Chapter 4 - The Dance Studio Behind the Locked Door
Vincent Graham didn't reach for a weapon when George accused his closest friend of arranging his wife's death.
He did something more frightening.
He became silent.
Levi stood near the doorway, his face carefully controlled.
"Vincent, we've known each other twenty years."
Vincent looked at him.
"Then you won't mind explaining."
Levi exhaled.
"George is confused. Michael Young was obsessed with the foundation records. He accused everyone of stealing."
My stomach tightened.
"Don't talk about my father like that."
Levi glanced at me.
"Miss Young, you don't understand the situation."
I stepped closer.
"Then explain it."
Vincent watched me.
For a moment, something almost like admiration crossed his face.
Then George interrupted.
"There's a place Michael wanted Katie to find."
I turned.
"What place?"
"The old ballroom studio on Wabash Avenue."
My heart stopped.
Dad's studio.
The place where he'd taught me my first waltz.
It had closed seven years earlier after his medical bills became impossible to pay.
"I thought the building was sold."
George nodded.
"It was."
"To whom?"
He looked toward Vincent.
"One of the Graham companies."
Vincent frowned.
"I didn't authorize that purchase."
Levi's jaw tightened.
George continued.
"Michael kept a room locked behind the main rehearsal hall."
I stared.
"His office?"
"No."
"A storage room?"
George shook his head.
"He called it the music room."
I remembered that door.
Dark green paint.
A brass handle.
Dad never let students inside.
He told me it held old recordings and fragile equipment.
"Why does it matter?" I asked.
George looked down.
"Because the night Eleanor died, she recorded something there."
Vincent went still.
"What?"
George nodded.
"She'd arranged to meet Michael before speaking with you. She wanted him to make copies of what she'd discovered."
I swallowed.
"Did she?"
"Yes."
Levi suddenly moved toward the door.
Vincent's security guard stepped into his path.
"Mr. Garrison, please stay."
Levi turned.
"This is ridiculous!"
Vincent looked at him.
"Then you have nothing to worry about."
Hours later, investigators accompanied us to the abandoned studio.
Dust covered the mirrors.
The wooden floor had warped near the windows.
The room smelled like old plaster and forgotten music.
I stood in the doorway, overwhelmed.
I could almost hear Dad counting.
One, two, three.
Again, Katie.
Trust your feet.
Vincent watched me.
"Are you okay?"
I nodded.
"Just memories."
George pointed toward the back wall.
"That door."
The green paint was peeling.
I approached slowly.
Then I noticed something.
The brass handle had been replaced.
I tried it.
Locked.
George handed me a small key.
"Michael gave me this."
My hands trembled as I turned it.
The door opened.
Inside was a tiny recording studio.
A dusty piano.
Shelves of tapes.
And a desk covered with sheet music.
On the wall hung a photograph of my father holding me when I was twelve.
I began crying.
Then Vincent noticed a small safe beneath the desk.
Its door stood open.
Empty.
Someone had already searched the room.
But George smiled sadly.
"They didn't know Michael."
He walked toward the piano.
Lifted its wooden music stand.
And removed a narrow envelope hidden beneath it.
Inside was a digital storage device.
A note was taped to it.
For Katie, when she finally learns to dance without fear.
Then I noticed another message.
May you like
Written beneath the first.
The man who killed Eleanor is still sitting beside Vincent.
