With rehearsals at the theater suspended for a few days, Richard and I were happy to accept Aunt Lydia’s dinner invitation Monday night. Hugh had just returned from his overseas work trip, and she’d made, as she put it, “far too much food for just the two of us.”
After our meal, we gathered in the sunroom. Originally a porch which spanned the entire back of the house, it had been converted years before. Tall windows lined three sides of the space, while the fourth wall was the same stone as the exterior of the house.
Carrying our wineglasses out from the dining room, Richard and I crossed to a metal glider with cushions covered in a paisley slipcover. As we sat down, the glider swung back and clanged against the stone wall behind it. “Always love this view,” Richard said, stretching out his legs to still the glider’s motion.
“As do I.” As Aunt Lydia settled into a wooden rocking chair, her gaze shifted, focusing on a vintage-style easel set up in one corner of the space. “Of course, that’s the main reason we enclosed it years ago. It made the perfect art studio.”
I stared at the man seated near her. His black hair offered a sharp contrast to the rose-patterned chintz cushions of his high-backed wicker chair. Fortunately, Hugh Chen, who my aunt had met decades after the death of her beloved husband, appeared unconcerned with this reminder of Aunt Lydia’s romantic past.
“If I’m not mistaken, many of Andrew’s paintings capture this scene,” Hugh said, motioning toward the windows that offered a panoramic view of Aunt Lydia’s backyard. A tall frieze of dark pines and emerald-leafed oaks and maples, topped with the azure scallop of the Blue Ridge Mountains, formed the backdrop to my aunt’s lush and colorful garden.
“Yes, he loved depicting nature in his works.” Aunt Lydia lowered her pale lashes over her bright blue eyes as she took a sip of her white wine.
Hugh’s dark eyes focused on my aunt’s elegant profile. “They aren’t simply landscape studies, though, are they? I always feel as if he captured something deeper. They have a mysterious quality that sets them apart.”
Meeting his gaze, Aunt Lydia offered him a gentle smile. “Exactly. Trust an art expert to see that.”
“I believe anyone who studies Andrew Talbot’s work will eventually come to that realization,” Hugh said.
The love and affection in their shared glances were palpable. I elbowed Richard. “Maybe another wedding soon?” I whispered as he leaned in closer. “Now that Zelda and Walt have tied the knot …”
“What’s that, dear?” Aunt Lydia asked, swiveling in the rocker to fix me with her sharp gaze.
“Oh, nothing,” I said, keeping my tone light.
“Same old, same old.” Richard raised his voice, despite my warning look. He set his wineglass on the small tile-topped table next to the glider and slid his arm around my shoulders. “Amy’s just wondering when the two of you are going to follow Zelda and Walt’s example and get married.”
Color bloomed across my aunt’s high cheekbones, tinting her pale skin pink. “I don’t believe that’s any of your business, Amy.”
“Good thing you’re a dancer, or I’d be stomping your foot right about now,” I muttered to Richard, who just pulled me closer to his side. He knew, as well as I did, that I’d never actually do such a thing to anyone. Unless they were seeking to harm me or someone I loved, of course.
“It’s all right, Amy.” Hugh reached out and pressed his hand over Aunt Lydia’s fingers, which were clutching the arm of her rocking chair. “I know everyone is asking that question these days. But the truth is”—he shared a swift glance with my aunt—“we rather like things as they are. At least for now. It’s not a lack of love or commitment, you understand.”
“Sorry,” I said, warmth flushing my cheeks. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
Hugh swept his free hand through the air. “It’s fine. I know your question comes from a good place.”
“Shall we change the subject?” Aunt Lydia said, giving Hugh’s fingers a squeeze before dropping his hand. “I’m actually interested in more details on this latest murder. Not that it’s a pleasant topic, but since it does affect Richard’s production, I’d like to keep up with what’s going on with the case.”
Richard pulled his arm away from my shoulders and slid to the edge of the glider seat. “We don’t know much more than what you’ve probably heard on the news.”
