Lucky and the Banged-up Ballerina Read online

  Regina and Suzie Lynn raise their hands. I shift my eyes over to Liam, who is lounging in the doorway like he’s bored out of his skull.

  “Coming with the girls, Dunning?”

  “Not even under threat of death.” I think he’s being serious, too.

  “What are you even doing here then?”

  “Hooligan One called me, panicking because she thought you’d electrocuted yourself. Again. I don’t know what happened the first time, and something tells me I don’t want to.”

  That’s a long story that has everything to do with how Gumbo came to be part of my household.

  I look over at Regina. “Next time, maybe call 911 instead of Snapper John M.D. here.”

  “I left my phone at home and he was the first person I could find in your contacts who wasn’t old enough to be around for Paul Revere’s ride.”

  I roll my eyes. “Whatever. We’ll discuss it later. Right now, I have my girlhood idol to meet.”

  We file out the door like four little ducks, the end one being more like a mean goose. As if to prove my point, Liam calls out as he rounds his truck’s hood, “Don’t call me if you get in trouble.”

  “She’s a ballerina. What trouble could I possibly get into?”

  Famous last words.

  People are milling around the lobby of the Salty Springs Municipal Theater when we enter. I excuse my way through them like I’m Moses parting the Red Sea.

  I spot the mayor standing off to one side of the doors that lead into the auditorium. He’s a handsome older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a thundercloud expression just like his son. Liam sure does get his grumpiness honest. He just can’t turn his off and replace it with snake-charmer charm like his father can. Unlike the mayor, who trades in perception, Liam is a guileless guy. A guileless guy with a tragic past.

  I make a beeline for William Dunning. The smile he gives someone who passes between us reminds me that his nickname, Slick Willie, is well deserved.

  I stop in front of him and he bestows the same smile on me. I wonder if there are cameras aimed at him. “Ms. Boucher.”

  “Thank you again for doing this, sir. We appreciate it so much.”

  “We?”

  I turn to indicate Regina and Suzie Lynn. The mayor tips his head to look around me at them. He nods and smiles, but it’s a cool smile. I can tell he’s none too pleased.

  Not that I care. I’m too excited to meet the Serena Flowers, child prodigy and ballerina extraordinaire. I feel like we grew up together since we’re almost the same age. She’s one year younger than my twenty-nine.

  “We’d better get back there then. They’re changing and pulling out tonight for their next round of shows up in North Carolina.”

  I follow Slick Willie through a series of doors that lead to the backstage area and then to the green room. It’s a large common area that sits in the center of a semi-circle of dressing rooms. There are comfy-looking couches and deep-seated armchairs scattered about, although everyone back here is standing. In the middle of the room is a long table filled with an amazing spread of food. My stomach growls in response.

  I forget all about food, however, when I see the door with a big shiny star on it, and the name Serena etched in its center. Salty Springs went all out to make these people feel welcome.

  I follow Mayor Dunning toward a man who’s talking to a handful of people with press badges hanging from lanyards around their necks. He’s tall, a head above everyone around him, and thin. He has a fuzzy brown soul patch below his bottom lip, and he’s wearing the kind of round spectacles I always associate with people who go to poetry night and read their work on a stage. Maybe do a weird little dance and flail their arms, too.

  It’s also quite possible I’ve seen too many movies and none of that ever happens.

  “Bill, it’s good to see you again,” the man says as he takes the mayor’s hand and pumps it.

  “Trenton Gibb, Lucky Boucher.”

  Trenton takes my hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Boucher.” His muddy green eyes are admiring. If Liam were here, he’d roll his eyes and call me catnip probably.

  When I was nine years old, my adopted grandmother, Beebee laid her hands on my head and pronounced me as blessed. That’s what got me my nickname of Lucky, and people swear that’s why I get out of scrapes the way I do. It also seems to have altered my effect on men. They just happen to be attracted to me, pretty much immediately. Every single one I’ve met.

  Except for Liam Dunning.

  “And you as well, sir. You’re the owner of the Haysman Troupe, right?”

