2 Dancing With Death (20 page)

    
“You’re damn right you do,” Officer Park said. As he continued to talk, Betty went over to Miss Knolhart, who had slid down the wall to sit on the floor. Betty joined her.

    
“Are you okay?” Betty asked.

    
Miss Knolhart looked at her blankly for a moment, before blinking and pasting a smile on her face. “Of course dear,” she said brightly. “It’s just a set back. Dancers deal with them all the time.”

    
Betty was amazed. Miss Knolhart’s assistant was dead, her husband’s affair revealed and their relationship all but officially ended, and she still found the strength to pretend indifference. But now Betty could see through the façade, and she reached out to put her arm around the doyenne.

    
“You can be not okay, you know,” she murmured. “I won’t tell anyone.”

    
Miss Knolhart remained rigid. “Thank you dear,” she said, shrugging off Betty’s arm, “but I have a competition to run.” She stood, refusing Bill’s arm as he offered to help her up.
 
Her back was perfectly straight, and she never once glanced across the hall at Earnest.

    
Betty could respect that. She’d thrown herself into work to avoid dealing with an uncomfortable situation plenty of times. And, as long as Miss Knolhart was looking for a distraction and Officer Park’s attention was elsewhere…

    
“Do you know if any of the competitors at the competition are from Georgia?” she asked. Miss Knolhart’s head jerked around, her eyes wide as she was caught off guard. “The Republic, not the state,” Betty rushed to add.

    
“I thought you didn’t know anything about ballroom dancing,” Miss Knolhart said. “How did you know that?”

    
“Know what?” Betty asked.

    
“Danya Felicity,” the older woman said. “She’s from Georgia.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “She was going to win this competition you know. She’d leave all the other dancers far behind. They’d eat her dust!”

    
“Then why isn’t she here?” Betty asked.

    
Miss Knolhart shrugged. “No one knows for sure. Rumor has it that her husband’s travel visa was revoked and she wasn’t allowed to come to the competition because of it. He’s her dance partner too, so she couldn’t dance without him anyways.” Miss Knolhart shook her head. “Poor girl. I don’t know what she was thinking marrying that man. He’s a good enough dancer, but…” Her eyes flicked to where the two policemen were still arguing quietly. “Let’s just say he’s not the most genial of fellows, and leave it at that.” She eyed Betty sharply. “Why do you want to know?”

    
“Just something I head,” Betty said, thinking fast. “About a Georgian. I’m not sure what to make of it yet.”

    
Miss Knolhart nodded, her eyes shrewd. “If your memory should suddenly jog,” she said, “be sure to let me know.” She sniffed disdainfully in Officer Park’s direction. “That man,” she said, “best get himself a good lawyer if he keeps up with this type of interrogation tactic.”

    
Betty agreed, adding, “Just so you know, I don’t think you did it.”

 
   
“That’s sweet dear,” the doyenne said. “Of course you don’t. How could anyone ever think I’d kill Marissa, no matter who she had sex with?” she laughed self-depreciatingly. “I’ve broken up enough partnerships to know I had it coming at least once in my life. Besides,” she said, raising her voice, “she was welcome to him. It’s not like he was that good in bed anyhow.”

    
With that, Miss Knolhart turned her back on everyone in the hall and walked away with ramrod straight posture, not once looking back.

    
Now that, thought Betty, is a woman.

    
Betty waited until Officer Park and Earnest had both left the hall before telling Bill her discoveries. This time, he was less than impressed.
   

    
“I’m grateful for your help,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know that. But, phone calls to Georgia aren’t proof of murder.”

    
“But what about the revoked visa?” Betty asked in disbelief. “It’s worth looking into, at the least!”

    
Bill shook his head. “I think you need to get some sleep Betty. And you should stay out of the investigation from here on out. You’ve been a great help. But you’re starting to get reckless and grasp at straws. I won’t have you risking yourself for this. Just go upstairs and get some rest.”

    
Betty couldn’t believe her ears. Bill was patronizing her? She was the one who’d found the only solid leads in the entire case, and now he was telling her that her gut couldn’t be trusted? How did he think she’d gotten the other leads? She might not be a trained detective, but that didn’t mean she was stupid, or incapable of putting two and two together.

    
“You asked me to snoop,” she reminded him. “That’s what I’m doing. And pretty successfully, I might add.”

    
Bill shook his head. “Yes, you’ve gotten some information. You’ve also been threatened by a senator’s uncle and discovered by a casual observer to be investigating. This has gone on long enough Betty! It’s nice you want to play detective, but if Office Park gets wind of this...”

    
Betty felt like he’d slapped her in the face. “Is that what you think?” she spat. “That I want to play detective?” her voice rose sharply. “Of course it is,” she said, throwing up her hands. “Why would anyone want to help you just because they want to help? Why would anyone think it was good idea to try and do your job, because your goddamned commanding officer can’t see past the end of his stupid, squashed nose to let you do it yourself!” She ended, breathing heavily.

