Authors: Cindy Sample
Big loan. I wondered if Hangtown Bank funded it.
“Gordon is a busy executive, so I handle all the household chores, which includes paying our bills. Our income is excellent and despite the fact that I love to purchase nice things, I'm fairly prudent in my spending. In twenty-five years of marriage, Gordon has never had reason to doubt any of my financial decisions.”
Try supporting two children on an underwriter's salary. I could teach her a few things about prudent.
“When Rob went off to college, I didn't have enough activities to keep me busy. My charities and fundraising events were fulfilling, but there was still an empty hole in my life. I tried confiding in Gordon, but men don't get that empty nest stuff.”
“Isn't that why you took up dancing?” I said. “To fill the void.”
“Dancing distracted me for a while. Dimitri and I competed at a few local competitions and I looked forward to competing in the Holiday Ball. Buying exotic costumes was fun at first, but eventually, there wasn't enough fringe or sequins to keep me entertained. I needed a challenge that stimulated me mentally not just physically.” She sipped her tea. “One day Dimitri came to me with a proposition.”
I raised my eyebrows and she smiled.
“No, not that kind of proposition. A financial one. He wanted to open his own studio, but he didn't have any money. He asked if I would lend it to him. Dimitri and I were close, but I didn't feel comfortable loaning him the money. Then I had a brainstorm and told him I would do it if I could be a silent owner. When he agreed, I was in dance studio owner's heaven. I've chaired numerous fundraisers over the years and the thought of planning glamorous dance showcases and world-class competitions thrilled me. It was the perfect solution to my doldrums.”
“What did Mr. Chandler think of the idea?”
The way her face shut down told me the answer.
“He said no way were we going to invest his hard earned money in some silly dance studio start-up. Gordon didn't like Dimitri. I think he was jealous, but he couldn't figure out a way to stop me from dancing without looking like a possessive spouse.
“We argued over investing in the studio, but Gordon was adamant. And so was I. With Dimitri's dance acumen and my event planning experience and network of friends, I felt the studio would be a huge success. In my mind, I imagined that Gordon would be so proud of what I accomplished, that he wouldn't even notice...” Dana paused, a wistful expression crossing her face.
“Notice what?” I asked.
“Notice that I withdrew all the money out of our equity line.”
“Three hundred thousand dollars?” I yelped.
She held up three fingers, waggled them at me and nodded.
“Are you—” I almost said nuts but that didn't seem the most appropriate comment to make to my boss's wife.
She must have read my mind. “Am I crazy? It sounds like it, doesn't it? I feel like a spoiled wife who has no concept of money.”
“Do the detectives know about this? What kind of evidence do they have?”
“They went through Dimitri's bank statements and found large deposits of $25,000 every few weeks. Dimitri needed rent money and a deposit for the new studio. He claimed he had rented space in those beautiful offices in Town Square in El Dorado Hills. Then a couple of weeks later he needed money for the tenant improvements. Those fancy wood dance floors don't come cheap, especially if you want the spring loaded ones that are much easier on the feet. As far as Dimitri was concerned, our studio must have nothing but the best. He seemed to think I had unlimited funds and treated me like
his
personal bank.”
I stared at Dana, appalled that this woman, a respected and admired community leader, possessed such a lack of judgment.
She shook her head and met my gaze. “I know, in retrospect, it sounds absolutely idiotic. Dimitri kept coming up with more and more grandiose concepts. First the high-cost floor then one of those large glitter balls for our special events. He even ordered special mirrors that make everyone look slender.”
Mirrors that make you look skinny? Now
that
was a brilliant concept. I needed to find out where you could buy one of those.
“The last check I gave him was supposed to be used for signing bonuses for the big name teachers from the Bay Area. One of the professionals who occasionally performed on
Dancing with the Stars
agreed to be a guest instructor. How could I refuse?”
She couldn't. I would mortgage my house to dance with one of those guys.
“I'm still not sure why your business arrangement with Dimitri automatically makes you a suspect. Didn't you show the detectives your partnership agreement?”
