Pirouette

By Nicole DeVona and David C. R. Nash

Competitive ballroom dancing is a cut-throat world of flashing feet, brilliant costumes, and perfect lines - both on and off the floor.

But, when drugs and murder are added to the mix, is it just one more step on the way to stardom?

 

Detective Logan Murphy and his partner, Krissie Hardwick, are faced with a series of deaths and a set of unusual coincidences. Are they connected? If so, how? 

For fans of the who dunit mystery, this story provides an unusual background and a set of suspects who span a wide range of occupations and interests.    

 

This debut novel by Nicole DeVona and six time author David C. R. Nash, is sure to keep you interested until the end.

 

Pick up your copy today!

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: David C. R. Nash
• Release date: Mar 26, 2020
• ISBN: 9798201478117

Book preview

PART ONE

MONDAY'S CHILD IS FAIR OF FACE,

CHAPTER 1

PRO AM

T hese damn shoes are sticking to the floor!

Mine too. There's no time to brush them now. We're on call for the last round!

Rebekah looked away from the shoe brush and did a final check on her dress. The deep green sequined costume set off the red in her hair and matched the emerald of her eyes. She straightened and exhaled, turning to make sure there were no wrinkles in the dress and the nude under layer showed no seams at her back, waist, and chest. The outfit was conservative in her estimate, but Marcus said the skirt had more bounce for the Jive routine. Jive was the most important dance in the meet, usually deciding high-level competitions.

She could hear the announcer finishing his comments.

Marcus was right; there was no time. She looked over to see him straightening the laces on his shoes. His lean, muscular torso squeezed into a carefully tailored outfit that framed his handsome face. She could imagine he was debating wrestling with his tousled hair, but he simply gave the laces a last tug.

Looking up, his brown eyes gave her a quick wink and a smile.

Don’t worry. Everyone has the same problem.

He stood, tugged down his vest, and offered his hand.

And now you don't have to worry about over-rotating that ending, he said with a grin.

She frowned and smoothed the dress against her body one last time, making sure that her stomach muscles appeared taut through the sheer cut out at her waist.

True, she said, taking his hand and composing her face into a bright smile for their floor entrance.

Their names were announced as they emerged into brilliant light. She barely heard the applause, as her attention focused on making her walk as energetic as possible as they approached the floor. A spotlight highlighted them to their positions, then swung back to grab the next couple as they entered the room.

Through the clenched teeth of her smile, she breathed to him.

I just hope I get all the way around without, wrenching my knee.

Marcus didn’t reply. He never did to negative comments.

He’d replaced his usual ballroom tails with a vest jacket that would not fly about when they danced the final routine.

Nothing you do should distract the audience or the judges, or cast us in an unfavorable light. She could hear his words echoing in her head.

The ballroom was a large open space with three giant sparkling crystal chandeliers high overhead. The hardwood floor, polished to a fine sheen, looked great on camera. However, the soft wax on the floor stuck to the bottom of the dancers’ shoes making turns difficult. Competitors furiously brushed the soft felt on the bottoms of their shoes between events trying to keep them from sticking.

The regular audience sat on three sides of the room and the chief judges' table occupied the fourth. Instructors and competitors clustered near the assigned tables of their respective dance schools. Special guests gathered on a raised floor behind and to either side of the judges’ tables.

Large cameras from a local TV station covered the floor and a single battery driven free camera was on the shoulder mount of a man who tirelessly circled the edges. Beside the lead judge was a commentator who would ask questions to give the TV audience insight on the event.

The film crew moved around listlessly.

The weather had been steamy all week, which meant flaring tempers. Violence rated higher than a dance competition on the evening news. The crew was betting most of the material wouldn’t make air play, just a brief clip or two from the shoulder cam.

Eight standing floor judges spaced out across the edge of the dance floor. Each judge would watch a couple about ten seconds, then switch to another. Judges marked mistakes with a simple number on their sheets. A single error could cause multiple deduction points. The occasional up mark for exceptional moves, use of the floor, or musicality, were rare. Early rounds stressed the judges as they tallied dozens of marks against first time competitors. As the night progressed and the dancers’ skills improved, the judging became easier.

Behind the judges' table on a raised platform, the DJ checked the bank of equipment pumping out music for the event. From his vantage point, he could see the lead judge signal when to start the music. He saw the last competitors taking the floor out of the corner of his eye as he cued up the final song of the night.

