Free Dying for a Dance by Cindy Sample Page A

you're also taking dance lessons. I would be grateful for anything you can find out when you're at the studio. I—” His extension rang interrupting our conversation. He grabbed it and answered, “Chandler.” He motioned for me to exit his office and I was out before his hand had stopped shooing me out the door.
    I trod down the stairs in a daze. That the president thought I was competent enough to keep his wife out of jail should have been a big ego boost, but what if I failed? I glanced around at my co-workers in their cubicles. If Dana was arrested would that impact the bank's reputation? Could it eventually lead to bank employees losing their jobs?
    Employees like me?
    With visions of unpaid bills piling up in my head, I slumped in my chair and stared at the stack of loan files awaiting my decision. No matter whether the economy was in a recession or an inflationary period, people still wanted to close on their home purchases before the end of the tax year.
    Decisions, decisions. Underwriting or detecting?
    Despite my concerns, an excuse to interfere in a murder investigation won hands down over examining employment verifications and bank statements. Not to mention that the image of Dana Chandler clad in a baggy orange jumpsuit just seemed wrong.
    I wondered how long it would be before they removed the crime scene tape from the dance studio. I didn't have long to ponder. My cell phone blasted out the tune to “Here Comes the Bride.”
    “Sweetie, they're re-opening the studio tomorrow,” Liz said. “Isn't that fabulous?”
    Fabulous for detecting. As for dancing—not so much.
    Between my friend's British accent, which seemed to intensify whenever she grew excited, and the poor reception on my cell, I could only catch occasional phrases of what she said.
    One comment jumped out at me, however. “Practice our choreography?”
    “Yes, it's time for everyone in the bridal party to try the routine together. You must know your part by now.”
    “Liz, I can barely figure out when to move forward or back, much less quick, quick and slow. No, I don't have the choreography or the footwork down yet.”
    “If Bobby's not a good teacher then let's dump him and get another instructor. Maybe Yuri. He's almost as hot as Dimitri, may he rest in peace.”
    “I doubt the hotness of the teacher has anything to do with my ability to learn the foxtrot. When I dance, I look more like Lucille Ball than Ginger Rogers.”
    “I'll schedule another lesson for you and Bobby for tomorrow night. Meanwhile, rent some old Fred and Ginger videos. That should do the trick.”
    My best friend was dreaming if she thought a few hours of watching that famous Hollywood duo would turn me into an overnight dance sensation but Liz hung up mid-protest. A tuneless whistle outside my cubicle announced the impending visit of Stan, arms loaded with manila file folders.
    “Those better not be new loans to underwrite,” I said.
    “Nope, I'm on my way to the doc department to drop them off. I heard you were upstairs hangin’ with the bigwigs again.” He waggled his eyebrows at me, Groucho style. “What's going on? Are you getting a promotion?”
    “It depends on how you define promotion.” I hesitated, unsure if I should share the information about Dana with my assistant.
    “C'mon, spill. You know you want to. I promise not to tell.”
    I motioned for him to sit. He dropped the files on the floor then plopped into my guest chair.
    I leaned across my desk and spoke quietly. “Dana Chandler could be arrested.”
    “Arrested?” Stan yelled.
    “Arrested?” shouted Mary Lou, my cubicle neighbor who was also a senior underwriter. Her chair squealed as she jumped up, joining us in less than two seconds. “Laurel, were you arrested again?”
    My reputation desperately needed a makeover. “I wish people would stop staying that,” I said. “I was never formally arrested. Merely a person of interest.”
    Mary Lou appeared confused, but she was a