Dead on Her Feet (An Antonia Blakeley Tango Mystery Book 1) by Lisa Fernow

their tango class. Antonia must be not far away. Bobby scanned the room and found her dancing with a distinguished older man. Every move he made was crisp and compact. Bobby didn’t recognize the song. A vals ? He counted to make sure. But just when he thought he had the beat the violins died down and the piano took up, breaking his concentration. Once the singer came on the thread became clearer. One-two-three-one-two-three-one-two-three. Yes, a waltz.
    The older man cradled Antonia in his arms. As he pivoted Antonia danced around him, stepping side, back, side, forward. Ya-YUM-pum-pum. A molinete .
    As Antonia’s partner led her to the cross she traced one sweet and ethereal grace note with her toe. They seemed unaware of anyone but each other.
    What would it be like to feel such a totally intimate connection, of giving oneself up entirely to the music and one’s partner? Not thinking, but feeling? Dancing “in the body,” as Antonia would say. She had once told him she could sense him counting the music in his head, and it was true. She’d advised him to practice without his glasses so he could focus on the music and feel what was happening with his partner. She assured him, if he dedicated himself, he would someday experience the dance the way he was meant to.
    Meanwhile he had to be content to dance vicariously. He continued to observe the older man. One-two-three, one-two-three. One. One. One. Pause. Pause. Pause. What would it be like to dance like that and not have to concentrate on navigation, or leading, or stepping on the beat, or not stepping on his partner? Bobby sighed. Barbara stirred next to him.
    The vals ended a few moments later and the unseen DJ put on an Elvis song for the cortina: “You Ain’t Nothing but a Hound Dog.” Antonia’s partner escorted her to her seat.
    Barbara suddenly sat bolt upright.
    Roland and Nathalie LeFebre had just claimed the “reserved” table a few feet away. Roland wore a suit. Nathalie matched him for elegance in a short silver, cobwebby frock. Bobby was beginning to feel outclassed by all the glamour.
    Sanctuary had nearly reached capacity. A new tanda began. Primeval, pulsing, survival-of-the-fittest music.
    “Pugliese,” Barbara hissed, straining forward in her chair.
    Roland led Nathalie to the floor. It was the first time Bobby had seen them together outside of class. He watched Roland take Nathalie in his arms and start the dance unconventionally, with a voleo. Nathalie twisted in his arms, the torque of her body causing her to swing her foot in a semi-circle behind her. It was a dramatic and dangerous move on a crowded floor. The follower would be almost certain to kick someone. Fortunately, Roland had made sure no one was behind Nathalie. The music called for abrupt changes of direction and the couple executed their steps with insolent precision. Nothing like the sweet, intimate dance he’d just seen from Antonia and her partner. This was a raw power struggle.
    The song ended and the second song in the tanda began, the violins acting like a defibrillator on his heart. Barbara nudged him, indicating she wanted to dance. Pugliese was way over his head but he didn’t want to miss his opportunity. He offered his hand to Barbara and led her to the floor.
    The first part of the song passed successfully. He could hear the beat pushing him. Dah -dah daaaaah ... No, he’d lost it again. The violins smashed and crashed. No major collisions yet but as he circled the floor he knew the palm tree called to him as surely as the Sirens lured ancient sailing vessels to the treacherous rocks. He eyed the support post warily, determined to navigate safely around it. Christian was just ahead of him in the line of dance, leading a woman he didn’t recognize.
    They arrived at a congested area on the floor and Bobby watched the couples ahead of him pile up in the queue, waiting for the people ahead of them to continue along the line of dance. Fortunately the song had reached