Dancing with Murder Page 8

  My hands actually shook as I considered it. More smoke drifted toward me, the smell of it driving me wild. It was like a living thing, a lover, tempting me to surrender.

  I reached out and tugged the cigarette free of the pack. I preferred menthol, but this would do in a pinch.

  "Thanks." I nodded at Ellie and drew the cigarette toward me, fully intending to ask for a light.

  But then something inside me caught, holding me back like a dog on a leash. I held the cigarette, I wanted the cigarette, but something wouldn't let me smoke it.

  I kept it between my fingers and let my hand fall to my side. When Ellie frowned, I shrugged. "I just had one. Not a big fan of chaining."

  "Whatever." Ellie looked blasé about the whole thing. "So. Are we having fun yet?"

  "Oh yeah." Charlie took a deep drag on her cigarette and blew the smoke out through her nose. "I can hardly wait to see how fun the next day turns out to be."

  "How 'bout you, Lottie?" said Ellie. "Looking forward to another day on the job with your beloved Peg?"

  As we circled back around to the same old ground, I'd had enough. "Here's a question for you, El." I pressed a finger to my left temple and cocked my head to one side. "If you hate Peg so much, why do you keep acting like you want to work with her?"

  Ellie let out a low, nasty chuckle. "What're you smokin', Lots? I never said I wanted to work with her."

  "Could've fooled me." I folded my arms over my chest and looked down my nose at her. "Maybe you're the one with the girl crush on Peg, not me."

  Charlie snickered. "You always were kind of a tomboy, Ellie."

  It would've been right in character for Ellie to go ballistic at that point. One of her patented looks of imminent rage crossed her features like the growing shadow of a solar eclipse. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the battle to come.

  But then, somehow, she pushed back the shadow. Her expression changed from growing anger to snarky sarcasm. "Okay, you got me." She patted her hair with a primping gesture. "I do have the hots for Peg. Something about that frizzy hair of hers..."

  With the pressure suddenly defused, we all laughed. I'd never known Ellie not to go for the throat when given the chance, but I was glad she hadn't...and I think the other sisters were, too. Enough beating on each other, already.

  "I think we've all got the fever for that woman, am I right?" Bonnie grinned as we all nodded and hooted in agreement. "I just hope we can manage to share her."

  "It's good we keep her in the family," said Charlie. "Handed down from Dad to us."

  At the mention of Dad, the mood changed. The grins and laughter faded.

  "He'd like it that we're kidding around." Bonnie took a last drag on her cigarette and flicked the butt across the yard. "I can practically hear that goofy laugh of his now."

  "Like a barking seal." Charlie smirked as she lit a fresh cigarette. "With a whooping cough."

  Ellie lit a fresh smoke of her own and held it high. "Here's to the old man. Until we meet again."

  Bonnie held up her cigarette, too. "To Lou," she said.

  "Prince of Pennsylvania Polkas," said Charlie, also hoisting her own cigarette in the air.

  I waffled for a second, thinking I should light up just this once in honor of Dad. But I couldn't do it. The leash was still holding me back.

  So I held up my unlit cigarette, knowing I was breaking a tenuous bond with my sisters. "To Lou." My voice was strong and steady. Let the Furies do their worst. "He will always be our Dad."

  "Bezpiecznej podró¿y," said Bonnie. "Safe travels, Dad."

  "You can say that again," said Ellie, and then she lowered the cigarette to her lips and inhaled deeply.

  Bonnie and Charlie smoked, too, as I looked on. Something about the moment stirred me; my heart beat faster, and the fine hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stood up straight.

  Here was something I'd forgotten in my long absence from New Krakow. Something that had gotten lost in our few contentious encounters over the decades. Something so surprising, it felt like I was discovering it for the first time:

  The Furies weren't all bad, and deep down, we didn't hate each other.

  But they could still make things hard for me. I wasn't sure how they'd react if I asked probing questions about Dad's death. It might be enough to turn them against me again.

  But I had to try. "So when was the last time you saw him? Before...you know..." I looked at Bonnie when I said it.

