2 Dancing With Death (15 page)

    
“Tell me again,” he asked. “You reached under your pillow for the money and…”

    
“No. I reached under my pillow and found out that the money had been hidden there.”

    
“But, surely you knew the money was there?”
    
“Of course I didn’t know,” Betty said.

    
It went on and on. Bill’s knuckles were white from clenching his fists so hard. He was glaring daggers at Officer Park, clearly unhappy with the way Betty was being treated. When she was asked to go over finding the stolen money for the fifth time, Betty put her foot down.

    
“I’ve gone over this several times now Officer,” she said, struggling to keep her anger from her voice. It was entirely possible that Officer Park wasn’t out to get her, she thought. He might just be a very, very detail-oriented man who wanted to get every speck of information he could. But there was only so much information she knew, and he’d exhausted it twenty minutes ago. “Are there any other topics you’d like to discuss?”

    
“As a matter of fact,” Officer Park began. Betty took a deep breath, steeling herself for the next round.

    
Looking at it from his point of view, Betty had to admit that the situation did look fairly suspicious. Not only had she found the stolen $100,000 under her pillow, but she’d also found the only significant piece of evidence so far, at a crime scene she wasn’t even supposed to be visiting.

    
But Betty was innocent, and no manner of phrasing and rephrasing questions was going to make her change her answers.

    
After an hour, it became clear that Officer Park had no intention of ending his questioning any time soon. Bill stood, gesturing to Betty that she should rise as well.

    
“That’s enough,” Bill said. He reached out to turn off the recorder. Bill kept the volume of his voice low, but his anger was obvious in the tension of his posture and his thunderous face. “This is a farce. You don’t want information, you want her to be a criminal. She’s not. If you want to start looking for real clues, let me know. This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

    
“Don’t be foolish,” Officer Park spat at him. “You may be a backwoods police chief, but even you should recognize that this woman is a key witness and a main suspect. You should be holding her for further questioning, not taking her to dinner!”

    
Bill clenched his teeth. Before he could say something he’d regret later, Betty jumped in. She might be furious at the mere thought she was considered a suspect, and even more furious at the man’s belittling of Bill, but she wasn’t about to let this get out of hand.

    
“I’m leaving now,” she told Officer Park, her tone acidic. “If you have any further questions, feel free to find me and ask. Personally, I think your time would be better spent pursuing the real criminals, rather than the woman they framed to throw you off the trail.”

    
“Of course it was a set up,” Officer Park scoffed as he stood. “It’s always a set up!” He put his fists on the table and leaned toward Betty. His eyes were shrewd and cold. “I’ll be watching you Miss Crawford. Give me a reason to arrest you. I beg you.”

    
He picked up his tape recorder and swept out of the room.

    
As soon as the door swung shut behind Officer Park, Bill exploded.

    
“That jerk! I can’t believe him!” he yelled. “I should call his superiors and report him. He has no right to treat you this way!”
    
Betty was touched that Bill was so enraged on her behalf. But, while she certainly didn’t enjoy being on Officer Park’s hit list, she was personally more concerned with his treatment of Bill.

    
“I’ll be fine,” she said, trying to calm him down. “I’m innocent, so there’s nothing for him to find. But you need to be careful. He could make real trouble for you with the state.”

    
“He could put you in jail!” Bill exclaimed. “How does that make you fine? Betty, you need to start thinking straight. You can’t get involved in this any more than you already are.”

    
“Trust me, I’m not looking to spend life in jail,” Betty said, starting to get annoyed. Did he think she liked seeing dead bodies, or being a target for every jerk that came along? Just because she wasn’t going spastic and panicking did he think she was immune to the stress of being a suspect in a murder?
 

    
Bill snorted. “Really?” he asked. “Because that’s not how you’re acting. You know, if I hadn’t been holding your hand at the time of the theft, I’d almost suspect you myself! And where were you this morning when the murder was taking place? You sure as Hell weren’t in the rooms. I can’t even give you an alibi!”

    
Betty took a deep breath, trying to calm herself before she started yelling. Bill was just stressed, she thought to herself. He wasn’t thinking clearly. That was all. “I was at the gym,” she said. “I stayed in the sauna for a while afterwards, and then I came up to get ready for the dancing.”

    
“And can anyone confirm that?” Bill asked. “I’m serious Betty. Officer Park is out for blood. You need to have something, anything to give him.”

    
Betty shook her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t pay attention to who was in the exercise room, and I don’t know if anyone else did.”

    
Bill sighed. “Will you at least promise me not to do any more snooping?”
    
“Of course not!” Betty exclaimed with a laugh. “I can’t make a promise like that. Every time I try, some clue or crime plops in my lap.”

    
And it was true. She hadn’t been trying to snoop when she found the key card. In fact, she thought, thinking of her dismal failure at attempted eavesdropping earlier, perhaps she should promise to try and investigate instead. Maybe it would wind up being a reverse effect, and she’d stay blissfully ignorant of any nefarious acts around her.

