Dead On The Dance Floor. Heather Graham

like that. And I know damn well she didn’t feel that way about me. But whether she could be a bitch or not, and whether or not we were meant for the ages, hell, yes, I cared about her.”

      “And are you asking me to look into this because your feelings are ruling your mind?” Quinn asked seriously.

      Doug shook his head. “We weren’t a ‘thing,’ by any means. And I wasn’t the only one involved with her. She could play games. Or maybe, in her mind, she wasn’t playing games. She kind of considered herself a free spirit.” He shrugged, not looking at Quinn. “Kind of as if she was a gift to the world and the men in it, and she bestowed herself when she felt it was warranted, or when she was struck by whim, I guess. At any rate, I wasn’t the only one she was sleeping with,” Doug said flatly.

      “Great. You know who else she was seeing?”

      “I know who she might have been seeing—anyone around the studio.”

      “And how many people knew about your relationship?”

      “I don’t know,” Doug admitted.

      “This is pretty damn vague.”

      “It wouldn’t need to be—if you would just agree to look into what happened.”

      Quinn surveyed his younger brother thoughtfully. He was caught up in this thing emotionally. And maybe that was why he didn’t want it to have happened the way it appeared.

      “Maybe you should make it a point to stay away from the homicide guys, Doug. If the police suspected someone of murder, you might be first in line.”

      “But I didn’t kill her. I’m a cop. And even if I wasn’t, I’d never murder anyone, Quinn. You know that.”

      “You had a relationship with the woman. If you convince people that she was killed, you could wind up under investigation yourself, you understand that?”

      “Of course. But I’m innocent.”

      Quinn looked at the newspaper again. “She died because of an overdose of the prescription drug Xanax. The alcohol might have enhanced the drug, bringing on cardiac arrest.”

      “Yes,” Doug said. “And the cop on the case is certain that in her pigheaded quest for eternal fame—my adjective, not his—she got nervous.”

      “Doug, I’m sorry to say it, but I’ve seen people do a lot of stupid things. It may be tragic, but it looks as if she got nervous, took the pills, then drank.”

      Doug groaned, shaking his head. “No.”

      “You don’t think that’s even possible?”

      “No.”

      “The prescription was in her name. Her doctor was contacted. According to him, she’d been taking a few pills before performances for the past several years. It’s in the article.”

      “That’s right,” Doug agreed calmly.

      “Doug, unless you’ve got more to go on…I can’t even understand what you think I can do for you.”

      “I’ve got more to go on. A hunch. A feeling. A certainty, actually,” his brother said firmly. Quinn knew Doug. He was capable of being as steadfast as an oak. That was what had gotten him through school and into the academy, where he had graduated with honors. The kid was going to make a fine detective one day.

      “There are times to hold and times to fold, you know,” Quinn said quietly.

      Doug suddenly looked as if he was about to lose it. “I’ll pay you.”

      “We charge way too much,” Quinn told him brusquely.

      “Give me two weeks,” Doug said. “Quinn, dammit, I need your help! Just come into the studio and see if you don’t think people are behaving strangely, that people besides me believe she was murdered.”

      “They’ve told you this?”

      “Not in so many words. In fact, those who knew her well all admit she took pills now and then. She had a drink here and there, too. And yeah, she was getting up there for a woman determined on maintaining her championships in both the smooth and rhythm categories, and in cabaret.”

      “Doug, you might as well be speaking a foreign language,” Quinn said irritably.

      “Rhythm is the faster dances, rumba, cha-cha, swing, hustle, merengue, West Coast swing, polka. Smooth is the fox-trot, waltz, tango. And cabaret is for partners and combines different things.”

      “All right, all right, never mind. I get the picture.”

      “So?”

      “Doug…”

      “Dammit, Quinn, there were plenty of people who hated her. Plenty of suspects. But if I push any further, someone will start investigating me. Will they ever be able to prove I caused her death? No, because I didn’t. Can my career be ruined? Can people look at me with suspicion for the rest of my life? You bet, and you know it. Quinn, I’m not asking a lot. Just go and take a few dance lessons. It won’t kill you.”

      It won’t kill you. An odd sensation trickled down Quinn’s spine. He wondered if he wouldn’t come to remember those words.

      “Doug, no one will believe I’ve come in for dance lessons. I can’t dance to save my life.”

      “Why do you think guys take lessons?” Doug demanded.

      “To pick up women at the salsa clubs on the beach,” he said flatly.

      “See? A side benefit. What are you going to do—hole up like a hermit for the rest of your life?”

      “I haven’t holed up like a hermit at all.” Did he actually sound defensive?

      His brother just stared at him. Quinn sat back and said, “Wait a minute—is this how you got into the whole thing to begin with? Dance lessons.” He couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d heard that Doug had taken up knitting. Doug had nearly gone the route of a pro athlete. He remained an exceptional golfer and once a week coached a Little League team.

      “Yeah, I was taking lessons,” Doug said.

      “I see.” He paused thoughtfully. “No, I don’t see at all. Why did you decide to take dance lessons?”

      Doug grinned sheepishly. “Randy Torres is getting married. I agreed to be his best man. He and his fiancée, Sheila, started taking lessons for the wedding. I figured, what the hell? I’d go with him a few times and be a good best man. There aren’t nearly as many guys taking lessons as females. The place seemed to be a gold mine of really great looking women. The studio is on South Beach, right above one of the hottest salsa clubs out there. Nice place to go after classes and make use of what you’ve learned. So I started taking lessons.”

      “And wound up…dating an older diva?”

      “That’s the way it went. She wasn’t actually a teacher there—she got paid big bucks to come in and coach now and then. So she wasn’t really in on the teacher rules.”

      “What are the teacher rules?”

      “Teachers aren’t supposed to fraternize with students. A loose rule there, because everyone goes down to the salsa club now and then. Let me tell you, Moonlight Sonata has the best location in history for a dance studio. Sometimes couples come in, and they can dance with each other. But for singles…well, they’re still nervous at first. So if you can go to a club and have a few drinks and have a teacher there to dance with you, make you look good—well, it’s a nice setup. And hey, South Beach, you know. It’s one of those places where rockers and movie stars stop in sometimes.”

      “So there are a lot of players hanging around. And, I imagine, drugs up the wazoo. What’s the name of the club?”

      “Suede.”

      Quinn arched a brow. “I