64) Mark and Amanda realise they have romantic feelings for
each other but try to ignore them as they try to solve the murder
of the new doctor at CG is murdered. -- N.J. Amos
AFTER THE DANCE
Story by Iona Yeager
Based on the CBS/VIACOM Series
DIAGNOSIS MURDER
Submitted by Iona, Wtr4Hire@aol.com
Story: Hidden and complex passions surface during a series of
related murders, threatening the bond between Steve, Amanda, and
Mark. It's up to Jesse to keep emotions from ruining the perfect
friendship.
DISCLAIMER: Diagnosis Murder, the characters Amanda Bentley, CJ
Livingston, Dion Bentley, Jesse Travis, Steve Sloan, and Mark
Sloan, the locations Community General Hospital, and The Beach
House are all the property of CBS/VIACOM. No profits or fees were
paid to the author.
-1-
"Ask Steve," Mark Sloan recommended. Accepting a chart
from a pretty young nurse, he turned and winked at his best
friend. Amanda Bentley took a deep breath and rolled her eyes
with frustration. She waited until until Mark signed the chart
then renewed her appeal.
"Have you ever danced with your son, Mark?"
"No, I can't say that I have," Mark chuckled. He slowed
his pace so Amanda would not have to run to keep up. "But I
know Steve loves to dance."
Amanda shuddered.
"Mark, slam dancers run from that man."
Mark grinned. He held open the door to his office allowing the
pretty young Doctor to enter first.
"He just needs a good partner. Besides, I'm a hoofer. You
need someone proficient in ballroom dancing." Mark walked to
his desk. He rifled through his messages.
"Steve said that you and his Mother won all kinds of
trophies for ballroom dancing." Amanda sat across from Mark
in the swivel chair. She crossed her long, slender legs, swinging
the chair back and forth. "He told me how debonair you were
in tails and how much he loved watching his mother twirl in those
frothy dresses. He said she moved like an angel."
"Katherine was just as bad a dancer as Steve is when we
first met. She was the oldest child and insisted on leading. Used
to step all over my feet. But we worked it out. We were quite the
pair. But I haven't done any ballroom dancing since she
died."
"Oh." Amanda smile of expectation faded . "Mark,
I'm sorry. I didn't think. That was insensitive of me. Of course
you wouldn't want another partner." She stood up and,
smoothed her lab coat to cover her embarrassment.
"You don't have to apologize, Amanda," Mark assured
her.
"Well, there are plenty of single doctors on staff. I'm
pretty certain I can find a partner for the benefit." She
touched her finger to lips and pantomimed a kiss before leaving
the room. Mark watched her leave. He leaned back in his chair
gazing at the photographed smile of his wife. Even frozen on
glossy paper, Kathryn's smile illuminated the room. Her eyes
seemed to twinkle with knowledge. Mark smiled, rose and sketched
a bow to his former and best partner. He began a solo two step.
"I won't dance," he sang. He pulled in his coat rack as
a partner. "Don't ask me..."
*******************************************
Amanda stifled a shriek of outrage as Doctor Jonathan Wilson
inserted his knee between her legs and bent her back over his
arm. Reeking of peppermint schnapps and Armani cologne, the
handsome, bearded blond giant epitomized the portrait of the
"snake oil" villain right down to his slicked back
ponytail and glistening white, capped teeth.
"Excellent, Doctor Wilson." Peter Cheung applauded.
Wilson preened, not detecting the mockery in his eyes. Peter's
laughter was quite visible to his childhood friend. Amanda glared
at him. "Amanda honey, smile. This is the tango, a dance of
seduction."
He walked away swiftly, leaving Amanda sputtering wordlessly.
Wilson jerked Amanda up, doing a proficient quick step before
pulling her tight against his torso.
"Do you know, " Wilson growled into Amanda's ear.
"That the Tango originated in the Brothels of
Argentina?"
"I believe it," Amanda answered, struggling against his
hold.
"Actually it began as a challenge dance between men,"
Mark Sloan interjected. Wilson turned. He flushed crimson at the
cool, blue appraisal in Mark's eyes. "But I don't see much
of a contest here."
