Angel's Dance (16 page)

“
What you got from
yesterday?” he asked, recognizing some of the things she had
already mentioned. She nodded sharply and stared out the window.
Grant scanned the list feeling totally helpless. None of this was
his daughter, except for the dancing. That was the only thing they
seemed to have in common.

“
That you know of,” Clear
stated nonchalantly. He stared up at her, knowing he had not said
it out loud.
‘She really could read my
mind. Crap!’

She turned to him and her brow
furrowed. “Why are you staring at me like that?” she said
peevishly.

He couldn’t help it, he
had to see. Mentally he thought, ‘
Can you
hear me
?’

She arched her brow at him. “Grant?
Staring? What’s up?”

He chuckled to himself. She wasn’t
reading his mind, she just thought the same thing he had, that was
all. “You are wearing makeup,” he noted, hoping to distract her.
She blushed to her roots.

“
Ann says it looks more
professional.”

She looked better without it, in his
opinion, but it wasn’t a bad look. “It’s… nice,” he murmured
politely.

She rolled her eyes and picked at her
muffin. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“
Hmm… what happened to
good old eggs and bacon for breakfast?” he grumbled as he looked at
the menu. This was clearly a health food diner. His luck. “Nah…
I’ll wait.”

“
You should run that list
of qualities by your wife. People change. People are different with
those they see every day than they are with people they only talk
to occasionally.”

Grant forced the anger down, knowing
she was right. It hurt to hear that he probably didn’t really know
his daughter anymore, but he knew the resentment wasn’t at what
Clear had said, but at his own guilt. “Yeah, I’ll do that.” He
stood up and headed out the door, leaving Clear at the table
looking a little astonished.

Clear picked at her muffin, groaning
about Grant’s immediate exit. At least she wasn’t as painfully
aware of his emotions. The scowl on his face was about the only
hint she got to how he felt. The mental walls she built up were
helping. It still hurt, but that was her own emotional
reaction.

She sighed as she picked at her
muffin. This was not what was important. Her feelings, Grant’s
feelings; they didn’t mean anything, really. What mattered was
finding Kat. And Clear didn’t know how she knew; but Bella, or
Donna, or whatever her name was, was the only way they would get
any clues. She took several cleansing breaths. The dance studio had
to have some clues.

His daughter had been missing almost a
week and that was never a good sign. But as far as Clear could
tell, Donna had been missing for months, but was still alive until
a week or so ago. She hoped Kat could survive that well, then they
might have a chance of getting her back. She was certain that the
same person had taken them both. If she could figure that out, then
they could find Kat. And Kat was the only thing that was really
important.

Clear looked down and found that she
had completely shredded her muffin to inedible bits. Sighing again,
she scooped all the crumbs up with a napkin and dutifully placed
them in a trash container with a cutesy slogan “Trash Your Trash”
placed above it. Shaking her chai cup and realizing it was empty,
she tossed it in as well. So much for breakfast.

Clear looked up at the ballerina on
the sign in front of Lando’s Dance Studio. Donna’s print was all
over this place, even more than in her own home. Clear nodded to
Grant as he opened the door. The cool air billowed out over them as
they entered. The lobby was artfully done in mauves and beiges and
recessed lighting provided focused spotlights for photos of several
of the dancers. As Grant went up to the front reception desk, Clear
took a moment to look the photos over. Several were of dance
recitals, with several little ballerinas all too far to be clearly
seen, but there were also several close shots of other dancers. She
wondered if these were the instructors. Several of them appeared to
be older. There were three headshots that were also in larger
frames with plaques below them. Arthur Lando, Leslie Lando, and a
young man, Louis Lando. Louis seemed somehow familiar and Clear
searched through what she remembered from Donna’s memories. It was
there, tickling her senses, ready to come through when Grant
interrupted her.

“
Her dance instructor is
in and is in-between classes. Rather convenient, huh?” He ushered
her away. Clear swatted away the frustration and went with him. She
could always ask the instructor.

The girl at the desk had apparently
paged the instructor and a petite woman in a leotard came out. She
looked at Grant and Clear thoughtfully then offered a delicate
hand. “I am Ivanna Chofsky.” She said in a thick accent. Clear took
her hand and it felt like a cold dead fish. Hmm… this woman did not
want to talk to them.

“
Detective Grant Anderson
and this is Clear Angel. She is a profiler who is helping us look
into the disappearance of Donna Johnson.”

Clear watched a cold mask of
indifference glide over the woman’s face, but she felt the rage and
disgust slip through.

“
I thought it was
determined that she had run away, yah?”

