sized ego.
    The crime scene technicians were still hard at work in the parking lot, taking photos from different angles under bright flood lights. My eyes grew teary again. Even if the rumors were true and Dimitri cheated on his pregnant wife, the man