  “Owner and producer. My love of art and beauty,” he says, his gaze raking my face appreciatively, “are legendary, I’m told.”

  “Ah.” My response is as noncommittal as my smile. I glance to the mayor to let him know he can continue. I have no interest in returning Trenton Gibb’s creeper vibes.

  “So glad you could make Salty Springs a stop along the way. I’ll be mentioning your troupe in the press conference,” the mayor assures.

  Press conference?

  That explains a lot.

  “I loved it the first time you invited me down, Bill. And as always, we’re grateful for your donation.”

  “I’m a big fan of the arts. I feel we should do all we can to preserve them.”

  “It’s a great part of your platform. Happy to support you any way we can.”

  So, that’s what this was all about. Making some sort of political statement in his run for Senate. I liken it to having a good selection of extracurriculars to go along with your application to Harvard.

  Not that I’d know anything about that.

  “I was hoping to be able to thank Ms. Flowers in person, and introduce her to some of her biggest fans.” He gestures mildly to us.

  “Of course. She’s still in her dressing room. Right this way.”

  He leads us to the door with Serena’s name on it. When he clacks his knuckles on it and reaches for the knob, I have the comical mental image of Regina, Suzie Lynn, and me bowing in front of Serena Flowers in the grand tradition of Wayne and Garth, repeating that we’re not worthy. The worst part is, my hair is probably disturbingly similar to Garth’s. After having been dyed every color under the sun, and then bleached several times to get me back to blonde, it’s decidedly dry and frizzy.

  Serena doesn’t answer, so Trenton knocks again. “Serena, you have some visitors.”

  Still no answer.

  Trenton cracks the door and pokes his head inside. There’s a short pause before he swings the door open wider. In that split second, my lucky tingle (that’s my version of a spidey sense) starts sounding the alarm.

  With a gasp, Trenton lunges inside. “Oh, my God! Serena!”

  I don’t even hesitate. I’m right on his heels.

  And that’s when I see her.

  3

  I stop after about three steps and just stare. The door closes behind me. I assume Regina got a glimpse of what I’m seeing and bolted. She has the weakest stomach of anyone I’ve ever met She’s probably leaning on the other side of the door, gulping for air while Suzie Lynn tries to convince her not to puke.

  There, draped over her chair, is Serena Flowers, ballerina of ballerinas. She’s very clearly dead. Banged-up and then some. The front of her white dressing gown is stained red, and there are jagged cuts visible in the fabric all over the torso. Cut marks. Stab marks, if I had to guess. Her body is arranged in a dramatic pose. One leg is bent, the other one kicked out straight. One hand is hanging lifelessly over the arm of the chair, the other resting on her forehead, palm up. She looks like she succumbed to a bad case of the vapors and collapsed onto the chair.

  And then someone stabbed her repeatedly for it.

  Trenton is in the process of bending over her, patting her cheeks, asking her if she’s okay. I feel like telling him that she couldn’t be one bit more not okay unless she’d been decapitated. But I keep that crazy, sarcastic voice silent. This is neither the time no
r the place. I’m as shocked as he is, but only because this woman was my childhood idol, not because there’s a dead body in the room. I’ve seen several of those of late, and I’m getting less and less freaked out by them. I’m not sure that’s a good thing, but it comes in very handy when you’re as fascinated by murders—and the solving of them—as I am.

  That’s when my rational brain kicks in. “Don’t touch her!” I exclaim.

  Trenton goes utterly still. “She’s…she’s…”

  “Yes, sir, she’s dead, but you’re contaminating the crime scene. If you want to know who did this to her, we need to call the police and preserve her body and this room as much as possible.”

  “O-okay.” He backs away from her, and when he does, his feet crunch, like he’s walking on broken glass.

  I glance down.

  That’s because he is.

  In the bare bulbs of her vanity mirror lights, tiny shards sparkle like diamonds all around her.

  “Mr. Trenton, could you move over here and take your shoes off?”

  He gives me the strangest look. “What?”

