Page 45 of The Virgin's Dance
Eugenie snorted. “The only thing wrong with that is that he’ll know that if I wanted her dead, she would be dead. This is why I shouldn’t work with amateurs. I’ll deal with it myself.”
“And me?”
Eugenie smiled. “If I were you, Miss Carver, I’d get out of town before either the police or I catch up with you.”
Hearing the click on the other end of the phone, Serena smiled. The call was recorded on her phone now.Mutually assured destruction,she thought. Serena had taken as much money from her account as possible and grabbed what she could to sell from Kristof’s apartment all in preparation days ago, but there was no way she was going to leave town without bringing everyone else down with her.
She stuck her phone in her pocket and drained the last of her coffee. She pushed her way out of the coffeehouse into the night and stood at the crosswalk.
She never saw the car which aimed straight for her and took her out before coming to a stop. Serena was crushed under the front wheels as people around her started to scream. The driver got out and retrieved Serena’s phone from her. As she gasped for life, her chest crushed, her right leg almost severed by the huge SUV, the driver frisked her then got back into the car without saying a word and sped off.
As Serena bled out, her last living thought was that Eugenie’s psychosis far outranked any she had ever known, and that somewhere deep inside, she felt sorry for Boh and Pilot, knowing they would never have a moment’s peace while Eugenie Ratcliffe-Morgan was alive.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Dead?”
The detective nodded. “At the scene. A hit and run as far as we know. We’re interviewing witnesses.” He looked at Boh sympathetically. “I know you would have rather Miss Carver faced legal justice.”
Boh nodded. “I would never have wished her dead.”
Pilot, next to her, made a noise. “In all honesty—good riddance. I doubt anyone will mourn for her.”
Boh knew he was angry, but she squeezed his hand. “It’s over now.” She looked at the detective. He had come to see them at the ballet company, where Boh and Pilot had been asked to attend a meeting with the company’s leadership. Liz, Celine, Nell, and even the founder, Oliver Fortuna, a stately Englishman in his late seventies, sat listening in silence now as the detective broke the news of Serena’s death.
The detective bid them goodbye. “Any further information, we will, of course, let you know.”
Liz told them all that the board had appointed Grace as the new artistic director of the ballet company, effective immediately. “We need stability now, after everything. Kristof’s showcase was very well received, but we would be naive to think that what happened won’t hit the newspapers. Randall McIntosh is already sniffing around. He noticed something, despite you and Lexie doing an excellent job of covering up.” Liz smiled at Boh. “Given the circumstances, you were a warrior, Boh. How are you feeling?”
“Honestly? Kind of numb. Physically, fine, really. Lexie …”
“She’s fine, shaken. We gave her the rest of the week off, but still, she’s in the studio with Grace this morning.”
Boh smiled. “That’s our girl.” She looked shyly at Oliver Fortuna. “Mr. Fortuna, Lexie is an exceptional dancer, and her work ethic is second to none. I hope we can take that into consideration when discussing her future with our company.”
Oliver smiled. “You can bet we will, Boh.” He looked at Pilot. “Nell has shown me some of the work you have been doing—sensational. We’d like to keep working with you, if you have the time and the capacity.”
Pilot nodded gratefully. “Thank you. I’m honored by that.”
“We’re all looking forward to your exhibition on Friday. And, personally speaking,” Oliver continued, “I’d like to make a contribution to the Quilla Chen Foundation. Now, before you get excited, I’m thinking we could hold performances which benefit the Foundation … believe it or not, I’m not cash rich.”
“Any contribution would help, thank you.” Pilot looked at Liz. “But I understand some of the ballet’s financiers are getting skittish?”
Liz sighed. “What with Oona’s suicide, Eleonor’s accident—my apologies, Celine—and now this …”
Pilot nodded. “Liz, Oliver … the Scamo family will make sure that you never, ever have to worry about funding for this company. We will make up any shortfall and contribute extra if required.”
Both Oliver and Liz looked stunned. Nell smiled at her old friend. “I might have known.”
“What do you want in return?”
Pilot looked surprised at Oliver’s question. “Nothing. Apart from … treating your dancers well. That’s all I ask.” He squeezed Boh’s hand.
Pilot sat with Boh as she changed into her leotard and shoes. The changing room was empty—Saturday morning, most of the dancers had the day off. They had passed the studio where Grace and Lexie were rehearsing—or rather, gossiping—and spent a few moments with their friends.
“I know I should use this time to rest,” Boh said, “but I really want to dance. Just for an hour or two. Practice the piece for your exhibition.” She tapped his camera. “You can use this or just watch, if you like.”
“I do like.”