As the last couple took their place on the floor assuming their starting position, the lead judge nodded to the DJ and the room became silent.

Marcus’ game face smile, just as perfect as Rebekah’s, faced her unmoving. He stood a pace and a half away from her, waiting for the music.

When she heard the opening bars of the number one swing hit this year, she knew their gamble had paid off. When Marcus realized the song was the correct tempo for jive, he guessed it would be the DJ’s selection for the final. They had practiced in secret for weeks choreographing a routine to this tune.

Choreographing for a specific dance was a tremendous risk. It would ruin the timing of their most spectacular moves if the DJ picked a different song.

But Marcus was correct and now she almost leaped into his arms for the opening steps. Her smile was genuine and confident. His arms encircled her and she could feel the precise frame of his body holding her and carefully indicating every step while giving away nothing of his lead to the judges or the audience. She seemed to dance with wild, energetic, abandon while his moves matched and complemented her.

We're going to own this dance, this floor, and this crowd, she thought.

Then it was nothing but the driving beat of the music and the flashing pump of her legs, as she and Marcus pushed themselves in the most taxing of all the ballroom dances.

An exhausting one minute and thirty seconds later, it was over.

The music faded and applause rose from the crowd. The floor judges scribbled last notes on their clipboards as the collector hurried around gathering their score sheets.

A thin sheen of sweat covered her body as she spun away from his outstretched hand and did a curtsy to each wall of the room. Her jaw was painful from the smile locked onto her face. She saved the last and deepest bow for the final's judges, who sat unmoving in their high-backed chairs. She watched as the floor judges left the room. The collector handed the score sheets to the person charged with tallying the results. The chief judges turned in their sheets as well.

Time for the exit, she thought.

She forced a bright bounce into her walk as she crossed the floor and took her partner’s arm. Her smile remained just as happy as when she entered. Inside, her knees ached; her legs were on the verge of cramping. She let nothing show. Endurance was the largest element in judging this dance, and the slightest sign of fatigue meant points lost.

Work that walk, he breathed through his smile. Keep up the energy so you keep the crowd on your side.

She glanced at him sideways while smiling to the crowd.

Does he suspect? She wondered.

His face was a mask.

They walked through an aisle of admirers and the clapping continued as they entered the reserved section in the back. Two more couples followed. Searching for any clue, she tried to hear if the clapping rose or dropped in volume as they left the floor, but she couldn’t tell.

The offstage area for the competitors was spacious but sparsely furnished. Straight-backed chairs and small cloth-covered tables were set out with water and room for the competitors’ things. Rebekah stepped carefully onto the carpeted floor. Her narrow heels could be a problem and she walked on tiptoe to avoid catching the carpet or turning an ankle. Normally, the room was used for business meetings, but it was set aside for the competitors to adjust costumes and complete last-minute checks. The high ceilings made the room echo, so competitors spoke in whispers or said nothing.

They sagged into their chairs and scooped up large bottles of water. She poured the water carefully down her throat, trying not to let it touch her lipstick. She took several deep breaths and then rose to check her body makeup in the mirror of her kit. It had held up well. She could hear the announcer working the crowd, trying to keep enthusiasm up as the judges’ tabulated scores.

She checked her hair and adjusted the strand she’d deliberately let fly during the routine. Nikki had suggested it as a subtle way of attracting audience attention.

Looking over, her instructor was adjusting his tux in the mirror and checking his face makeup. He’d quickly switched back to the longer tails. She could see drops of sweat on his forehead. He dabbed it with an absorbent cloth, taking care not to smudge the makeup.

She checked her own forehead over his shoulder.

"No time to fix a mistake now," she thought.

Outside, she could hear the announcer shouting.

May we have our Latin Finals couples back on the floor!

Marcus stood and whispered. That didn’t take long. I’d bet Gustav is pushing the others.

She smiled. I’ll bet he wants to get to his dinner, she whispered back, taking his arm. Not that he needs it.

I think we did well, said Marcus.

A thrill shot up her spine. He rarely encouraged optimism.

No matter what happens, keep the smile and the poise, he reminded her.

The corners of her lips turned upwards.

"That’s much more like Marcus."

They returned to the floor in the same order they had entered and joined a line of couples standing before the chief judges.