"Doctor Sloan," Wilson stammered. "I'm surprised
to see you here."
"Mark?" Amanda's eyes widened with hope. Mark held out
his hand to her, his eyes, warm once more. He nodded a dismissal
to Wilson. "Thank you for amusing my partner, Doctor
Wilson."
"Well, I-uh," Looking very confused, the younger man
flushed again.
"Of, course. Thanks for the dance, Doctor Bentley."
"I wasn't certain if I should cut in or demand that he meet
me at dawn at twenty paces," Marked joked, once the
"smooth operator" was out of ear shot.
Amanda plucked at her clothing, shaking her shirt with disdain.
"I feel like I should shower first," she said to Mark.
"Thanks for the rescue. But I'm still without a partner,
though, frankly, at this point I'd rather have Steve stomp all
over my feet than that reptilian Romeo."
"I'm at your service, Madame." Mark gallantly kissed
her hand. Spotting the couple, Peter signaled the piano player.
The music ended.
"What happened to Valentino?" Peter quipped. Amanda
tossed her head.
"Mark, my "real" friend, cut in and sent him
packing with his tail between his legs," she huffed.
Peter laughed aloud.
"Bravo, Doctor." He playfully tapped Amanda's nose.
"Don't worry baby girl. Had he offered to take you home, I
was prepared to call him out." He nodded to Doctor Sloan.
"I see you have on your dancing shoes, Doctor. Have decided
to squire the lovely Doctor Bentley to our soiree?"
"Yeah. Well, it depends on the program."
"Basic ballroom. Waltz, two step, samba, tango, flamingo for
the daring. I'm just giving tips in the basic, but your personal
choreography is up to you."
"I think we can manage."
"Good deal. Lets see your opening steps." Peter snapped
his finger. "Timothy. Waltz."
Mark and Amanda took positions opposite each other. The pianist
played the opening bars of romantic theme from a 1950s movie.
Mark extended his hand. Amanda moved gracefully, accepting his
hand. Mark pulled her close. He held her firmly, though not
invasively. He took the first step, swaying Amand into a graceful
backward arch. Amanda, amazed, felt her knees turn to jelly.
Peter checked their form.
"Nice, sensual but not overtly erotic. Very nice.
Continue."
Exhausted, but excited and happy after rehearsal, Mark and Amanda
exited the studio. Amanda chatted gaily, telling Mark about her
choice of clothing. She punctuated her statements with her free
hand, occasionally hugging his arm. Steve Sloan stood at the door
watching the pair. He had not seen his father really dance with a
woman since his mother passed. He did simple dancing at social
functions. Even Steve's girlfriend's sought the urbane older man
as a partner, but never performance dancing. Steve, observing
Amanda's rapturous face as she danced with his father, noted for
the first time what an attractive couple the two good friends
made. His father, tall, cool, and elegant somehow perfectly
matched Amanda's graceful, but charmingly vivacious exterior.
What shocked Steve was his reaction to seeing his father and his
close friend together. Somewhere, a curl of resentment formed. He
forced a smile as Mark hailed him. Mark's eyebrows slanted in
appraisal, but he smiled at his son.
"Hi Steve," Amanda beamed. "Your dad is
fantastic."
"I know. You two looked pretty good out there."
"Well, we still have a few kinks to work out," Amanda
answered seriously, unaware of any tension between father and
son. "We'll have to find a time to rehearse a routine. I
need to freshen up and change." She threw her arms around
Mark's neck and kissed his cheek. "You saved my life. Love
you." She wiggled her fingers at Steve. "You too, big
guy. See you later."
"All right, Son. What was that look for?" Mark
questioned after Amanda vanished around the corner.
"What look? Want to go get a bite, Dad?"
"Fine. Lets wait to walk Amanda out to her car."
********************************************************
That Bentley woman was a true snob, Jonathan Wilson thought,
marching to his Ferrari. Sloan, his cop son, and that puppy dog,
Travis, treated Amanda like she was the Holy Grail. What she
needed was a real man to work that cute little body for a couple
of hours. A few more minutes on the dance floor and he would have
had her begging for a spot in his bed.
