Solange.
Maurice must have let her in; he’d had a private session scheduled for earlier this afternoon. Furious that she had the nerve-the gall!-to waltz in and use my studio after all that had happened, I banged through the door and stomped to the small studio. The door stood open and I reached down and unplugged the stereo. The couple stuttered to a stop when the music died, Solange facing me.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I spat. “Out. Now.”
“My partner and I are getting in some rehearsal time,” she said, not one whit embarrassed by my appearance. “And since we’re-I’m-going to be part-owner of the studio soon, it seemed foolish to wait on all that paperwork. That look’s a little blatant, don’t you think?” She nodded at my partially buttoned shirt, which, I saw, was displaying way too much cleavage and half of my sheer, flesh-colored bra.
My fingers fumbled with the buttons as my stomach roiled at the thought of sharing the studio with Solange. I couldn’t do it. If Tav sold out to her I’d start over again, change the name… anything rather than work with the scheming bitch.
Solange’s partner turned around and I gasped. “Mark?” My hands dropped to my sides.
Mark Downey’s gaze grazed my chest and then he tilted his chin up as if daring me to say something. “Now that Solange’s ankle is doing better, she and I have entered the Emerald Ball in LA next month-too bad it’s too late for an invitation to Blackpool this year-and we need a place to practice. Surely you wouldn’t be so petty-”
Oh, yes I would. I was prepared to scale new heights of pettiness, not that I thought it was petty to kick this conniving couple out of my dance studio. My mind snagged on something Solange had said. “What did you mean ‘we’ are going to be part-owners of the studio?”
For the first time she looked flustered, her eyes darting from me to Mark. “I just meant that we-you and I-were going to be partners.”
“No, you didn’t.” I advanced on her.
“We might as well tell her,” Mark said, stepping into my path. He looked smug. “I’m Solange’s financial backer. We’re going in together to buy Rafe’s share. We weren’t going to say anything until after it was a done deal-I was afraid you’d try to put a wrench in it since you didn’t seem to want me involved-but what can you do, after all? Solange got a list of all your students and their contact info-you really ought to practice better computer security-and we’ve already talked to some of them.”
“That’s what you were doing in my office?” I asked Solange. “Stealing our client list?”
She looked furious with Mark for mentioning it, but nodded curtly.
Another thought came to me. “You went to Rafe’s, too, didn’t you, to search his laptop? The day after he died?” I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that he’d given her a key.
Her eyes narrowed. “That was you that came in? Shit, you almost gave me a heart attack.”
Mark tossed a lock of limp hair out of his eyes, reclaiming my attention. I couldn’t believe I’d danced with him, taught him for three years, and I hadn’t seen what he was really like. This was turning into a nightmare. “You’ll be sorry you passed up the chance to partner with me,” he said in a low voice.
Something in his eyes made me back up a step and a horrifying thought came to me. “I’m only sorry I ever accepted you as a student. You can do better, Solange,” I said.
“I’ve been out of action too long with my damned ankle,” she said, rotating it. “The established male pros are already committed to other partners. I think Mark is worth taking a chance on.” She sent him a smile.
“You’ll be taking a chance, all right,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “He shot Rafe and poisoned Vitaly in order to become my partner. Now he’s using you to-”
“You’re insane,” Mark said. “Don’t listen to her, Solange. She’s losing it.”
He sounded confident, but a furtive look in his eyes convinced me I was on the right track. “Did the police check your alibi for the night Rafe was shot? Probably not, because they were convinced I did it. And I’ll bet they find your fingerprints on the grapefruit juice bottles-”
“I got rid-” Mark stopped himself, but it was too late.
I think my mind had made the connection between Vitaly’s sudden illness and the missing grapefruit bottles subconsciously. Someone-Mark-had deliberately removed them after Vitaly fell ill. “You did… you killed Rafe.”
“I was thrilled when someone bumped him off, but it wasn’t me,” he said. “You should have turned to me then, let me help you through the rough time, taken me on as your partner. I wanted to be there for you. But, no. You paired up with Voloshin. So I put a little laxative in his juice. Big deal! I thought with him out of action, you’d surely ask me to fill in. But he didn’t stay down long enough. And then, with the fire, I thought you’d be forced to turn to me for help to keep the studio afloat. I was going to come to you in a couple of days and offer to pay for the repairs. I knew how happy you’d be. Stacy, I love you-just give me a chance.” He lunged forward and grasped my hands, a pleading look on his face. “We’ve had a good thing going for three years. Don’t throw it away because I made a little mistake.”
“We haven’t had anything going, Mark!” I exclaimed, trying to free my hands. “You were my student. That’s all.”
“I could feel more than that when we danced,” he insisted, drawing me closer. His warm breath fanned my cheek. “You deny it, but you felt something for me. The way you pressed against me, the way your hand clasped mine. If it hadn’t been for Acosta-”
“You’re totally delusional,” I said. “Let me go!” I struggled against him, but he was far stronger than I was and caught me in a bear hug with my hands trapped to my sides. I whipped my knee up, aiming for his groin, but only smacked his thigh because he held me too close. He let out a soft uh, and shifted position slightly. I stomped on his foot, but my espadrille made little impact.
“Don’t make fun of me,” he growled. His lips made a slimy trail up my neck. “You can love me back if you just try. I-” His grip suddenly loosened and he staggered back from me, then dropped to his knees. Blood dripped from the back of his head and he groggily reached a hand to his skull.
Solange stood behind him, dance pump gripped tightly in her hand, the heel bloodied from where she’d whacked it against Mark’s head.
“Thanks,” I said, gasping.
“The ick factor was just getting too high,” she said with a grimace. “Who knew he was a psychotic stalker? I guess now I’ll have to hold auditions for another partner.”
“Don’t think saving me means you get to keep dancing here,” I said, dialing 911, “because I have a hard-and-fast policy against client-stealing, fiancé-poaching sneaks, even when they save me from certifiable whackjobs.”
Uniformed police showed up quickly and seemed inclined to arrest Solange for assaulting Mark Downey. I told them she had hit him to save me and suggested that Mark had killed Rafe. That got them on the radio to summon Detective Lissy, who arrived as the EMTs were carting Mark off to the hospital for some stitches and observation. He looked even more annoyed than usual, and kept a hand pressed to his side as if he had a stitch. He talked to Solange first and finally let her go.
“If I’d known it was going to be this much hassle, I’d just have let the nutcase have her,” I heard her grumble as she descended the stairs barefoot, the police having confiscated her one shoe as evidence.
Detective Lissy approached me where I sat slumped against the hall wall, guarded by a policewoman assigned to make sure Solange and I didn’t confer about our stories. “Miss Graysin,” he said, looking down at me.
If he thought I was going to leap to my feet at his appearance, he had another think coming. I was too darned tired. I waited for him to continue.