Death at the Dance

By Amabel Daniels

When Tucker Mouline is killed the night of Orson's Homecoming dance, Baycourt Hall is once again considered the destination for danger. And another murder is the very last thing Anna Glenn needs as she continues to help Sean and Ruby run the once-beloved party venue.

Self-centered, rude, and unfaithful, Tucker earned plenty of enemies within Orson. Several of them had joined him in the preparation of the Homecoming court's procession to the dance, the last time he was seen alive, but someone didn't want him to be part of the celebration. Who shot him, and why? A scorned lover or a peeved parent tired of his son's bullying ways? A disgruntled former teammate, or an official who's tired of his highhandedness?

Until they find Tucker's murderer, Anna stands with Ruby and Sean, hoping this dose of bad press won't cling to the hall for long. When Tucker's death is mentioned in the news, though, they also learn that Baycourt's former manager, Brandon, is wanted for questioning elsewhere. Elusive and seemingly untraceable, Brandon is Anna and her aunt Pru's last chance at answers about Josie Glenn's disappearance years ago.

Torn between identifying Tucker's murderer and wanting to find clues about Josie, Anna digs deeper into the motives of those in the Homecoming court. Because someone has to know more than they're sharing, and perhaps it's the key to all the questions she has about deaths—past and present.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amabel Daniels
• Release date: Oct 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201042936

Book preview

Death at the Dance

Disclaimer

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Other Books by Aubrey Elle

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2021 Aubrey Elle

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions

Chapter One

Not again.

While the three jocks cut a dashing figure in their tuxedoes, this trio of football cronies acted the very opposite of their supposed maturity as they pursued a gaggle of girls. Maybe their dates, maybe just classmates. Regardless, silly string was not coating the floors on my watch. Or sticking to tables. Or shooting into Baycourt Hall’s elaborate fountains.

I must have growled because Jane turned toward me, lowering her water bottle from her mouth. What?

Hang on, I muttered to my aunt’s physical therapist-slash-best friend-slash-parttime local high school sports aide.

Of course, she did not hang on. Spotting the kids, she marched forth with me.

Fifteen minutes ago, I’d already confiscated the first canisters—electric blue—with a stern warning to reconsider. Orson High’s Homecoming was the event for the night, and while I thought it’d be interesting to manage an event for juveniles for a change, I hadn’t thought of the different sort of headache these teens could bring. Instead of worrying about drunk adults and the more advanced drama they wrought, these teens had a whole different approach to causing trouble.

Idiots gathering—anywhere—called for trouble. Jane had declared that when Father Asher was stabbed in the foyer here, but since, I’d relaxed that stereotype. Surely, not everyone in our small town could be a doofus. In the months since that con man of a priest’s murder, events at Baycourt had been tamer. This homecoming was testing that claim, though, in a true hold my beer fashion.

"I hadn’t realized it’d be this rowdy of a crowd," I told Jane as we aimed for the three guys.

Her snort told me what she thought of my assumption.

I thought the trend for teenagers was to be ‘cool’ and ‘chill.’

But the jocks? They’ll never grow up, Jane teased.

We caught up to them, and I snatched a can of bubblegum pink. "Not so fast. Didn’t I already explain this isn’t allowed inside tonight?" And honestly, I’d rather avoid it outside too.

Groaning good-naturedly, the tallest teen rolled his eyes. "You didn’t tell me anything."

Jane collected the cans from the two others. Well, Mr. Allen, that was probably because you were too busy nagging Aurora for a dance later on while these two were thinking to make a mess.

Miss Jane, Will groused, it’s not like it stains.

And it just...disintegrates, the one I’d unarmed said.

I crossed my arms. In water? I jerked my thumb at the fountains. The widest and biggest water feature of the hall stood just feet from us. Angels and fish, all sorts of statues stood in a wet collage of a masterpiece. You guys want to spend all of Homecoming picking out neon blobs in the water? Hmm?

Nah, we’re going to the motel after the dance. The fit blond—probably a wide receiver—grinned. Huh, Will? Your cousin’s friend got us a room?

Yeah, we’re gonna— Will Allen winced, seeming to cower under Jane’s stern glower. While she was a figure of semi-authority only on the sidelines at Orson’s sporting events—there for the chance of an injury or whatnot—I bet all the high schoolers were familiar with her. And she was a no-nonsense sort of woman.