  "Three days before he died." Bonnie smiled. "He dropped by to fix the leaky spigot in the kitchen. Ended up spending most of his time goofing around with the kids, of course."

  I nodded. "Same old Dad then, huh?"

  "Oh yeah." Bonnie puffed on her cigarette, then blew out some smoke. "Now I wish he'd stayed longer. He kept checking his watch. Said he had to meet somebody."

  I tried not to act too interested. "Did he say who?"

  "No, but it must've been important." Bonnie hiked a thumb toward the house. "He didn't stay to finish the job."

  "That's too bad." Determined to keep the information flowing, I turned to Charlie. "What about you? When was the last time you saw Dad?"

  "A week before he passed, I guess." Charlie frowned. "He and Eddie Kubiak, Sr. were having a fight outside the Polish Falcons club. I stopped by to have a drink and play the pull tab tickets, and there they were."

  Again, I tried to sound nonchalant. "What were they fighting about?"

  Charlie shrugged. "I didn't hear much. Something about 'strikes.' Bowling, maybe?"

  I didn't want to push too hard, but still. "Those two haven't bowled together in years, have they?"

  Charlie scowled, deep in thought, then shook her head. "If they have, it's news to me."

  "News to me, too." Bonnie said it through a cloud of smoke. "Maybe you didn't hear right."

  "It's possible," said Charlie. "They were really going at it, so I didn't stick around." She knocked ash off the tip of her cigarette and watched it fall. "I wish I had now, though. Stuck around, that is."

  Now that Charlie had said her piece, I turned to Ellie. "When was the last time you saw him, El?"

  Ellie had a faraway look in her eyes. "I don't want to talk about it." She dropped her cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out with the toe of her sneaker.

  I knew I shouldn't push, but I kept up the pressure. "Why?" I tried to sound more sympathetic than curious. "What happened?"

  Ellie looked away. I couldn't guess what might be going through her mind at that moment.

  Just then, Charlie spoke up. "It was a few weeks ago, wasn't it?"

  Ellie spun and shot her a warning look. Charlie started to say something else, then stopped and fell silent.

  "What about you?" Ellie stared in my direction. "How long has it been since you saw Dad alive, Lots?"

  Her question forced me to switch tracks. I thought back, searching my memory to pinpoint the moment when I'd last seen my father.

  And I couldn't think of it right away.

  I hadn't been home in, what? One year? Make it two. Over two. Was that right? Two Christmases ago?

  No. It was three Christmases ago. And the sad part was, I wasn't absolutely sure I'd seen him that time.

  So when had it been? Four Christmases ago? Five? It had been so easy to lose track of time when I was on the other side of the continent, caught up in the obsessions of my own daily life.

  So what would my answer be? The Furies were watching and waiting. I could always refuse to answer like Ellie. Or I could think back further, maybe to six Christmases ago...or had it been seven?

  "Too long." Better to keep it vague this time, I thought. "And I regret it. I talked to him on the phone now and then, but as for seeing him...I just haven't been home much."

  Bonnie sighed. "Well, I was right here all along, and I didn't see him enough either."

  "Neither did I," said Charlie.

  Was it eight Christmases ago? Maybe nine? "This sucks. It really does." As I gazed down at th
e cigarette Ellie had given me, I again thought about lighting it. Maybe it could burn away some of the guilt I felt.

  What kind of person doesn't see her father for seven or eight years? What kind of person doesn't even remember the last time she saw him...and then comes back home after he dies because she needs money from his estate to save her failing business? What kind of awful person would do all that?

  And how could she bear to live with herself?

  It was yet another question for which I had no answer.

  *****

  Chapter 19

  I didn't stay much longer at Bonnie's. The ADHD Dozen were all in various stages of meltdown as their bedtimes approached. I didn't want to be there when things got ugly with the kids, as I knew they would.

  Besides, I had a stop to make on the way home. Namely, the convenience store around the corner, where I picked up a quart of milk.

