music.
Irene noticed one pale girl who wore all black. She’d dyed her hair pink and was wearing it in two braids across the top of her head, Gretchen-style. Irene could see an inch of her blonde roots showing at the back of her neck. An ebony-skinned young man sat beside her. He was yawning so widely that Irene, in spite of the distance, could see into his throat. He was wearing an oversized knit hat, which appeared to have been created from the motley remnants of various balls of yarn.
Farther down the hallway was a white sign with the word ADMINISTRATION . Irene thought it wise to start her search there. When she went to push open the door, she found that it was locked. The glass doors that barred the entrance to the rest of the school were also locked. Obviously, outsiders were forbidden to go past the cafeteria.
The girl with the pink braids called out to her. “The bell is broken. Knock hard and someone will come.”
Irene knocked on the glass panel to the door, and almost immediately a woman wearing a light-blue leotard and white knit leg warmers came down the stairs. She was exactly what Irene had imagined a stereotypical dance student looked like. She was most likely one of the teachers. Her black hair,streaked with grey, was pulled back into a tight bun, and the lines in her face revealed that she was middle-aged. The woman smiled and opened the door for Irene without asking who she was or what she was doing there.
Bad security here
, thought Irene. She changed her mind during the time they walked up the stairs. She realized that she hardly appeared to be either a potential student or a crazy terrorist. Perhaps she gave off the “cop” smell from yards away.
The stairs ended in a reception area. Irene continued toward an older woman sitting behind a counter, introduced herself and told her why she was there.
“Marcelo Alves? I believe I recognize the name, but I’m not sure. Wait a moment while I go find Gisela.”
The sprightly white-haired woman walked down the hallway and knocked on a door. She entered and, a moment or two later, returned with a tiny woman in tow who held out her hand to Irene.
“Hello, I’m Gisela Bagge. I’m in charge of instruction here at the House of Dance.”
Gisela appeared almost transparent. Her light blonde hair was cut in a short style with wisps springing up around her head. Her round blue eyes and her smile made Irene think of an angel. Her white dress completed the picture. The turtleneck collar was as wide as it could be without sliding off her shoulders and falling straight to her ankles. She wore a wide red ribbed belt, which perfectly matched her suede boots.
“Let’s go into my office,” Gisela Bagge said.
She spun gracefully on her high heels and led Irene down the hallway to her office, a surprisingly small room with large windows facing the old schoolyard. Gisela sat down behind her desk and gestured for Irene to sit in the opposite chair. Irene could see the autumn mist and the emptying branches of the chestnut tree outside.
Gisela got right to the point. “Lilly told me you were looking for Marcelo Alves.”
“That’s right. It’s part of our ongoing investigation into the murder of Sophie Malmborg. I understand Marcelo rents an apartment from her.”
“I know. I was the one who put him in touch with her. Sophie usually rents … rented rooms to our visiting instructors at low cost. She started the practice after her father died.”
“Marcelo has no telephone we can reach, so I thought I would try to find him here,” Irene said, smiling.
Gisela smiled in return, and in the harsh light from the ceiling lights, Irene could see thin lines spread from the corners of her eyes like rays from the sun. Irene suspected that Gisela was about forty years old, but could easily be mistaken for twenty-five.
“If you want Marcelo, you have to come by later in the day. He rarely arrives here before two in the afternoon. Often later.”
“But he has
Irene noticed one pale girl who wore all black. She’d dyed her hair pink and was wearing it in two braids across the top of her head, Gretchen-style. Irene could see an inch of her blonde roots showing at the back of her neck. An ebony-skinned young man sat beside her. He was yawning so widely that Irene, in spite of the distance, could see into his throat. He was wearing an oversized knit hat, which appeared to have been created from the motley remnants of various balls of yarn.
Farther down the hallway was a white sign with the word ADMINISTRATION . Irene thought it wise to start her search there. When she went to push open the door, she found that it was locked. The glass doors that barred the entrance to the rest of the school were also locked. Obviously, outsiders were forbidden to go past the cafeteria.
The girl with the pink braids called out to her. “The bell is broken. Knock hard and someone will come.”
Irene knocked on the glass panel to the door, and almost immediately a woman wearing a light-blue leotard and white knit leg warmers came down the stairs. She was exactly what Irene had imagined a stereotypical dance student looked like. She was most likely one of the teachers. Her black hair,streaked with grey, was pulled back into a tight bun, and the lines in her face revealed that she was middle-aged. The woman smiled and opened the door for Irene without asking who she was or what she was doing there.
Bad security here
, thought Irene. She changed her mind during the time they walked up the stairs. She realized that she hardly appeared to be either a potential student or a crazy terrorist. Perhaps she gave off the “cop” smell from yards away.
The stairs ended in a reception area. Irene continued toward an older woman sitting behind a counter, introduced herself and told her why she was there.
“Marcelo Alves? I believe I recognize the name, but I’m not sure. Wait a moment while I go find Gisela.”
The sprightly white-haired woman walked down the hallway and knocked on a door. She entered and, a moment or two later, returned with a tiny woman in tow who held out her hand to Irene.
“Hello, I’m Gisela Bagge. I’m in charge of instruction here at the House of Dance.”
Gisela appeared almost transparent. Her light blonde hair was cut in a short style with wisps springing up around her head. Her round blue eyes and her smile made Irene think of an angel. Her white dress completed the picture. The turtleneck collar was as wide as it could be without sliding off her shoulders and falling straight to her ankles. She wore a wide red ribbed belt, which perfectly matched her suede boots.
“Let’s go into my office,” Gisela Bagge said.
She spun gracefully on her high heels and led Irene down the hallway to her office, a surprisingly small room with large windows facing the old schoolyard. Gisela sat down behind her desk and gestured for Irene to sit in the opposite chair. Irene could see the autumn mist and the emptying branches of the chestnut tree outside.
Gisela got right to the point. “Lilly told me you were looking for Marcelo Alves.”
“That’s right. It’s part of our ongoing investigation into the murder of Sophie Malmborg. I understand Marcelo rents an apartment from her.”
“I know. I was the one who put him in touch with her. Sophie usually rents … rented rooms to our visiting instructors at low cost. She started the practice after her father died.”
“Marcelo has no telephone we can reach, so I thought I would try to find him here,” Irene said, smiling.
Gisela smiled in return, and in the harsh light from the ceiling lights, Irene could see thin lines spread from the corners of her eyes like rays from the sun. Irene suspected that Gisela was about forty years old, but could easily be mistaken for twenty-five.
“If you want Marcelo, you have to come by later in the day. He rarely arrives here before two in the afternoon. Often later.”
“But he has
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