You’re going to what, Will? she asked, crossing her arms and tapping the silly string can against her side. Do something stupid that’ll risk your scholarship? Is that it?

Will blushed, rubbing a hand over his face. No. No. I mean...

The shortest and stockiest of their little group—a linebacker if I had to guess—shook his head. Nah. That’s a lost cause. Shane’s gonna get the scholarship.

Scowling, Will reacted to his teammate’s prediction with an even redder face. One of anger, not shame. Like he needs it. He scoffed, looking into the mass of high schoolers waiting not so patiently for the Homecoming to actually begin. Rich punk.

"And he’s valedictorian," the tallest said.

Nah, Aurora’s smarter than him, Will argued.

Not what I heard. The linebacker raised his brows.

"Any. Way. I stood up taller, trying on a professional and polite smile. No silly string, all right? Last warning."

They stalked off with a weak chorus of agreement, and Jane and I returned toward our spot at the back of the hall. Ruby Banner—Baycourt’s owner and my boss—bustled by. Seeming to listen to Erin Wright’s requests as the PTA president pointed here and there, Ruby caught my gaze and subtly rolled her eyes. Then she winked. In other words, she was keeping up with Erin’s last-minute needs, but it was nothing to worry about.

Should we be worried about that motel business? I asked Jane as we tossed the canisters into a garbage can. Even that receptacle was decorated, navy blue and bright gold streamers denoting even the trash receptacle was a sight of high school pride.

I doubt it. Dave Allen wouldn’t let his son rent a room tonight. It was her turn to roll her eyes. He’s been so obsessed with Will getting that football scholarship, he wouldn’t dare risk him losing it for bad behavior. I bet the kid’s gotta be tired of it by now—having to be on perfect behavior to appease the scholarship committee.

Nodding, I took my post with her, relieved. Relieved for that detail, at least. It was none of my business when it came down to it, but I could recall my high school dances, and the sort of shenanigans that occurred after them? Well, as an adult, I could view those opportunities of adult-free time with a different, concerned perspective. Especially with how drugs and social media played into teens’ lives now.

Boy, am I glad I’m not a parent in this day and age...

I’m more worried about that business with Shane, Jane admitted, scanning the groups waiting for the official procession of the Homecoming court to enter and kick off the dance.

Shane...?

Shane Mouline, she said.

The name clicked. I’d heard it enough, even if I didn’t follow our local sports. Sean—Ruby’s grandson and the other owner of this hall—had mentioned the teen. Shane was the star of the football team. All-around popular kid of the class. Homecoming king. Yawn. How unoriginal of an individual. From the little I’d seen of the guy on Orson’s social media, Shane seemed like an up-and-coming jerk, smug smiles, stuck-up attitude, and all. Like father, like son, because Tucker Mouline was a self-centered idiot himself.

"Will’s supposed to be the scout’s choice for that full-ride scholarship, but then Shane’s mom, Carin, is saying he should get it as the MVP. And the MVP always gets that one scholarship."

I scoffed. "MVP? This is high school. Not the NFL."

She raised her brows at me. Oh, honey. High school sports are no laughing matter. ’Specially with scholarships. The Allens wouldn’t be able to afford sending Will to any other decent college, so that full ride is a huge deal.

Okay. I could understand that. Aunt Pru wouldn’t have been able to send me to college all those years ago either, not if I hadn’t contributed my own wages and then a partial school fund. But MVP? Again, I huffed a laugh. Overkill.

Jane shrugged. Maybe, but they take it seriously.

Someone bumped into me, and I caught them before they fell.

Oh, I’m sorry, Anna. A woman stood up straight, smoothing down her loose gown of black. For such a svelte, toned woman, it seemed she was drowning in that dress.

Hi, Polly, Jane said with a giggle. Always in a rush.

Polly smiled shyly, nodding as she hurried off again. You know me.

After she left, I scanned the impatient mass of high schoolers and chaperones. The DJ caught my gaze, widening his eyes as though to ask what’s the hold up? I shrugged and gave him the best smile I could. Who was that? I asked Jane.

Normally, Ruby, Sean, and I would be supervising the party. Namely, we’d be making sure no guests damaged the already weathered and aged Baycourt Hall. I had to admit it was fun with Jane here as a volunteer chaperone. She was always a hoot, and she sure knew who was who with the high school crowd. It made for a different night on the job at least.

Polly Keven. Teaches English. The way the kids see it, she’s too tough on grades. Jane shrugged. "It’s surprising because she’s