“I suppose the authorities have you shut out of the theater?” Hugh asked.
“For now.” Richard leaned forward, gripping his knees with his hands. “They said we could return in a couple of days. In the meantime, we’ll work with just the principal dancers, using Karla’s studio space.”
Hugh unfastened the top collar button of his robin-egg-blue dress shirt. “Such a tragedy. The victim was so young.”
“Yeah, only thirty-four. And just as sad—the young man they arrested for the murder is only sixteen.” As Richard sat back, the glider slammed into the stone wall again.
“You don’t think he’s guilty.” Aunt Lydia didn’t frame this as a question.
Richard ran a hand through his thick brown hair. “No, I don’t. Conner is a sensitive, shy boy. I can’t picture him stabbing someone to death, whatever the motivation.”
“Zelda mentioned that several people heard Meredith Fox berating the young man right before the murder. Maybe he simply snapped,” Aunt Lydia said.
I grimaced. Zelda Shoemaker, now Zelda Adams, was my aunt’s closest friend. A warm-hearted, lovely woman, she was also unfortunately addicted to gossip. If she’d told Aunt Lydia about Meredith’s conflict with Conner, you could bet that it was common knowledge throughout Taylorsford—and probably the surrounding counties. “We did hear them exchange a few heated words, but”—I shot Richard a speculative look—“I also witnessed another confrontation involving Meredith Fox that day, with the mother of one of Karla’s dance students, Janelle DeFranzo.” As I detailed the conflict between Quinn’s mother and Meredith, Richard shifted his weight on the glider cushions.
“I don’t know. Would someone knife someone just because they insulted their child?” Hugh asked, as he used two fingers to loosen his collar.
“Yes,” said Aunt Lydia and I in unison.
“Maybe.” Lines furrowed Richard’s brow. “But if we’re going to go out on that limb, you could add the other two professional dancers to the suspect list. I know there was bad blood between them and Meredith. Not exactly sure why, although Meredith and Tamara Hardy often competed for roles. As for Davonte, who knows? He and Meredith have danced together in the past, so it could’ve been over complaints about his partnering skills or something like that.”
I opened my mouth but snapped it shut again. Brad had asked me to keep any questioning of Tamara and Davonte, or Riley Irwin, for that matter, confidential. Although I wouldn’t remain silent if I discovered anything that might endanger Richard, Karla, or anyone else involved in the Folklore Suite production, I wanted to honor Brad’s request to the best of my ability.
“But to kill someone over such a thing …” Hugh drummed his fingers against the wicker arm of his chair. “Still, if we accept the possibility that a teen would stab someone over insults or poor scores in a competition, I suppose we have to consider other rather weak motives as well. There are numerous leads to follow, at any rate. I’d definitely be looking into all of those people if it were my case.”
“Agreed. Let’s hope there isn’t a rush to judgment,” Aunt Lydia said. “I know Conner Vogler was standing over the body, holding the murder weapon, but his motive doesn’t sound any more serious than others Amy and Richard have mentioned. He shouldn’t be the sole suspect.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve spoken with Brad Tucker, and while he isn’t the lead investigator on this case, he and his department are lending their support.” I patted Richard’s clenched hand. “You know Brad won’t allow the investigative team to take everything at face value. As a matter of fact, I’ve already provided him with another viable suspect.”
“Amy saw Nate Broyhill, Meredith’s ex-husband, loitering outside the theater around the time of the murder,” Richard said, loosening his fingers in order to entwine them with mine.
Aunt Lydia lifted her feathery eyebrows. “An ex? That’s interesting.”
“I saw him mentioned on the news. He’s a former dancer. Did you know him, Richard?” Hugh asked.
“Not well. I knew of him, of course, as he was already famous when I started out. I saw him dance several times, and we occasionally crossed paths at fundraisers and things like that. I never liked him much, if that’s what you’re asking. And not because he stole Meredith away. That was really more of a favor.” Richard rested our clasped hands on his upper thigh. “He had a rather … superior attitude, I guess you’d say.”
