The Other Side - J. D. Robb [15]
“No, she tells me nothing, that girl. But she doesn’t come back. She’s not the first, will not be the last. Her old grandmother comes—a good woman—looking for this flighty girl who has talent. Wasted now. Wasted.”
The way she cut her hand through the air made her anger clear.
“I tell her this, tell Gizi, Beata has talent. Needs discipline, needs practice. Should not waste so much time with the tap and the jazz and the modern business. I tell Beata the same, but she only smiles. Then poof, off she runs.”
“When did you last see Madam Szabo?”
“Ah . . . ” Barinova frowned, waved a hand in the air. “A day ago, I think. Yes, on yesterday. She comes often. Sometimes we have tea. She was a dancer in her day, she tells me, and we talk. She’s a good woman, and Beata shows no respect to her. She thinks harm has come to Beata, but I say how could this be? Beata is strong and smart—except she’s stupid to run to Las Vegas. So, she asked you to come? Like the other police?”
“No. Madam Szabo was killed this afternoon.”
“No.” Barinova held out both hands as if to push the words away. “No. How does this happen?”
“She was stabbed in the alley outside her apartment building.”
Barinova closed her eyes. “Such cruelty. I will pray she finds peace and her killer roasts in hell. Beata must bear some blame for this. Selfish girl.”
“When did you last see Beata?”
“Ah.” She cut a hand through the air again, but now there were tears in her eyes for the old woman and disgust for the young. “Weeks now, maybe months. She comes to class excited about a part in some musical. She works hard, this is true. I give her the pas de deux with Alexi in our autumn gala. My son,” she added. “She dances well with him in practice, then she says she has this part—maybe she does, maybe she doesn’t. But soon after, she doesn’t come to class anymore. I have my brother Sasha to call her on the ’link, but she doesn’t answer. We tell all this to the police when they come.”
“Did Madam Szabo tell you she was concerned about anyone? That she had any leads on Beata?”
“She said the last she was here she believed Beata was close. She was Romany, you understand, and had a gift. Me, I have Romany in my blood, but from long ago. She used her gift and said Beata was close, but trapped. Below, behind a red door.” Barinova shrugged. “She was very old, and gifted, yes, but sometimes hope and wishes outweigh truth. The girl ran off as girls do, and now a good woman is dead.”
“It would be helpful if we could talk to your son and brother, maybe some of the students who took classes with Beata.”
“Yes, yes, we will help. I will miss tea with Gizi and our talks.” She turned back into the studio, moved to her son. She spoke quickly in Russian, gestured, then took his place as he strode out.
“You’re interrupting my practice.” Unlike his mother, he had no trace of an accent. What he had was attitude.
“Yeah, murder interrupts a lot of things.”
“What murder?” His sneer twisted off his face. “Beata? She’s dead?”
“I don’t know, but her great-grandmother is.”
“Madam Szabo?” His shock looked sincere enough, and so, Eve noted, did his relief. “Why would anybody kill an old woman?”
“People always seem to have a reason. In this case, maybe because she was getting close to finding out what happened to Beata.”
“Beata left.” He jerked a shoulder sharply. “She didn’t have what it takes.”
“To what?”
“To dance, to live life full.”
Eve cocked her head. “Wouldn’t sleep with you?”
He tipped back his head to look down his long nose. “I don’t have a problem getting women into bed. If we’d danced together for the gala, we’d sleep together. One is like the other.”
“I thought you did dance together.”
“Practice.”
“So it must’ve annoyed you that she wouldn’t have sex with you.”
“This woman, that woman.” He smiled slowly. “One is like the other.”
“Charming. When did you last see Madam Szabo?”
“Just yesterday. She’d visit class, and my mother, a lot. Talk to the other dancers here, and the other studios down on two and three where Beata took some classes. She’d have tea with my mother, sit