The Dance by Barbara Steiner

this investigation—and, he hated to say, with dancing in Madame Leona’s exclusive troupe.
    She also looked tired. There were dark circles under her eyes. All the things she’d said about Paulie were showing up again—in Melanie.

ten
    O N THE SIDEWALK , looking for Julie’s number, Bryan brought up another possibility. “Melanie, you said Paulie had wanted to dance all her life, wanted that career. Isn’t there a possibility that quitting left her depressed? That maybe under other circumstances she’d never have committed suicide, but she might have done it accidentally?”
    â€œYou’re saying she had an unconscious death wish?” Melanie was willing to talk about the possibility.
    â€œSomething like that.”
    â€œWhat about the police saying her brakes failed?” Seth pointed out.
    â€œMaybe that was a gentle way of telling her parents that Paulie failed to apply the brakes. Maybe the erratic skidding showed she changed her mind, but it was too late.”
    Melanie stared at him. “There would be no way to know that.”
    They were quiet until they found Julie Pedigren’s small row house. Now that Bryan had heard the entire story again, with some added information, he didn’t know what to think about it. He did tend to agree with Hank, but Melanie had such strong opinions, too. He hated to think that he and Seth were just being wishy-washy. If they’d had a best friend killed, they would feel differently, he was sure.
    They found Julie waiting, and in no time the foursome were seated in Julie’s Victorian-style living room. Julie had probably just gotten home from work. She wore an oriental housecoat and was lighting a cheery fire.
    â€œI made some spiced tea.” Julie spread cheese, apple slices, black olives, and salted cashews on a crystal plate. “I know dancers are always hungry.”
    â€œOh, Julie, you shouldn’t have gone to any trouble,” Melanie said. “At least let me serve it. You sit down.” Bryan hurried to help Melanie pass cups of the sweet-smelling tea.
    â€œI am exhausted.” Julie curled into an overstuffed, well-worn chair with a cup of the steaming liquid. “I’ve hardly had time to shop properly in two weeks. Fortunately I usually have snack food.” She smiled. “I miss you in my classes, Melanie.”
    Playing hostess, Melanie smiled thanks to Julie, then she warmed her hands on the cup and looked around. The small room overflowed with paintings and framed photos, all of English pastoral scenes. “Nice house.”
    Julie had seen her looking. “It’s not the Seaton Arms—I heard you went there the other night—but it’s me. Leona says she’d gladly trade her fancy apartment for my cozy house, but I’ll keep the house.”
    â€œIt is quite a contrast, but I agree with you. I certainly feel more comfortable here than at Nicol’s.”
    â€œThat’s an understatement,” said Hank, laughing.
    Small talk out of the way, Julie looked at Melanie. “Now what did you want to talk to me about, Melanie?”
    â€œJulie,” Melanie looked around at Bryan and the rest of the group. “Will you tell us everything you know about Madame Leona—her background.”
    Julie took a few seconds to look at each of her visitors, but she didn’t ask why they wanted to know. “I know only what Ilene Greenway told me. Leona Turva is well off. Very. She probably doesn’t need the school to make a living. She’s traveled a lot. She’s a superb dancer—or was. Ilene said Leona was once a member of the Budapest S.S.R. Ballet, which is no small achievement, and she owns the Arbuthnot Shop next to the theater.”
    â€œDo you know anything about the three women she brought with her to Bellponte?” asked Bryan, remembering Mel’s stories.
    â€œNicol, Anne, and Janell?” Julie studied what was left