    
“The point Liz,” Bill said, reverting back to her college nickname in his frustration, “is that you can’t do my job. You aren’t trained to solve crimes. You’re seeing things that aren’t there. You’re making up leads. And I don’t have the time to go tracking down your imagination, when there are real criminals living right down the hall!”

    
“You don’t have time for anything lately!” Betty yelled before she could stop herself. As soon as the words leapt out of her mouth, Betty wished she could recall them. Yes, Bill had been busy on their weekend together away from Lofton, but he had good reason. There was no reason she should resent him for it. None at all.

    
And yet… Betty suddenly realized that that was exactly what she was feeling. Wes had made time to dance with Clarise in the middle of the investigation. Why couldn’t Bill manage one conversation that had nothing to do with murder and intrigue? Why couldn’t he manage a meal, or… well, anything?
    
This was the only chance they’d had to spend time together away from the prying eyes of the Gossiping Grannies since college. And it was ruined.

    
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bill asked quietly. When she didn’t answer, he added, “Betty?”

    
He took a step closer, and Betty backed away. “I… I can’t.” she said. “I’m sorry Bill. I need to go.”

    
She turned and walked away down the hall.

    
Tears pricked Betty’s eyes as she walked, and she wiped them away angrily. It made no sense that she was upset he didn’t follow her.

    
She wouldn’t let it make sense.

CHAPTER 24

    
At that moment, all Betty wanted was to fall into the ridiculously soft bed the hotel had provided and go to sleep. But when she arrived at her room, she discovered even that was denied her. She opened the door with the key card to find that Wes and Clarise were already in the room. Thankfully, they were only talking, but even that made Betty sick to her stomach. The way they were cuddled up together on the bed, talking softly and hardly taking notice of anything else in the world… Betty didn’t think she could handle that right now. It made her to envious, and envy made her miserable.

    
Hoping that the wireless internet really had been restored that evening, Betty made some excuses and grabbed her laptop, resolving to find an out of the way area to park her behind and do some work… and maybe even some research.

    
Bill might not want her to snoop any more, but Betty just knew that the Georgia lead was important. And if Bill refused to follow it up, then she would. After that, she’d call it quits. No more questions and eavesdropping. If she was wrong, not even a thought of suspicion would cross her mind.

    
If, however, her research did lead to something…

    
The killer had to be caught. Her maybe-relationship with Bill had to take second place to that.

    
Right?

    
In any case, she had to find out if there was internet first. And to do that, she had to find a place to sit. After a moment’s thought, Betty decided against trying to find an empty room. Sitting by herself in an empty room seemed too much like tempting fate. That left the lobby. She could find a cozy corner there and curl up with her laptop for a few hours. By the time she went back upstairs, Clarise and Wes would be asleep.
  

    
It was a good plan, she told herself.

 
   
It would’ve been a better plan if she’d been able to navigate the halls without getting confused. The past few times Betty had left the room, she’d been too busy trying to not walk into anyone or anything to pay real attention to where they were going. For some odd reason, the hotel didn’t have signs with convenient arrows directing guests to the more popular destinations. The only directions given were to specific sets of rooms. Apparently, most guests were less directionally challenged than Betty, and had little problem finding where they needed to go. But, Betty wasn’t them. Now that her mind was foggy with sleepiness, she couldn’t remember if she was supposed to turn left or right at the replica of Monet’s “Water Lilies.” After passing the same statue of a merman with a trident three or four times, Betty finally figured out the correct turn to take.

    
She had never been so glad to see an elevator. If it wasn’t entirely possible that a person would come upon her in the act, Betty would have hugged the elevator doors in relief. On second thought, maybe not. But the fact that the idea crossed her mind was and indication that she might be due for a nice, long vacation in a room with padded white walls.

    
The elevator doors opened on an almost deserted lobby. The only guest visible was a well-dressed, well-endowed woman wobbling her way towards the elevator.

    
“Schooz me,” she said, pushing past Betty. She reeked of scotch. “I haf to go to bed now, be… before I get drunk.”

    
Now, Betty thought, that was sad. A grown woman should at least know how much liquor she was capable of holding. Betty hoped the woman didn’t have to dance in the morning. If she did, her partner might find himself needing a new pair of toes. Someone with that bad of a hangover was sure to stumble.

    
It didn’t take long for Betty to find the perfect spot for herself and her laptop. In the far corner of the entrance lobby was an overstuffed chair the color of red wine. It was one of those deep chairs, with enough space on the cushion to curl up in a loose ball and sleep, or to sit cross legged without your angles hitting the uncomfortable wooden edge of the chair. It had some unfortunate gold braid trim, but if you ignored the shiny bits the chair was, in a word, perfect.

    
Betty scooted back in the seat until she was seated comfortably in a cross-legged position, her back relaxed against the pillowed backrest.

    
She pulled her laptop out of its case and turned it on. When the computer was all booted up, Betty crossed her fingers, said a short prayer, and double clicked on her internet browser.