Dying for a Dance Read Online Free Page B

shoulders and regained her customary regal posture. “Detective, I cannot understand why you won't let me share my thoughts about Dimitri's death.”
    “Yeah, Tom, you should listen to Dana,” I interrupted as I joined them. The more information he possessed, the better for everyone. And the sooner I could go home.
    “Laurel, it's nice to see you again but a shame we have to meet under such tragic circumstances,” Dana said. “I've tried to share some important information with these gentlemen, but they don't seem to be interested.”
    “I'm sure Detective Hunter would be thrilled to hear anything you can share about this murder,” I replied.
    “Ladies, no one has determined this is a murder,” Tom said, his face drawn. “Trust me. We'll be investigating all possibilities.”
    “I would certainly think you'd want to know about the letters Dimitri received,” Dana replied.
    “Letters?” Tom asked.
    “Not just letters. Death threats.”
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    FIVE
    * * * *
    “What do you mean by death threats?” Tom guided Dana out of hearing range. After investigating me for four weeks and dating me for two, he should have known that wouldn't stop me from eavesdropping.
    I ambled over, bent down and played with the back strap of my heel, adjusting the metal clasp as I listened in on their conversation.
    “Dimitri received the first warning about three weeks ago. The note was typed on plain white paper and left in an envelope up front.” Dana pointed in the direction of the reception desk.
    “Did you see the note?”
    “No, he told me about it.”
    “And the reason he confided in you?” The suspicion in Tom's voice was evident to me although Dana didn't seem to notice. Of course I'd been on the wrong end of his interrogations a time or two.
    Marriage to a successful bank president must have honed her instincts because Dana paused for a moment as she contemplated her explanation. “Dimitri has been my dance instructor for over three years. We became friends—very good friends. He felt he could trust me.”
    Tom nodded his acceptance of the explanation. I tossed it around for a few seconds and decided to accept it too. After only a few weeks of dance lessons with Bobby, I felt comfortable confiding in him, much like the personal relationship with my hair stylist.
    “Dimitri received three different notes,” Dana said. “Each one more threatening and disturbing than the previous one. He really freaked out when the third letter arrived.”
    “Did you see any of them?”
    She shook her head. “He told me he tore the first one up thinking it was merely a childish threat. The verbiage was vague. Something like, ‘stop if you know what's good for you.’ The second one was stronger, phrased more like ‘this is the last time we're going to warn you.'”
    “When he received the third note, the threat seemed far more obvious, is that correct?” Tom prompted with his gentle investigator voice. The one he used to catch his suspects unaware.
    And his girlfriends.
    “The third note said, ‘you're a dead man.'”
    “Was it in Russian or English?”
    Dana paused for a minute, her expression perplexed. “I never thought to ask. I assumed it was in English.” She placed her palm on his forearm and blazed a dentist-enhanced pearly white smile in his direction. “Excellent question, detective.”
    Tom nodded, ignoring her. He was used to women simpering over him, flattering him, and plain throwing themselves at him. Must be tough trying to solve crimes when your female suspects are all chasing after you.
    The heavy tread of a paunchy deputy halted their discussion. Katzenbach's expression was as frazzled as the khaki shirt threatening to escape from the regulation belt that couldn't quite contain his non-regulation-sized stomach. Under his breath I heard him mutter something about, “crazy Sputniks.”
    Tom intercepted Katzenbach. “Are you talking about the Russian dancers, Deputy?” he asked