I looked up at Richard from under my lashes. “Did you ever hear of him being abusive toward women or anything like that?”
“Not physically.” Richard kept his gaze focused on Aunt Lydia and Hugh, but tightened his grip on my fingers. “There were rumors that he could be verbally abusive toward girlfriends, and I suppose Meredith wouldn’t have been exempt from that sort of treatment. Which may be why she left him after only a year or so of marriage.”
“Interesting,” Aunt Lydia cast me a speculative look. “Perhaps Amy and I can learn a little more tomorrow. We’re going to Zelda’s to help construct some props for the Folklore Suite, remember, Amy?”
“Oh right,” I said. “And along with you, me, and Zelda, some of the dance moms will be there. That could be interesting, especially if Janelle DeFranzo shows up.”
“It will offer another opportunity to listen and learn, at any rate,” my aunt said. Straightening in her chair, she rolled her shoulders, as if casting off a burden. “Now—what do you say we change the conversation once again? I’m sure we’re all a little weary of discussing murder.”
Richard exhaled a deep sigh. Of relief, I suspected. “That sounds like an excellent idea. Maybe you can tell us about your recent trip, Hugh? The parts you can share, of course.”
Hugh launched into an amusing recollection of the expedition he and Fred had made across Europe, tracking down the Elizabethan miniatures.
“Just like Indiana Jones,” I said at one point.
“Only, without the hat or the whip,” Hugh replied, his dark eyes sparkling with good humor.
Aunt Lydia side-eyed him, a smile quirking her lips. “Shame. Perhaps I should add those to my next Christmas list,” she said, effectively diverting our conversation into laughter.
By the time we got home, I was exhausted.
“I realize it’s not that late,” I told Richard as we brushed our teeth side by side in our bathroom. “But I feel drained of all energy for some reason.”
“Stress,” he said after spitting out his mouthwash.
“You’re probably right. Anyway, I’m just going to crawl into bed with a book. If you need to do some work in the office or whatever, go ahead. I know you prefer a later bedtime.”
“Well, it depends,” Richard flashed me a wicked smile before looking me up and down with a more concerned expression. “But since I can tell that you’re truly dead on your feet, I think I will go downstairs and look over the changes the set designer sent Karla today. They’re supposed to start loading in the backdrops soon, and I want to make sure it’s all going to work with the current lighting plan.”
“Such a workaholic,” I said, leaning into him.
He tipped up my chin to give me a lingering kiss. “Mmm, minty fresh,” he said.
I arched my eyebrows. “And that’s what impresses you?”
“No, but I’d better not explore any of your other impressive attributes, not if you want to rest.”
I wrinkled my nose at him. “Go on, you. Check over your plans or whatever.”
“Not really as tempting as you, but okay.” Richard kissed me again before following me out of the bathroom. “At least you’ll still have company,” he said, motioning toward the foot of the bed, where Fosse and Loie lay snuggled up close to each other.
After Richard left the room, I changed into my pajamas and grabbed a book from the pile teetering on my dresser. But as I slipped under the top sheet—disturbing the two cats, who expressed their indignation in no uncertain terms—I set the book on my nightstand and grabbed my cell phone instead.
“Let’s see what we can find about Mr. Nathaniel Broyhill,” I told Loie and Fosse, who simply yawned, both displaying sharp white teeth. Loie then curled up until her nose was touching the tip of her tail, while Fosse stretched out and rolled over, exposing his sleek, orange marmalade belly. “Fat lot of help you are,” I said indulgently, as I searched the internet for mentions of Nate.
There were pages of hits, which meant refining my search to focus on reputable sources rather than some questionable sites that promised to reveal who Nate was dating, how tall he was, and how much he was worth. Not that those weren’t interesting questions, but I knew from experience that I couldn’t trust “facts” published from unverified sources.
I finally settled on his professional website, an entry on Wikipedia—whose information I could at least check against the linked news articles—and the biographical page from his most prestigious dance company residency. Of course, most of the information focused on Nate’s dancing career, but comparing the various sources did give me a decent number of facts about his personal life as well.
