The Homicide Hustle (23 page)

I didn’t have an answer. She’d killed someone, and even though I liked her and had
some sympathy with her motives, they didn’t justify the act. “I’m sorry,” I said.
I was. Very, very sorry.

The police manhandled Phoebe to her feet and cuffed her. Tav helped me up, his hands
gentle, and I turned my face into his shoulder. He stroked my hair for a moment, not
saying anything, and I felt his strength flowing into me. “Thanks,” I murmured, pulling
back slightly. He ran his index finger under my eye; I hadn’t realized until then
that I was crying.

“It will be okay,” he said.

I wasn’t convinced.

Vitaly came up behind us and I stepped away from Tav. “I cannot believe Phoebe killed
Tessa. Why she is doing this?” His brow crinkled with confusion and betrayal as he
watched the police lead his former dance partner to the door where Detective Lissy
stood waiting. After exchanging words with the officers, he made his way through the
crowd to us. I stiffened, waiting for him to chew me out for interfering in his investigation.

“Ms. Graysin, Mr. Acosta, Mr. Voloshin,” he greeted us, nodding at us each in turn.

“Detective Lissy,” we chorused.

“I understand you tangled with the suspect,” he said, looking me over. His gaze made
me wonder just how beat up I looked. “Are you all right?”

I rotated my shoulders, feeling some twinges, and suddenly became aware of new aches,
especially in my abs and tailbone. “I’ll live.”

“Thank you for your help in apprehending Ms. Jackson,” he said, surprising me. “I
understand she confessed to you?”

I nodded.

“When you’re done here”—he gestured toward the chaos that surrounded us—“I need you
to come down to the station and give me a statement.”

“Will do.”

As Detective Lissy turned away, Nigel Whiteman bounded toward us with a blazing smile.
Larry trailed him, camera strapped to his chest, and I wondered how much of the chase,
fight, and apprehension they had captured on film. Probably all of it.

“This is brilliant, Stacy, brilliant! I couldn’t have staged it better myself. I can’t
believe that Phoebe Jackson did in Tessa. I rather thought it was Savage, myself.
Just goes to show, doesn’t it?” The way he said their names made it sound as if he
were talking about movie characters, rather than people he knew and cared about.

I couldn’t help wishing it had been Nigel, and that he was the one in handcuffs being
hauled off to jail.

“Anyway, we’ve got it all on film, and I want to do a two-hour special, to air after
the
Blisters
finale, that features you talking about what led you to Phoebe and how you cornered
her. You can talk about your investigative techniques, the evidence you uncovered,
what made you suspect that Phoebe was a vicious killer. We’ll intersperse it with
clips of Phoebe’s movies and bits from Tessa’s documentaries, as a tribute to her.
What do you say? You’ll be famous!”

The punch I launched at Nigel dislodged my halter top, which was dangling from a single
strap, so he got what he’d wanted from the first: a wardrobe malfunction. He also
got a bloody nose.

While he clutched his nose with both hands and howled for a doctor, Vitaly, Tav, and
I headed for the door. Contract or no contract, we were done with
Ballroom with the B-Listers
.

Chapter 31

Two months later, Tav and I sat snuggled together on the chair and a half in my sitting
room. It was a tight fit, but I wasn’t complaining. We were watching an entertainment
news show on my new TV because the promos promised an update on Phoebe Jackson and
the pending trial. Tav tightened his arm around me as the pert anchor reported that
Phoebe Jackson was free on bond, awaiting trial, and had sold the movie rights to
her story to a producer—not Nigel Whiteman—to pay her legal team.

“Are you worried about the trial?” Tav asked.

I gave a small nod. I was dreading it.

“Maybe she will make a deal and you won’t have to testify,” he said.

I hoped so. It felt like only last week that I’d been struggling with Phoebe, had
seen the police haul her away in handcuffs. Yet, so much had happened in the interim.
Nigel was forced to cancel the
Blisters
season after Graysin Motion resigned from the show and Zane got a part in the up-and-coming
director’s new movie and pulled out of the competition. Nanette Fleaston also withdrew,
saying that Jezebel told her something bad would happen if she continued on with the
dance competition. Personally, I couldn’t imagine what the pig thought would be worse
than murder, unless it had something to do with pork chops. Kevin McDill’s article,
largely based on interviews with yours truly, made it unlikely that
Blisters
would ever have another season. Zane’s new movie was filming in North Carolina and
he and Danielle saw each other on the weekends sometimes. She’d driven down there
twice, even though I suggested she might want to take things slowly. Little sisters
always have to learn things the hard way. Lately, there’d been hints in the gossip
columns about Zane and his lovely costar, so we’ll see. Regardless, I won’t say “I
told you so,” and I’ve stocked up on pints of Ben & Jerry’s, just in case.

“Any regrets?” Tav asked, sensing my pensiveness. His breath moved the hairs along
my temple and I shivered.

“I wish I could’ve spent some of the reward money on something
fun
,” I admitted.

Nigel’s production company ended up paying a third of the reward to me and a third
each to Li’l Boni and Esteban Figueroa when I told the police how their information
helped me figure out Phoebe killed Tessa. Figueroa used his windfall on medical bills,
and I didn’t know what Li’l Boni used his share for. Once the government took its
cut and Graysin Motion made a down payment on the property taxes owed to the city,
my share was gone—poof! On top of that, I was having to pay legal fees: Club Nitro
sued me for damages resulting from my chasing Phoebe through the club. “No good deed
goes unpunished,” as my lawyer, Phineas Drake, likes to say. He was confident I wouldn’t
have to pay the club anything, but his fees are so exorbitant that I won’t have enough
money left in the bank to buy a new lipstick.

“We can have fun without any money at all,” Tav suggested, nibbling my ear.

“You think?” I turned my head so our lips met.

Tav and I are taking things slowly—unlike Danielle—but sometimes I have to pinch myself
I feel so happy. I may not have come away with a Crystal Slipper, but I’m still the
luckiest woman inside the Beltway: I’m dating the world’s sexiest, nicest man; I get
to ballroom dance for a living; and my studio’s doing really well now since there
hasn’t been a death in the ballroom community in over a month. We’ll be turning a
profit by Christmas as long as there’s not another murder. And, really, how likely
is that?

Reaching blindly for the remote, I clicked off the television and gave myself over
to the swirl of sensation stirred by Tav’s kisses and wandering hands. Fade to black . . .

Other Ballroom Dance Mysteries

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Dead Man Waltzing