  I needed the milk because I still had a problem to deal with back at the DeeLite Efficiency Motel. His name was Ghost, and he'd been at large in my room since I'd left for Bonnie's place.

  Needless to say, I was more than a little worried when I parked at the motel and walked up to the door of my room. Ghost could have done a serious number on the place in the three hours I'd been gone. I didn't know what to expect.

  With the quart of milk in one hand, I slid the room key into the lock with the other hand and turned. The bolt slid free of the jamb, and I reached for the knob.

  My stomach tightened as I turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open. What would I find inside? Shredded sheets, blanket, and bedspread? The stench of cat pee suffusing the bed and carpet? Slashed clothes, chewed shoes, and scattered hairballs?

  "I'm home." Flipping on the lights with the switch beside the door, I looked around. And I was stunned by what I saw. Sure, I'd expected levels of cat-induced destruction. But I hadn't expected this.

  I hadn't expected an undamaged room.

  My first thought was that the cat had gotten out. "Ghost? Are you in here?" As far as I could tell, nothing had been harmed. Nothing had even been moved. The place looked exactly the same as I'd left it.

  I took a deep breath and smelled nothing unusual. I walked around for a closer look and saw no damage I'd missed from the doorway.

  When I checked the kitchenette and bathroom, I saw more of the same. Everything was perfectly fine. If I hadn't known better, I might have thought the cat had never been there at all.

  There was one place left to look for a trace of him. Setting the carton of milk on top of the refrigerator, I went to the bed and knelt down beside it. My long braid fell to the floor as I lowered my head and lifted the skirt of the bedspread to have a look.

  Two glow-in-the-dark green eyes stared back at me, framed by snow-white fur.

  "There you are." I smiled. "Thanks for being such a good kitty while I was away, Ghost."

  The cat ducked his head a little, as if he were nodding. The soft pink shells of his ears were tipped toward me.

  "Guess what? I brought you a treat." Pushing up from the floor, I got to my feet. Walking into the kitchenette area, I opened one of the overhead cupboards and pulled out a blue plastic cereal bowl from the bottom shelf. "You're gonna love this, Ghost."

  I picked up the milk carton, tore open the upper lip at one end, and unfolded the pour spout. "Mmm, delicious milk, Ghost." I poured about a half-inch of milk into the cereal bowl, then closed the carton and stowed it in the fridge. "Just what you need for a midnight snack, huh?"

  I heard no sound from under the bed and saw no movement. Ghost was playing it cool.

  Carrying the bowl of milk, I crossed the room to the door, then stopped with my hand on the knob. "Come and get it, Ghost! Cool, delicious milk, and it's all yours."

  But Ghost didn't show. I opened the door, put the bowl down on the sidewalk outside, and stepped well away from it...but the cat stayed under the bed.

  "Go ahead, Ghost." I walked across the room and leaned my hip against the mini-fridge. "Go get your treat, honey. There's more where that came from."

  Still nothing. I sighed, starting to worry I might not be able to get the cat out after all. I'd just assumed he'd like milk enough to run out after it. Maybe what I needed was a dead mouse in that bowl.

  "Aw, Ghost." Pushing away from the mini-fridge, I walked over to the bed. Leaving him in the room all night just wasn't an option; as clean, well, and tame as Ghost seemed, he could still be dangerous. I knew cats sometimes searched out safe hiding places when they were sick or about to die.

  But what could I do if he wouldn't leave voluntarily? I sank down on the corner of the bed, deep in thought, fishing for a plan.

  Which was exactly when Ghost shot out from under the bedspread skirt and ran for the milk in a blur of white.

  As he stopped outside and dipped his head to lap from the blue bowl, I leaped up from the bed and charged after him. He was still lapping away when I flung the door shut behind him.

  Slumping back against the door, I blew out my breath in relief. As tired as I felt at that point, I was glad the battle of wills was over...also glad it hadn't ended with Ghost getting hurt.

  Though maybe his feelings were hurt. He was scratching the door and mewing on the other side. Was he protesting his exile or asking for more milk?

  "Sorry, Ghost." I pushed away from the door. "The dairy's closed for the night."