“I was afraid to put anything in writing in case Gordon found out. It seemed better to stick to a verbal agreement. I've been dancing with Dimitri for almost three years and I felt like we had a special relationship. I trusted him.”
Amazing how good looks and biceps could transform a banker's wife into a silly teenager.
“Okay, what else do they have?”
“The sheriff is positive Dimitri was my lover since I gave him so much money. They insinuated I killed him in a jealous rage.”
“The money aspect is somewhat suspicious, but why do they assume you were angry with Dimitri?”
She stared down at her hands then raised her eyes to me. “Someone overheard us arguing at the studio earlier that afternoon. Someone who heard me threatening that I would...” Her voice broke off.
“Threatening that you would tell someone he stole your money?”
Her eyes locked with mine. “Threatening to kill him.”
TWENTY-ONE
* * * *
Just when you think you've heard everything.
“Pretty strong words,” I commented.
“I was upset and it was merely a figure of speech but...” She held her palms up and looked at me apologetically.
“So who overheard your conversation?”
“Anya.” She mumbled something under her breath that rhymed with witch. “She's the one who informed the police about our argument. I'm certain she and Dimitri were lovers, and I bet she suspected he and I were fooling around. A couple of times my dance shoes disappeared and I noticed her snickering as I combed the studio for them.”
I remembered the sultry manner in which Anya and Yuri danced in the studio the other day. “Are you certain Dimitri and Anya were lovers? She and Yuri seem joined at the hip, thighs and most of their movable body parts.”
Dana tilted her head to the side. “As far as I can tell, Anya is only interested in one thing...and that's Anya.”
I looked at her curiously.
“Whatever it takes for Anya to advance her career she'll do, whether it's sleeping with the other teachers, married or single, or her clients, married or single. Even Boris.” Dana chuckled. “Okay, maybe not Boris. She has some standards.”
Ouch. So the only man Anya
wouldn't
sleep with was the studio owner who thought he and I would make a great couple. My love life sucked.
I contemplated Dana's remarks. “When did you and Dimitri argue?”
“Around lunch time. I was so furious with him that I stormed out of the studio and drove home. For weeks, I'd been asking him to bring me copies of the leases, the invoices and the employment contracts with the Bay Area teachers. He assured me the money was well spent, but he could never produce anything definitive. I have no idea where all the money went.”
“Maybe he tucked it away in a bank account,” I offered.
“Yeah, right. The Bank of Dimitri,” she snorted, but in a ladylike banker's wife manner. “I was done with his lame excuses. All I could think about was that the money was gone and there was no studio. No big name dancers.”
She cradled her head in her hands. “And no more dream.”
“Does Mr. Chandler know what you did?” It was bad enough that her husband suspected his wife was fooling around with the dance instructor. I had a feeling financial hanky-panky would really hit him in his banker's gut as well as his wallet.
She nodded sheepishly and began twisting the tissue again. “Gordon came home for lunch that day as he often does. I was so riled up from the argument I told him everything, that the money was gone and I had nothing to show for it. Gordon was absolutely silent. He didn't even get red-faced like he usually does when he's mad. He stood up from the kitchen table and left. No kiss. No hug. No comment. He got in his car and drove back to the bank.”
I was starting to feel much more empathetic toward my boss. My life seemed relatively calm in comparison to what he recently suffered. I still couldn't decide whether or not to believe Dana's claim that her relationship with Dimitri was completely innocent. In the best case scenario, she had stolen money from her husband. Worst case, she had stolen money
and
committed adultery.
“So why did you go back to the studio Thursday night?”
“I had calmed down and hoped somehow I could force Dimitri into telling me what he really did with the funds. He just laughed at me earlier when I threatened to kill him. Said it wasn't the first time someone threatened him.”
“You must have been stunned when you heard he was dead.”
She stared at me in horror. “Honestly, I couldn't believe it.”
I peeked at my watch. We had to wrap this up soon. “It still doesn't seem like they have enough evidence pointing to you. Do you have any suspects in mind? What about those death threats Dimitri said he received?”