  “You might be wearing bits and pieces of evidence.” I nod toward the broken glass.

  “Oh.” He walks gingerly toward me, but by the time he arrives, his face is wreathed in a much different expression. He goes from horrified to belligerent in two point two seconds. That’s like the Porsche Boxster of turnarounds. “And just who are you to be telling me what to do?”

  Huh. That’s a much different reaction than I was expecting.

  “I’m no one, but I happen to know a few things about crime scenes, and I know you’re ruining this one.”

  “Don’t you think you should leave that to the police?”

  As far as defenses go, I really don’t have a leg to stand on, but lucky for me, Mayor Dunning is here. “Actually, Bill, she can probably help. She’s got a knack for solving these kinds of…incidents.”

  “Incidents? This isn’t an incident. It’s a murder.”

  “I realize that.”

  Trenton toes off his dress shoes and kicks them aside. He turns back to face Serena, running a hand through his hair. “We need to keep this quiet,” he finally says.

  “Excuse me?” Yet again, I’m surprised by where his head is.

  He ignores me and looks back, addressing the mayor. “We can’t let this get out. That would be a disaster.”

  “What are you saying, Trent? What are you asking me to do?”

  For a few seconds, I have to wonder if Trenton Gibb were to ask William Dunning to sit on a murder, or, worse, bury it, if Slick Willie here would do it. That’s a terrifying thought.

  “Nothing illegal. Just keep it local. Keep it under wraps as long as you can. Until I can figure out what to do, how to spin this.” He scrubs a hand over his face.

  “Or until we can figure out who did it, you mean?” There’s an edge to my tone. He sends a glare over his shoulder at me. I jack up my chin. If he thinks for one second I’ll back down because of who he is or how much money or influence he has, he’s sorely mistaken. I’m Lucky Boucher. I specialize in butting in where I’m not welcome.

  “Bill, what can you do for me?” Trenton Gibb’s look is pleading.

  “We’ll alert the local authorities. We’ll get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible and keep the matter as quiet as we can until we have some answers. Or until we don’t have a choice.”

  I glance behind me, expecting to see the entire press corps hovering in the doorway, but the door to the dressing room is closed. If I had to guess, I’d say Regina was responsible for that. She has a weak stomach, so she would be the last person to want to see what I’m looking at right now. But for once, her soft constitution is coming in handy. No one but the people in this room knows what’s going on.

  In the next seconds, I see how William Dunning Senior is getting so far with his political career. Aside from the stomach-turning buttkissery I know he’s capable of when the occasion calls for it, that is.

  “Trenton, we have a press conference to attend. Serena wasn’t supposed to make an appearance, so she won’t be missed. We’ll go gather everyone outside, like we planned. Lucky, once the green room is clear, call Clive and get him over here. I’m asking you to look into this, too. As a personal favor to me.”

  The last personal favor Mayor Dunning asked of me involved locating a missing book that contained sensitive information about pretty much everyone in town. Ostensibly, that included the mayor. That favor is what put him in debt to me and how I got him to introduce me to Serena Flowers.

  I’m beginning to think the man has as much bad luck as I have good.

  “Yes, sir. But I’m not going to bury anything I find.” I slide a scathing glance at Trenton. “For anyone.”

  “No one is asking you to do that. Just be discreet. That’s all he’s saying.”

  “That I can do.”

  I’m the epitome of discretion. Mainly because it keeps me out of worse trouble. Like law enforcement trouble.

  Most of the time when I’m investigating a murder, I have do things I shouldn’t be doing, go places I shouldn’t be going. Some might call the liberties I take criminal, but I prefer to think of them as effective sleuthing. I don’t have the benefit of a badge to get me into crime scenes or homes or local businesses, but that doesn’t affect my results. Of the cases I’ve worked since moving to Salty Springs, South Carolina, I’ve closed every one.

  As Beebee would say, them’s not bad odds.

  Mayor Dunning urges Trenton to the door, but he stops just short of it. “My shoes. I can’t go out there barefoot. They’ll know something’s up.”

