Death of a Dancing Queen by Kimberly G. Giarratano

Author:Kimberly G. Giarratano
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781915202512
Publisher: Watkins Media
Published: 2023-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

Later that afternoon, Billie went for a run in Overpeck Park. She liked to jog the trail alongside the creek, but the water reflected a pewter-gray sky, making it look like a stainless steel slab at the morgue. The marsh was dry and cracked. The willow branches drooped like lifeless puppets.

Every step felt like a struggle. She couldn’t summon the energy to maintain her pace, but she needed to keep her heart pumping and the blood flowing. This was good for her, she reminded herself.

She worried about getting complacent. It was so easy to make excuses, to slack off. Could skipping a run really make a difference in whether she lost her memory at fifty-five or fifty-eight years old? If she ran a fourth day, could she stave off the disease until sixty?

The problem was that she didn’t know. She could find out if she was a carrier for the early-onset gene, but even then, it couldn’t assess her risk with hundred percent certainty. And all the runs in the world wouldn’t make a difference.

Billie liked to know things. She hated gaps in information and despised ambiguity. Except her whole future was anyone’s guess, and she couldn’t stand it.

She kept on running. The tip of her nose was cold, and her hair was wet with a fine mist. At some point, while she was lost in her own thoughts, it had begun to drizzle.

She stopped to use the bathroom in the Ridgefield Park area near the baseball diamond. There was no game today, not on a cold Tuesday morning in November.

In fact, the whole place seemed deserted.

She went into a stall to pee, heard the restroom door open and close. She finished her business and approached the sink to wash her hands.

Glancing up, she spotted a face in the bathroom mirror.

A male face.

She whipped around.

A tattooed eyelid blinked at her.

Ian Dryden.

Billie’s stomach dropped, and a cold sweat erupted in her armpits. She eyed the door then opened her mouth to scream.

But Ian wagged a finger at her. “No, no, no. Got my man stationed outside. You’re cornered.” He smiled with no teeth.

Billie glanced around, wondering what she could use as a weapon, but there were only sinks and soap dispensers.

Her throat felt like sand. “What do you want?” She managed to keep her voice firm, tough, but she couldn’t look him in the eye. Not with that swastika inked into his skin.

Ian approached her slowly, as if trying to capture a lost pet, and touched her cheek. His nails were stubby and bitten. “Give Tommy Boy a message,” he whispered in her ear. His breath smelled bitter. “I will get him. And if not him then you.”

“What do I have to do with anything?”

“You’re poking your big nose into business that doesn’t concern you.”

She swallowed.

A high-pitched whistle came from outside. Ian squared his shoulders, but he looked disappointed.

“See you around.”

When he turned, she noticed a sparkle in the florescent bathroom lighting. Whatever he was wearing caught the light just so that it blinded her for a moment.

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