Nightmares Can Be Murder (A Dream Club Mystery) by Mary Kennedy Page B

couple of minutes; the station is right around the corner.” She looked at me and lifted her eyebrows. “The police are coming, too.”
    I nodded as she peered past Gina to the prone body of Chico. He was lying on his side next to a low sofa in the reception area of the studio. I’ve always wondered what people meant when they said someone looked “deathly still,” and now I knew. Chico resembled a mannequin, his eyes closed and his chest absolutely motionless. There was no doubt about it; Chico had danced his last tango. He no longer was sporting a George Hamilton tan, and his skin had already acquired an unhealthy grayish tinge. His features had lost that finely chiseled look, and his face had a slack expression. I could see china plates and serving dishes as if he had been struck down while eating dinner. Latin music was playing, the upbeat sound at odds with the grim scene before me.
    “How could this happen?” Gina wailed. She looked at her watch, shaking her head. “The students will be turning up any minute, and what will I tell them? It’s too late for me to call for a substitute teacher.”
    Ali and I exchanged a look. It was an odd thing to say under the circumstances, but shock does funny things to people and I decided not to read too much into it.
    “Gina,” Ali said gently, “try to calm down. Listen to me. There won’t be any classes tonight. They’ll take Chico”—she paused, glancing at the prone figure—“away, and then we can put up a notice that classes are canceled for this evening.”
    “Yes, you’re right, what am I thinking?” Gina asked with a catch in her throat. “Of course there won’t be class tonight. You must think I’m crazy—”
    “Not at all,” Ali said soothingly. She put her arm around Gina’s thin shoulders. “It must have been quite a shock to you, finding him like that.” Gina was staring at Ali with a dazed expression, her eyes blank. Ali added in a soft voice, “You can come over to our place and have a nice cup of tea and get your bearings.”
    Really? She’s inviting her upstairs for a nice chat over a cup of tea? This is insane
. If Chico was as dead as he looked, Gina wouldn’t have time for tea because the cops would want to interview her immediately at the scene. I decided not to mention this fact, and a couple of minutes later, I heard the ambulance tearing around the corner, sirens blaring.
    The paramedics double-parked in the narrow street, unloaded their equipment, and took off at a fast clip into the dance studio. Gina, Ali, and I stood awkwardly on the sidewalk, watching through the open doorway as two female paramedics, one young and blond, the other dark-haired and middle-aged, wordlessly knelt beside Chico. They moved quickly and efficiently, flipping Chico onto his back. One slapped a blood pressure cuff on him while the other checked for a pulse at his throat.
    My stomach clenched as one of the paramedics shone a penlight into Chico’s eyes and slowly shook her head. She sat back on her heels for a moment, exchanging a look with her partner, her expression grim.
    They rose slowly to their feet. “Are you family members?” the young blond paramedic asked in a low voice.
    “We’re neighbors,” I said, surprised that my voice was shaky. I thought I had my emotions under control, but the gravity of the situation suddenly hit me and I felt light-headed.
    “You discovered him?” the older paramedic asked.
    I hesitated. “Yes,” I said. Not exactly true, but I wasn’t sure if Gina was up to answering any questions. The blood had drained from her face, and she’d wobbled over to the curb, sitting with her head in her hands.
    “I’m the one who called it in,” Ali volunteered. She was standing over Gina with her hand resting protectively on her shoulder.
    “The police will want to interview you,” the older paramedic said, making her way toward us. She looked bone-tired and eager to be on her way. I wondered how emergency workers