Clear jumped in before Grant could
respond. “We still look for runaways if they are minors, Ms.
Chofsky.” She smiled at the woman and continued. “Especially if the
circumstances are… shall we say, unusual?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed
suspiciously. Then she shrugged. “I don’t know what help I can
offer. She was only my student for a few months before it
happened.” She led them into the back studios.

The stench of sweat was overwhelming
for Clear. This was more than just the normal smell that others
would associate with a gym or dance hall. This was passion, pain,
sweat and tears. There was vengeance and rivalry here that ran deep
and the stench of it was in every board and mirror in this
room.

“
Is this the studio you
practiced in?” she asked, not really feeling Donna’s presence in
this room.

Ms. Chofsky arched an eyebrow. “No.
Why would that matter?”

“
It helps for us to see
the world Donna lived in, helps us get to know her,” Grant
answered. The woman rolled her eyes.

“
Well, there is a class in
there right now, but one room is the same as the other,
da?”

Clear suppressed the agitation the
other woman had and continued. “Is that why you don’t use this
room?” Clear asked innocently enough. The shock on the woman’s face
was profound.

“
How.. I.. Well.. Hmm…”
She took a moment to gather herself and then began again. “This
room is primarily used for auditions only. It is the room most
often vacant. No one uses it, except the Landos.” There was a tone
in the way she said the name, part reverence part… spite? Clear
couldn’t quite pin it down.

“
You said that Donna had
only been your student for a few months, but her mother said she
had been coming here for years,” Grant asked.

“
Oh da, sure. She has been
coming to this
studio
for years… but… we all teach different levels of talent. Once
the student has surpassed the teacher… well, they move on,
dah?”

“
So Donna was a better
dancer than you?” Grant probed. Clear nearly gasped at the
malevolence that came off the woman when he asked.

Her face curled back in a
sneer. “That girl was not a better dancer than me! She only
thought
she was,” she
scoffed. “She moved forward because there was nothing more that she
could learn from me, not because I didn’t have more to teach.” She
swatted the air as if waving the malice away. “She was not my
favorite pupil and she got far more attention than she deserved.
People were always putting ideas in her head. She did not like that
I told her the truth about the dancing world. So she asked to
audition early to move up. Lando granted it…. Because he liked
her.” Ivana’s mouth tightened and she suddenly looked much older
and mean. “But she was not a better dancer than me. No.”

“
If you were no longer her
instructor, then why didn’t we meet with her instructor?” Grant
asked.

Ivana shrugged, but there was a
tension in her that had not been there before. Her eyes wandered
the room a bit. “She had taken the requisite exam to advance, but
then she auditioned for the recital going to Chicago and that took
up all her time. She did not have time for a class on top of
school, the recital and the personal instruction needed to get her
ready for the recital.”

“
Personal instruction?”
Grant pried, “With whom?”

Ivana waved it off again. “With the
director, Mr. Lando. They should not have cast her for the Chicago
recital. She was not ready, but Mr. Lando believed in her and said
he could make her ready in time.” She shrugged.

“
But you didn’t agree?”
Grant snaked a look at Clear.

“
Da, well, I don’t own the
place, so it doesn’t really matter what I think, no?”

“
Could we see the room
that she was practicing in for the recital?” Clear asked casually.
Ms. Chofsky eyed her hesitatingly. “I suppose.” She pointed them
towards a rear door and then moved gracefully before them. “It is a
small recital room in the back.” They entered a small, dark
corridor that led to the rear of a large stage. She pulled a set of
keys from her waist and then unlocked the door to the back of the
stage area. They moved down another dark corridor.

Clear began to feel queasy. “What is
this area?” She asked, rubbing her arms to keep the cold, icky,
feeling at bay.

Ms. Chofsky looked at her funny and
shrugged. “It is where we store the costumes for upcoming
performances.”

Clear tried to subtly run her fingers
along the costumes, hoping to pick something up from the contact,
but Ms. Chofsky was moving too quickly. All Clear was getting was
anxiety, stress and the smell of sweat.

“
Are these from the
Chicago performance?” she asked casually.

“
No… those are stored down
below now that the show is over.”

After clearing the corridor, they went
through another door into a much smaller dance studio. Ms. Chofsky
flipped the light switch. Only one wall had a mirror and bars.
There was a small electric keyboard and sound system in the corner
and not a single window. Clear began feeling very claustrophobic.
It was a strange sensation for her since she did not suffer from
claustrophobia. Someone who had used this room sure did, though. It
was a pervasive feeling that Clear was having trouble
shaking.