Dead On The Dance Floor. Heather Graham

course I remember. But as I’m sure you’ve noticed, Jane isn’t in yet. She has a dental appointment—which she announced at the same meeting. Rhianna couldn’t change her weekly two-o’clock, because we don’t open until then and her guy works nights. And this new guy is coming in because Doug bought him a guest pass. Actually, it’s Doug’s brother. Personally, I can’t wait to see him.”

      “I keep telling you that you should go ahead and get your certification to teach,” Shannon said. Ella had the natural ability to become an excellent teacher. But she had come to the studio two years ago looking for a clerical position and still shied away from anything else.

      As for herself, at this particular time, Shannon just didn’t want to teach, which was odd, because watching the growth of a student was something she truly enjoyed.

      Everything, however, had seemed off-kilter since Lara had dropped dead. Naturally it had shaken the entire dance world. Sudden death was always traumatic.

      But it was true as well that Lara Trudeau hadn’t been her favorite person.

      Championships—no matter how many—didn’t guarantee a decent living, not in the States. Lara had coached to supplement her income. Gordon Henson had been her first ballroom instructor. He had maintained his pride in his prize student, and, to her credit, Lara had come to the Moonlight Sonata studio whenever he asked her, within reason. But after he had begun to groom Shannon to take over management of the studio, he had left the hiring of coaches to her.

      And because Lara was excellent and a real draw for the students, Shannon had continued to bring her in. But unlike a number of the other coaches they hired, Lara was not averse to making fun of the students—or the teachers—after a coaching session.

      Shannon also had other, more personal, reasons for disliking Lara. Even so, it still bothered her deeply that Lara had died. It might have been the simple fact that no one so young should perish. Or perhaps it was impossible to see anyone who was so much a part of one’s life—liked or disliked—go so abruptly from it without feeling a sense of mourning and loss. Part of it was a sense of confusion, or of disbelief, that remained. Whatever the reasons, Shannon simply felt off, and it was difficult enough to maintain a working mentality to deal with the needs of the upcoming Gator Gala, much less consider teaching a beginner with a smile and the enthusiasm necessary to bring them into the family fold of the studio.

      “She hasn’t even been dead a week yet,” Shannon said. “She hasn’t even been buried yet.” Because Lara’s death had to be investigated, she had been taken to the county morgue until her body could be released by the medical examiner. But once his findings had been complete, Ben, Lara’s ex, along with Gordon, had gotten together to make the arrangements. Lara had come to Miami for college almost twenty years ago, and sometime during the next few years, her parents had passed away. She’d never had children, and if she had any close relatives, they hadn’t appeared in all the years. Because she was a celebrity, even after her death had officially been declared accidental, the two men had opted for a Saturday morning funeral.

      “Shannon, she breezed through here to dance now and then, and yes, we knew her. She wasn’t like a sister. We need to get past this,” Ella insisted. “Honestly, if anyone really knew her, it was Gordon, and he’s moving on.”

      Yes, their boss was definitely moving on, Shannon thought. He had spent yesterday in his office, giving great concern to swatches of fabric he had acquired, trying to determine which he liked best for the new drapes he was putting in his living room.

      “I don’t know about you,” Ella said, shaking her head. “You were all upset when Nell Durken died, and she hadn’t been in here in a year.”

      “Nell Durken didn’t just die. Her husband killed her. He probably realized he was about to lose his meal ticket,” Shannon said bitterly. Nell Durken had been one of the most amazing students to come through the door. Bubbly, beautiful and always full of life, she had been a ray of sunshine. She’d been friendly with all the students, wry about the fact that she couldn’t drag her husband in, but determined to learn on her own. Hearing that the man had killed her had been horribly distressing.

      “Jeez,” Shannon breathed suddenly.

      “What?” Ella said.

      “It’s just strange…isn’t it?”

      “What’s strange?” Ella asked, shaking her head.

      “Nell Durken died because her husband forced an overdose of sleeping pills down her throat.”

      “Yes? The guy was a bastard—we all thought that,” Ella said. “No one realized he was a lethal bastard, but…anyway, the cops got him. He was having an affair, but Nell was the one with the trust fund. He probably thought he’d get away with forcing all those pills down her throat. It would look like an accident, and he’d get to keep the money,” Ella said. “But they’ve got him. He could even get the death penalty—his motive was evident and his fingerprints were all over the bottle of pills.”

      “Have you been watching too many cop shows?” came a query from the open door. A look of amusement on his face, Gordon was staring in at the two women.

      “No, Gordon,” Ella said. “I’m just pointing out what happened to Nell Durken. And hoping the bastard will fry.”

      “Fry?” Gordon said.

      “Okay, so now it’s usually lethal injection. He was so mean to her, long before he killed her,” Ella said, shaking her head.

      Gordon frowned. “What brought up Nell Durken?”

      “Talking about Lara,” Ella said.

      Gordon didn’t seem to see the correlation. “We’ve lost Lara. That’s that. She was kind of like Icarus, I guess, trying to fly too high. As to Nell…hell, we all knew she needed to leave that bastard. It’s too bad she didn’t. I wish she’d kept dancing.”

      “She stopped coming in when he planned that Caribbean vacation for her, remember?” Shannon said thoughtfully. “They were going on a second honeymoon. He was going to make everything up to her.”

      “And we all figured they got on great and things were lovey-dovey again, because she called in afterward saying that she wasn’t going to schedule any more lessons for a while because they were going to be traveling. And, of course,” Ella added pointedly, since Gordon was staring at her, his mouth open as if he were about to speak, “like a good receptionist, I followed up with calls, but I always got her answering machine, and then, I guess, after about six months, she kind of slipped off the ‘things to do’ list.”

      “It’s horrible, though, isn’t it?” Shannon murmured. “I hope we’re not bad luck. I mean, an ex-student is murdered by her husband, and then…then Lara drops dead.”

      “You think we’re jinxed?”

      Shannon looked past Gordon’s shoulder. Sam Railey was right behind Gordon, staring in.

      “Jinxed?” Gordon protested. “Don’t even suggest such a thing. Nell was long gone from here when she was murdered. And Lara…Lara is simply a tragedy.” He held up three fingers. “The Broward studio lost two students and an instructor last year.”

      Shannon hid a smile, her brow quirking upward. “Gordon, the students were Mr. and Mrs. Hallsly, ninety and ninety three, respectively. It wasn’t such a shock that they died with a few months of one another. And,” she added softly, since she had been very fond of Dick Graft, the instructor who had died, “Dick had an aneurism.”

      “I’m pointing out the fact that people die and we’re not jinxed,” Gordon said.

      “Man, I hope not,” Sam said. “Because that would be two for us. And you know, things happen in threes.”

      “Sam!” Gordon said.

      “Oh, man, sorry. Hey, don’t worry, I’d never say anything like that in front of the students.”

      “I