A small awards table was now on the floor. The judges stood next to it. On the table were several medals, two small trophies, and one much larger one.

There were no preliminaries. The competition ran overtime, as usual. The Latin Finals were the last event of the day.

Congratulate the winners and run for the buffet, she thought.

In sixth place, couple number 37! shouted the announcer.

After a moment’s hesitation, a couple stepped out. There was mild applause. She curtsied, and they approached the judges. After shaking hands with each one, they received a small medallion and stood on the opposite side, to more polite applause.

As the number of remaining competitors dwindled, Rebekah’s tension grew.

Each couple repeated the ritual, shaking hands, receiving their medallion. Applause volume changed as the number of well-wishers varied by studio and personal appeal.

The third-place couple received the first of the smaller trophies.

Only two couples remained.

She felt Marcus give her hand a little squeeze for luck and she raised her chin looking straight ahead.

The announcer’s voice deepened, adding individual scores before the couple’s number, and letting the crowd know how close the competition had been. Rebekah felt her stomach tighten.

In second place, with a first in Paso Doble and a second in all other dances…

The announcer paused and Rebekah felt her chest tighten.

Couple number 22!

She stopped breathing.

The couple next to them detached themselves. They moved out onto the floor in matching steps. He raised his hand and she spun out a few steps and did a sweeping curtsy. The pair walked towards the judges' table to growing applause. The sizable group from a nearby studio was energetically clapping. However, the swelling applause was because the winners were now obvious. Rebekah’s smile, no longer forced, was near bursting.

As the couple received their second-place trophy, the announcer was already cutting in, his voice close to a roar. Applause increased as he spoke.

...With a first place in Rumba. First place in Cha-cha. First place in Samba. Second place in Paso Doble. And first place in the Jive. Our winners, couple number 25, Rebekah Connelly and Marcus Porter!

The crowd rose to its feet. Cheers from the audience and the applause rose still higher as they approached the judges. She remembered to work the walk as she approached and her smile was pure elation. Shaking hands with each of the judges, she accepted their congratulations. Marcus accepted the trophy from the lead judge, Gustav Salvio. Turning, he smiled and offered the crowd a polite wave.

Rebekah shook the last judge’s hand and thanked him. Then she turned and did a deep curtsy to the audience. The applause rose. Then she impulsively whirled and grabbed Marcus in a tight embrace. The audience loved it and rewarded them with loud cheers. Marcus dropped his smile in surprise, and then put back a cheerful grin, disengaged, and handed her the trophy. She laughed and held it up to the audience mouthing, Thank you to all corners of the room.

She was reveling in the applause when Marcus slipped an arm around her waist. He breathed in her ear.

Walk away now, before the applause dies. Pro smile.

She lowered the trophy and put on her dance smile quickly walking with him off the floor. As they hit the edge of the crowd, she could hear the applause dying.

Splendid job, he said. But you almost overplayed the applause. Always leave them able to go further. They will like you better next time because you didn’t tire them out.

We won, she said.

Yes, we did, he agreed. But we wouldn’t have gotten second in Paso if more than a floor judge saw that opening miss...

The adrenaline was wearing off, and she slowed.

What happened? I thought they all saw it?

Couple 56 stepped in front of our opening. It shielded us from the judges’ table and only one floor judge was watching us.

Blocking our opening isn’t fair!

No, it's not, and I suspect it cost them a couple points. But we were lucky; it hid the stumble. He smiled. I worried you twisted your ankle.

I caught my heel on a raised board edge.

He nodded. You need to be more on the ball of your foot in the sidestep. Your foot was too flat.

He caught her look of disappointment and smiled. But you nailed the Jive routine. That clinched it.

Her joy returned with an impish grin.

Ah, glad you noticed.

Is that one nail or two? She added cheekily.

She heard a rich, feminine voice behind her.

I would say two. I thought the turn was exceptionally well done.

She turned to see Nikki Porter flowing across the floor. She moved through the crowd with a merry smile on her face. Her generous mouth curled upward in delight. Her figure in the sleek silver dress turned male heads as she moved across the room. Long brown hair flowed down her back in a wave. Her bright brown eyes held a twinkle that matched her mischievous grin as she looked at Marcus.

He frowned. We don’t want to give her a swelled head, he complained.

Nikki leaned in and gave Marcus a swift kiss then stepped back.

"If I know you, you’ve already told her what she did wrong, so