Chapter 9

After the EMTs wheeled Elspeth’s body away and eased her into the ambulance, Abigail and Penelope followed Detective Doyle back inside the theater. Abigail headed to the dressing rooms, mumbling that she had to use the ladies room.

The rest of the Big Apple Dancers were gathered in small groups around the stage, talking quietly with each other. Armand and Martha stood at one end of the stage, matching expressions of anxiousness on their faces.

Arlena sat in the first row, her chin propped on her fist as she jotted notes on a small pad in her lap.

“Can you show me Elspeth’s dressing room and locker? I’d like to take a look at the common areas also,” Detective Doyle said.

“Of course.” Martha waved him over and lead him through the curtain. “All the girls are out of there, except Abigail.”

“Let’s give her a minute,” Doyle said. “Ladies, were any of you close with Elspeth Connor?”

Several of the dancers shook their heads. A few remained still, looking like they were thinking about it. One of them raised her hand halfway.

“You knew Elspeth well?” Doyle asked.

“Um, not well,” the woman said. Her dark ponytail spilled over one of her shoulders, and she stroked it as she spoke. “We shared a dressing room. She was nice.”

“Did you know her before your time together here?” Detective Doyle asked.

“No,” the woman said, rubbing her nose. “Just from the show.”

“Did any of you do anything with Elspeth outside of the theater? Go for coffee or a drink?”

The dancer with the ponytail tucked one long leg behind the other and propped a fist on her chin, thinking. “We went for a coffee once. Just to the place down the street.”

“Great,” Doyle said. “What did you guys talk about over coffee?”

She bit her lip, then said, “How hard it was to stick the pivot turns in the third number.”

“The what?” Doyle asked.

The dancer dropped her ponytail and put one foot in front of the other and turned her body around to face the rear of the stage, her feet staying in place. She turned back to face Doyle and shrugged. “We practiced in the coffee shop.”

“I see,” Doyle said. “Did she mention a boyfriend?”

“Maybe,” the woman said. “It was a while ago, though. I can’t remember exactly. I just remember she didn’t know the name of the move I just showed you. But she knew how to do it.”

“Is that unusual?” Doyle asked.

The dancer threw a glance toward the curtain just as Martha reappeared from behind it. “Yeah. Especially if you’ve been to dance school, like she had.”

Doyle sighed. “Okay, so you think maybe, she might have been seeing someone.”

“Oh yeah,” the woman said with a quick nod. “We’re all seeing someone.” Martha gave her a stern look and the dancer’s cheeks reddened.

“Only,” Doyle said, “we heard your line of work doesn’t allow much time.”

“That’s just an excuse if you want to get rid of a guy,” she said with a laugh. “Junie over there is married. We’re not robots, Detective.”

“What’s your name?”

“Robin.”

“You from around here?” Doyle asked.

“No, I’m from LA, actually,” she said.

“How long have you been in the city?” Doyle asked.

“A year next month. I’ve never gone a week without a gig, dancing in musicals. I’m not one of the ones who have to wait tables between jobs,” Robin said with a small sniff and rub of her nose.

Martha spoke up from her place beside the curtain. “It’s okay to come back now, Detective.”

“Is it okay for us to leave?” one of the dancers called out from the group on the stage.

Detective Doyle sighed and said, “Okay, yeah. Thanks for your help. Not you, Mr. Wagner. I still have some questions for you.”

Armand smiled and nodded. “Of course, Detective.”

Abigail and Doyle went back to the dressing rooms and Penelope followed the other dancers off the stage.

“I think I’m free to go, too,” Penelope said.

“Good, that’s enough excitement for one day,” Arlena agreed. “Armand?” she called to him.

Armand hurried down the steps and took Arlena’s hands in his.

“We’re going now,” Arlena said. “Please call me if there’s more I can do to help with anything,” she waved a hand toward the stage.

“I apologize for such a dramatic first day,” Armand said. “What you must think of us now.”

“You couldn’t help what happened,” Arlena said. slinging her purse over her shoulder. “I’m just so sorry about the poor girl. I hope they figure out who did this.”

“Yes, it is tragic,” Armand agreed. “Martha is beside herself with worry for the girls already and then to have something like this.”

“If you think we should table our documentary plans…” Arlena began.

“No,” Armand said. “We shall proceed as planned.”

“Will Elspeth’s death delay the show?” Penelope asked.

“The extravaganza will go on as planned,” Armand said quickly. “We have six sold out weekends, beginning this Friday. We can’t disappoint the fans.”

“That’s only a few days from now,” Penelope said.

“And we’ll be ready,” Armand insisted. “You know what they say. ‘The show must go on.’”