  Eventually, he stopped making noise. By then, I'd gotten undressed and collapsed into bed.

  I was almost sorry he'd gone quiet. I actually thought about getting up and letting him back in, even with the risks involved.

  Because that snow-white stray cat had taken my mind off my father's murder. Now that he'd gone, a flood of worries rushed into my mind, keeping my wheels spinning when what I wanted to do was sleep.

  And I stayed that way late into the night, brain churning relentlessly, until I finally managed to let go.

  *****

  Chapter 20

  I woke early the next morning, just after five. Thought I'd heard the cat scratching and mewing at the door again...but maybe it was all in a dream.

  Then, I rolled over and fell asleep for another half-hour. When I got up the next time, I was up for good, though not really alert. Even coffee from the kitchenette and a hot shower weren't enough to sweep the cobwebs out of my head, probably because I'd only slept four and a half hours all told.

  I pulled on bluejeans and a cream top with three-quarter length sleeves and stylized starbursts printed on the front and back. Not my first choice for a workday outfit, but I hadn't brought much with me from L.A. I hadn't expected to stay in New Krakow for a week, let alone work a new job.

  When it came time to leave, I cracked the door carefully and looked out. The coast was clear.

  When I opened the door wider and leaned out further, there was still no sign of Ghost. I was a little disappointed.

  Bending down, I picked up the blue cereal bowl from the sidewalk and took it to the kitchenette. A dried white ring in the groove around the inside of the bottom of the bowl was the only remaining trace of the milk I'd put out for Ghost.

  I filled the bowl with water and left it in the sink, then scooped up my keys and butterscotch leather purse from the desk.

  As I stepped outside and shut the door, I wondered if I would see Ghost again that night. Now that I'd fed him, he probably wouldn't be able to resist dropping by...though he'd seemed to take a shine to me long before that.

  He'd been a nuisance, but I hoped he'd pay me a visit. He was a mystery--the kind that didn't involve a murdered father. If I could just get a look at the silver I.D. tags on his collar...

  *****

  By the time I rolled up in front of Polka Central, it was almost six-thirty. I was a half-hour late, according to Peg's schedule...but oh well. Let her read me the riot act if she wanted to; technically, she wasn't the boss of me.

  Anyway, Eddie Jr. and Glynne weren't there yet, either. As I parked the red Hyundai along the cur
b, I saw no sign of Eddie's silver pickup. Whatever Glynne drove, it wasn't there, either; the only car parked at Polka Central was Peg's battered white Oldsmobile.

  When I got out of my rent-a-car, I noticed right away that Polka Central was much quieter than the day before. It was a Monday morning, so there was no radio broadcast in progress. The doors were closed, and no polka music pumped out into the neighborhood.

  When I opened the front door, I saw the place was deserted. The crowd of three-stepping dancers was gone; the hall was silent and still...and decrepit.

  Without distractions, I got a better sense of just how dilapidated Polka Central was. It was hard to find a place on the walls or ceiling where the paint hadn't peeled off, leaving ragged patches of exposed drywall. Sections of the scuffed old gymnasium floor were warped and discolored. The stained glass windows in the front and side walls had been broken in places, messily patched with cardboard and duct tape. Half the bulbs in the caged light fixtures suspended overhead were dark. There were scaffolding panels and frames stacked against one wall, but it didn't seem to me like they'd been moved in a long time.

  As I looked around, I doubted Dad had put any money into the place since he'd bought it. I wondered how much longer it would be until it collapsed on a full house of Sunday morning polka dancers.

  It was too bad, because I did think it was an interesting space. I have an eye for possibilities, and Polka Central definitely had them.

  It could make a heck of a small music venue. Without the polkas, of course.

  Taking in the details, I crossed the big room and walked up onto the stage. "Peg?" There was no sound from backstage. Frowning, I strolled to the mid-point of the gray stage curtains and pushed them apart.

  When I stepped through, a wave of panic shot through me. I'd expected to see Peg hard at work in the office area, shuffling papers and typing on the new laptop.