“He certainly had a lot of high-profile relationships,” I told Loie and Fosse, who didn’t appear impressed by this fact. Bookmarking the list of Nate’s romantic partners, I made a mental note to ask Richard if he knew any of the women. It was likely that he’d performed with a few of the dancers, at least.
Nate’s connection to his stepfather was another interesting tidbit. Apparently, they hadn’t gotten along particularly well, partially because Kyle Lance disapproved of Nate’s choice of career.
“Shades of Jim Muir,” I muttered, sympathizing with Nate for the first time. My husband’s father had also opposed his son’s dancing career, even when it had brought Richard a decent amount of money and prestige. But unlike my father-in-law, Kyle Lance had apparently provided Nate with more than adequate financial resources. “He didn’t cut him out of the will either. I suppose that’s something,” I told Loie, who’d opened one emerald eye to stare at me.
Further investigation didn’t offer much of interest other than a list of Nate’s more popular roles and a few reviews of his performances. But just as I was about to give up, at least for the night, I spied a mention of Meredith’s name, linked to Nate not simply through marriage but also because she was the principal dancer in a contemporary dance company he had apparently founded after retiring from performing.
Richard, standing in the bedroom doorway, tsked loudly as he turned off the overhead light. The room darkened, although the lamp on Richard’s nightstand still cast a pool of light over the bed. “And here I thought you were going to get some sleep,” he said, strolling over to join me. “But what do I find? You’re researching again. That is what you’re doing, isn’t it?” he added, as he climbed into bed.
“Guilty as charged.” I held up my phone. “You know how it is—I mean to just look up one little thing, and then get sucked down the research rabbit hole.”
Richard plucked the phone from my hand. “Yes, I know all too well how it is. What’s so fascinating?” He peered at the screen. “Habitus Dance Company? Wow, I’d forgotten about that debacle.”
“Was it a disaster?” I asked, plumping the pillows behind me so I could sit up straighter.
“Pretty much.” Richard handed back the phone. “From what I heard, Broyhill wanted to start a company primarily to showcase Meredith. When they were first married, of course.”
“It didn’t work out? The dance company, I mean. I know the marriage flopped.”
“No. There were financial problems. Nate has money, but funding a company takes more than just individual wealth. You need ongoing support—a real base of donors or grants and things like that. Nate apparently couldn’t keep Habitus going for more than a year, which incidentally is about how long he and Meredith stayed together.”
“I guess she was supposed to be the star?” I asked, mulling over the implications of this failed partnership.
“That was the plan.” Richard shrugged. “Maybe that was part of Nate’s attraction, along with the fame and money. Meredith hadn’t reached the level she thought she deserved in the dance world. If Nate promised her a company, that would’ve gone a long way to convince her to …”
“Fall in love with him?” I turned off the phone and set it on the nightstand.
“I was going to say marry him.” Richard shot me a smile. “Not sure love really entered into it, honestly.”
“Maybe on his part, though.” I scooted close enough to lay my head on Richard’s shoulder. “Perhaps Nate finally realized that she married him for his money, name, and the promise of a company. If he truly loved her, that might’ve created a deep well of resentment or even incited enough anger to make him want to harm her.”
Richard slid his arm around my shoulders. “But this is after the fact. They’ve been divorced for several years. Why would he decide to murder her now?”
“Who knows? He said something to the Sheriff’s Department about family jewelry. Maybe he wanted her to return more than the one piece he mentioned, and she refused?”
“Could be, although it still seems a little far-fetched to me. Now”—Richard leaned in and kissed my cheek—“hadn’t you better shut down your investigation and get that sleep you were longing for earlier?”
I looked up at him from under my dark lashes. “Well, come to think of it, I don’t feel quite as tired as I did. I think the research revitalized me.”
“In that case, I promise not to complain about research ever again,” Richard said as he turned off the lamp next to the bed and took me into his arms.