A Dance With Murder by Elizabeth Coleman

Author:Elizabeth Coleman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pantera Press
Published: 2024-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty–Three

Giselle was radiating peak ballerina as she spun several times on one foot, while a skinny but muscly guy in tights balanced her with a hand on her waist. Giselle finished effortlessly in a deep arabesque, and a long-necked woman in black leotards and a diaphanous skirt, presumably the director, Marilyn Sparrow, who’d given Ted permission to be here, made some suggestions in French. Ted was surprised – the arabesque had looked flawless to her. But what did she know? She was in awe of her client’s contortions. How could Giselle last on her toes for so long? Sure, there was stiffened canvas in the ballet slippers, but still.

She looked at her watch. 8.29 pm. Rehearsals were ending any minute now, and she could finally break the bad news about Mitch. She took a step back and tried to lurk inconspicuously in a corner, but she kept catching curious glances from pale, impossibly elegant dancers who were stretching their pale, impossibly elegant legs at barres in front of floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

Ted fixed her gaze on Marilyn Sparrow, willing her to wrap things up. It must have worked because the next thing she knew, Giselle was rushing across the room, her short tutu radiating around her hips like a tulle pineapple ring. Even in her haste, she looked as if she was floating on air. Spots of sweat on her forehead brought to mind dainty dew drops and, in spite of everything, Ted couldn’t help wondering if her armpits smelled like rose petals.

‘Ted! Why are you here? What’s wrong?’ Giselle asked anxiously.

‘Can we talk in private?’

Giselle nodded and wiped her face with a towel. ‘They’ll all be gone in a second.’

But Marilyn Sparrow was on approach. Dammit. Ted realised it was the least she could do to introduce herself and thank her for allowing the intrusion. Those niceties occupied the next few minutes, but still Marilyn and the other dancers lingered, stretching and gossiping. Ted wished she could produce a tray of Big Macs – that would be bound to make them scatter. Eventually the last of them straggled gracefully out of the room. Ted closed the door.

‘Well?’ Giselle asked, her voice now an octave higher. ‘Why are you here?’

‘I’m really sorry,’ Ted said. She’d decided there was no point beating around the bush. ‘I’m afraid Mitch is your stalker.’

Giselle went as white as her lycra leotard. She gaped at Ted incredulously.

‘Mitch …? Mitch Prowse?’

‘Yes. I’m sorry.’

Poor Giselle seemed lost for words. Ted filled her in on the details, including how Mitch had drafted Ollie to write the notes.

‘Oh my God …’ Giselle eventually said. ‘Why didn’t this occur to me before? He’s always hanging around, being so “helpful”. Poor Fleur. And poor Ollie.’

‘I know, the guy’s scum. He’s betrayed his son’s trust and your friendship, and he’s one of Spike’s best mates. Or so Spike thinks!’

Giselle threw her a puzzled look.

‘I mean, that’s how it seems from a distance at Swordcraft,’ Ted said quickly. ‘They’re always hanging out together.’

Giselle nodded, but she was barely listening.

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