“I've wracked my brain but, honestly, Dimitri was so unpopular with the male instructors, any one of them could have sent those notes. Boris would have been furious about Dimitri starting his own studio. I'm sure Irina, his wife, suspected he might have been fooling around with Anya, or even with me. As for Anya?” Dana's lips curved in a slight smile. “She's number one on my list but I don't have any proof other than she's a conniving bitch and I'm not sure that's enough for the sheriff.”
I edged up from the wicker loveseat. “I need to leave, Dana. I'm not sure what I can do to help.”
Dana grasped my forearm so tightly I thought my bones might shatter. “The detectives are still investigating other suspects but you can see it doesn't look good. You're friendly with Detective Hunter so I thought maybe you could put in a good word on my behalf. The DA hates Gordon so he probably can't wait to put together a case and prosecute me.”
Her frightened eyes implored me. “Please. You're my only hope.”
Could I refuse her plea? Possibly.
Would I? Probably not.
I said goodbye, slipped out the front door, started the car and drove the two blocks back into town. Driving past the Bell Tower, I caught up to Doc Wisner's black and red nineteenth century stagecoach. His team of sturdy black horses clip-clopped down Main Street carrying a boisterous group of boys and their exhausted parents. I followed in their wake on the lookout for a parking spot, which would be at a premium on the last Saturday before Christmas.
A left blinker flashed and a dirty beige SUV scooted in front of the stagecoach, leaving a choice spot directly in front of the Old Town Grill.
Bells jingled as I pushed open the frosted glass door to the Grille. Mother sat in a corner table, tapping away on her Blackberry, her gigantic diamond blinding me with its beams of light. I hoped she was so preoccupied with her messages, she wouldn't notice I was over ten minutes late.
“Hello dear,” she intoned, not looking up, her thumbs working in tandem. For a sixty-two year old woman, her reflexes were excellent. “Late as usual.”
“Sorry.” My stomach rumbled as I grabbed one of the glossy menus resting on the oak-topped tables. If she was going to ignore me, I might as well distract myself by ogling the photos. I was so hungry I briefly considered ordering a cheeseburger with garlic fries, chocolate shake, and a stack of pancakes. And maybe an apple pie chaser.
Mother punched a button then set her device on the table. Even on a Saturday morning she was dressed to kill, in a belted green tweed jacket, complementary forest green pleated skirt and matching suede pumps, one of which was nudging my ankle. “So what were you doing this morning? You were so mysterious on the phone.”
“A special project for the bank.”
Our server appeared to take our orders. Mother chose her usual Cobb salad with dressing on the side and I followed suit, wistfully hoping a few stray French fries might leap off the fryer and accidentally land on top of my leafy greens.
“I'm glad the bank finally appreciates your talents. Have you heard the rumors that Dana Chandler was having an affair with that dancer who was killed?” Her powdered nose wrinkled in dismay.
“How well do you know Dana?” I asked.
“We've worked together on several fundraisers. And we're both on the Holiday Can Drive committee.” She peered at me over her rose-colored reading glasses. “By the way, we need more volunteers to transport some of the items.”
I can take a hint. The Holiday Can Drive would be added to my increasingly lengthy to-do list.
“Dana is such a classy woman,” I commented. “I can't imagine her having an affair, much less murdering someone.”
Mother took off her reading glasses and sighed. “She certainly doesn't appear capable of murder, but I'm probably not the best judge of character.”
Considering she had been known to fraternize with a killer, I agreed with her assessment.
“Do you know Dana from bank functions?” she asked.
I nodded. “They also invited me to their house this morning. Supposedly Dana is the number one suspect in Dimitri's death. They thought I could help.”
My mother's eyes widened. “Honey, I know Mr. Chandler is your boss, but I don't think you should get involved in another murder investigation. Especially one involving a Russian dancer. It wouldn't surprise me if the Russian Mafia was involved.”
“Mom, you've been reading too many spy novels.” I chuckled at the thought of muscle-bound men sporting black leather jackets running around killing dance instructors attired in see-through mesh shirts.
She shook a manicured index finger at me. “There is a large Russian community living in the foothills and in Sacramento. Many of them have purchased houses through me. Most are very sweet, but you never know what kind of ties they could have to criminals here and abroad.”