    
Speaking of which…

    
“I kept my eyes open like you asked,” she said, “and I overheard some interesting things.” She briefly told him about all the conversations she could remember, from Sue’s rant in the sauna, to Grace’s information that dance teachers were strapped for funding, to the gambling men. She even included the conversation with Mary O’Connor about Miss Knolhart stealing her partner. When she was finished, Bill was looking at her in amazement.

    
After a moment, he spoke slowly. “You know what?” he said. “I changed my mind. You snoop all you want. You have full license to snoop. Do you realize that you’ve found more people with motives than Wes, myself and two deputy state troopers combined?”

    
Betty started to comment, but was quickly shut down as Bill continued. “No,” he said, “Don’t say anything. Go ahead and snoop. Let me know anything you find. I’ll keep my source private from Officer Jerk. Just,” his voice became stern. “Don’t put yourself in unsafe situations. License to snoop doesn’t mean you have permission to wind up strangled in a freezer somewhere. Clear?”

    
Betty agreed. A thrill of adrenaline ran through her at the thought of investigating a murder, and she wasn’t sure if it came more from excitement or fear.

    
Betty Crawford, private eye, she thought, the theme song of a spy movie running through her head.

    
This should be interesting.

CHAPTER 17

    
Back at the dance competition, Betty realized that she was feeling a little light headed. She needed to eat now, or she’d risk having an extreme blood sugar low. Neither was a good idea with her diabetes, especially if she wanted to avoid having her eyes change much more.

    
She walked over to the buffet, and noticed that the celebrity chef was serving a single dish to anyone who wanted it. A small crowd had gathered around his table. Given that the entire meal was a self-serve buffet, the situation struck Betty as a little odd. So, it was to that table that Betty brought her plate first, grabbing a carrot stick to munch on along the way. She got in line, waiting to see whatever delicacy the chef was dishing up.

    
When she was just a few feet from the table, Betty noticed a sign proclaiming “Waltzing Beef: a brand new dish, inspired by the classic ballroom dance!”
 

    
Betty immediately imagined a pair of cows waltzing. She laughed aloud once, earning an odd look from the woman directly in front of her. The snippets of musing that Betty had overheard earlier suddenly made sense, as did having a celebrity chef at the dance competition. The sign continued to explain that the Chef would unveil a tasty new dish each meal, named for the dance that inspired it.

    
Betty accepted her piece of beef with a grin. What would a waltz taste like?

    
When she took her first bite, Betty had her answer. The beef was sliced thinly, and cooked so tender that it practically melted in her mouth. A light, smooth gravy covered it, bringing out hidden flavors and nuances of herbs. A garnish of caramelized onions added a touch of sweet.

    
Sweet, smooth, tender waltzing beef. Delicious.

    
Betty finished her meal, watching the crowd bustle around the room. It seemed that she’d missed another round of dancing, this one a tango round for the professionals. The ballroom was abuzz with people commenting on the dancers. The couple behind her was talking about the intricacies of the dance. Betty had no idea that the tilt of the woman’s head was such an important part of the dance. She’d have enough trouble figuring out where her feet were going, let alone her neck!

    
As she left, Betty checked the schedule. There was a professional level round in a couple hours. She made a mental note to come back for it. If the comments on the tango were anything to go by, then she was in for a treat. The professional rounds sounded amazing!

    
After her meal, Betty decided to head up to her room to check on the wireless. If the storm had stopped enough to allow a helicopter through, the internet might be working again.

    
As she walked through the lobby, Betty was distracted from her course by the sounds of a loud argument.

CHAPTER 18

    
“What do you mean I can’t leave?” A woman shrieked. She was in her late fifties, tall, thin and wearing what Betty hoped was a faux fur coat. She stood in the entrance hall near one of the doors, looking down her long, pointy nose at George. “Let me pass! My chauffeur will be arriving any moment.”

    
George looked… well, harried. His hair was mussed, as though he’d been pulling on it, and there were shadows under his eyes. Even his moustache seemed to droop.

    
“I assure you Mrs. Finklesworth,” George said tiredly. “your chauffer will not be arriving any time soon. The roads are closed.”

    
“Nonsense!” she exclaimed. “I told him to be here at 3 P.M. sharp, and he will be here or be fired! Now let me pass!”

    
“I can’t do that madam,” George said. “Even if your chauffeur were to arrive, no one is to leave the hotel until the police have had a chance to further their investigation.”

    
“Well, I never!” the woman exclaimed. “Let me speak to your superior, at once! I won’t be treated like a common criminal. I’ll have you know I’m the niece of a baron!”

    
At that, Betty had had enough. She couldn’t stand by any longer and watch this horrid woman crucify George. And she hadn’t been an actress in drama for eight years for no reason! Betty squared her shoulders and stalked over to the pair.

    
“Mrs. Finklesworth, thank goodness!” she exclaimed, stretching out her arm and taking the older woman’s hands in hers. “I’m so glad to have caught you. I have the most dreadful news.”