  “Hang on,” I tell him, whipping out my phone. I dial Regina who’s probably on the other side of the door, trying not to puke. She answers immediately. “Can you find me some men’s dress shoes?” I look to Trenton and mouth the word “size.” He holds up ten fingers. “Size ten.”

  “How am I supposed to do that at this time of night?”

  “Charm some off one of the guys out there.”

  “Lucky, I’m about to throw up everything I’ve eaten for the last two days. I can’t turn on that kind of charm right now. Call Liam. He probably has some at home.”

  I groan. “Fine.”

  I hang up and punch the third most contacted person in my list. Evidently, I talk to Liam Dunning almost as often as I talk to Regina and Beebee. When the heck did that happen?

  He answers on the third ring. “You fell into a hole and need me to come pull you out.”

  “Huh?”

  “You set yourself on fire and need me to come put you out.”

  If looks could kill and Liam could see the one I’m giving him right now, he’d be the one on fire.

  “Ha. Ha. Very funny. No, it’s actually your father who needs your help this time, thank you very much.” I look over at the mayor and shrug. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do when it comes to this man’s son. He probably knows that better than I do. “We need you to bring some size ten men’s dress shoes down to the theater.”

  “Because you think I just happen to have some lying around.”

  “You’re a guy. Surely you can find some shoes, for Pete’s sake.”

  “That aren’t my size? Why would you assume that?”

  “I don’t know. Just…just get some shoes and bring them over here.”

  “I can bring some of mine, but they won’t fit.”

  “What size do you wear?”

  “Twelve.”

  “Fine. Just bring them. Bring some extra socks. We’ll stuff them in the toe.”

  I hang up before he can answer and I smile over at the two men who are now gawking at me. “Problem solved. He’ll be right over.”

  I have to give Liam credit. He really can save the day when it needs saving. He’s just so cocky and arrogant about it that I want to throttle him. I have to cut the guy some slack, though. He’s saved my bacon a time or two, and I think he needs to. From what I
gather, he lost his fiancée to some unfortunate circumstances, so it’s sort of his mission never to be “too late” again. It’s given me a little soft spot for him, but I don’t dare tell him that. He’d exploit it like a teenaged boy poking the bruise on my arm, asking if it hurts.

  In fact, now that I think about it, our dynamic is pretty much like that all the time.

  Within four minutes, there’s a knock at the dressing room door. I recognize the angry tone, just like I do when Liam comes to my house. The man is as testy as Regina that time when she tried to give up coffee and chocolate at the same time. I told her not to do it, but she wouldn’t listen. We still refer to that as the Summer of Hell. It only lasted for a week, but it definitely defined that whole season.

  I open the door just enough to put a hand to Liam’s chest and push him back. “You can’t come in yet. Give us a minute.” I see his eyes shift up to look over my shoulder. I don’t have to wonder if he can see part of Serena. His expression says it all. When he drops his gaze back down to mine, I shake my head. “Shhhh.” I reach down to take the shoes and socks from his hands. “Once we get them out to the press conference, I’ll explain everything.”

  His lips thin. He doesn’t like it, but het gets it. He trusts me enough to just nod and let me close the door, for which I’m grateful. Liam Dunning is a big guy. If he were to decide he was coming into the room, there wouldn’t be a dang thing I could do to stop him. Especially since they took away my stun gun.

  I turn and hand the shoes and socks to Trenton. He keeps stuffing socks into the toes until he can slip the shoes on without them falling right off. When they’re both on, he walks a couple of laps around the room, outside the spray of broken glass.

  His gait is a little off, and his steps are ginger, but it’ll have to do.

  “You look like you’ve got a shoe full of bunions, but just walk slow. I don’t think anyone else will notice.”

  “This had better work,” he says, coming back to the door. He directs his comment to the mayor, like he’s done multiple times already. I’m beginning to get a chauvinistic vibe from him. I would call him a male chauvinist pig, but that would be an insult to pigs, and I happen to like pigs a lot.