Dead on the Dance Floor by Heather Graham

Author:Heather Graham [Graham, Heather]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: Fiction, Suspense
Publisher: MIRA
Published: 2004-05-25T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

Gordon Henson appreciated his Sunday afternoons.

Not that he worked all that hard at his studio anymore. He’d banked on grooming Shannon for the job of managing the place, and he’d chosen well. He could actually have retired already, but he had discovered that he didn’t want to. In the past few years, he’d actually begun to make money—real money.

But he couldn’t do it without his involvement in the studio.

Not to mention the fact that he would never fall out of love with dance. He didn’t teach anymore, but he attended the parties and certainly spent time down at the club. A nice lifestyle. He’d been married once, discovered it wasn’t for him, and despite the fact that time was passing, he didn’t feel the need for a permanent relationship. Rather, he liked the lifestyle on the beach and in the nearby clubs, where just about everything went. There were so many people out there. So many colors, nationalities, heights, weights, creeds, whatever. Even sexual mores. Gordon was open to anything in life.

He loved the studio, the club, his work week.

But he loved his Sundays, too.

Sometimes Sundays meant spending some off time with his employees. He would have Ella Rodriguez plan a picnic at a park, maybe up in Broward, where there was a small pretense of a water park. He also liked to get his teachers up on skates—roller, in-line, or ice—because they helped with movement and balance. Sometimes he used his Sundays very privately, having found an intriguing person to date.

And sometimes, after an eventful week like this one, he liked to sit in his condo and catch up on movies he hadn’t seen, or watch an old classic.

Years ago, he’d fallen in love with dance by watching Fred and Ginger, Cyd Charisse, Donald O’Connor, Buddy Ebsen, Gene Kelly, or any one of the men or women who embodied the grace and spirit of dance. Today he’d chosen to watch “Singin’ in the Rain.” He would never tire of it.

Gene Kelly was moving across the screen with his own particular brand of sheer genius when the phone rang.

He ignored it, letting the machine pick up. When it did, the caller hung up, then rang again. Persistently.

Gordon swore, clicked the hold button on the remote and answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“You got a good thing going there, at that studio.”

“Yes?”

“That’s it. You got a good thing going at that studio. A really good thing. Remember that. Remember that at all times.”

Then the phone went dead in Gordon’s hand, and he stared at it, feeling a bead of perspiration break out on his flesh, along with an eerie sense of chill.

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