He pressed the alarm button on his key ring. The car beeped. A
shadow moved from behind a nearby car.
"I have a gun," Wilson warned. He reached inside his
coat, wrapping his hand around his two hundred dollar Mont Blanc
pen.
'You got a light, Jon?" The shadow said in a soft, low
voice.
"Who are you?" Wilson demanded.
The man stepped into the light.
"You don't remember me, Jon-ton?
"Where did you learn that name? No one called me that
but--Mitchell? Mitchell Ryan? Can't be."
The man held out his hand. Hesitating a moment, Wilson shook his
hand and smiled. Mitchell Ryan held up his cigarette,
questioning.
"Oh, yeah, sorry." Fumbling in his pocket, Wilson
pulled out a silver lighter and held it under the man's
cigarette. "Those things will kill you," he told
Mitchell. "So what are doing here? I didn't see you
dancing."
"I don't dance. The eldest of my younger sisters is the
dancer. You were about to say that no one called you Jon-ton but
little Mandy Belle. I saw you dancing with her."
"Mandy Belle? No. That was Doctor Amanda Bentley."
Jonathan shook his head. "No, she's not our Mandy."
"Yeah she is. I'm one of the organizers of the benefit. I
did some checking. She grew up real pretty huh?"
"So stuck-up rich girl Amanda Bentley is Amanda Bell, our
foster sister. I thought she was with that Mexican family after
-- well you know, when she tuned two."
"You mean after my parents were sited on numerous counts of
child abuse." Mitchell corrected, his voice still warm.
"Took them years to shake that charge. They took Mandy and
my little sisters away from me. Put me in a foster home for two
years."
"I'm sorry that happened, Mitch. But, we were kids. We
didn't understand what happened."
"You know I think Dad would have got a kick out of seeing
you bump and grind with little Mandy Belle."
"Hey, it wasn't like that. I had no ideal who she was."
"You know," Mitchell threw his cigarette to the
pavement. Twsiting his foot he ground it into the asphalt.
"You're right, Jon. These things will kill you."
Jonathan noted Mitchell's driving gloves and stepped back, too
late sensing menace. Mitchell's hand moved like lightning,
whipping close to Wilson's collar. Wilson grabbed his throat.
Gasping, his mouth opened. He tightened his fingers attemtping to
stop the flow of blood from espcaping. Mitchell smiled benignly
and walked away as Wilson slumped, moaning to the ground.
***************************************
Amanda opened her locker and pulled out her street clothes. A
beautifully wrapped package fell out. She picked it up. The card
read simply: "Amanda."
She looked around. Most of the other women were changing. Doctor
Rupert, the cardiologist from Angels of Mercy hospital, leaned
over with a smile.
"Oooh. Someone has a secret admirer."
"Just hope it's not Jon Wilson. What a snake." This
from Doctor Laura Pennymaine of St. Charles hospital. "Good
thing Doctor Sloan showed up, huh Amanda."
"Tell me about it." Amanda opened the package, thinking
belatedly that Steve would have submitted it to the bomb squad
first. Opening the tissue, she pulled out delicate ceramic bell
shaped music box. "Mandy Belle" was spelled out in
delicate gold script.
"That is exquisite," Doctor Pennymaine commented
peering over Amanda's shoulder. Amanda lifted the top. A tiny
glass ballerina with gold tinted skin twirled on one foot as box
chimed out the melody to "I'll Do Anything."
"Mark, you shouldn't have." Amanda greeted the Sloan
men in the corridor. She kissed Mark's cheek then held the music
box forward. "This is too extravagant. Being my partner is
enough."
Mark examined the box. He shook his head..
"It is pretty, honey, but I did not send it."
"But you're the only one I told my nickname, except-"
She glanced up at Steve.
"Nah it's not your style." She turned missing Steve's
affronted expression.
"What about Peter? He knows your baby name."
"He wouldn't send me something like this in secret."
"Let me see it, Amanda," Steve ordered.
Amanda obediently though reluctantly handed Steve the music box.
"You're not going to dismantle it or anything are you?"
"We'll see." He was interrupted by a high pitched
scream. Doctor Pennymaine ran into the building. She grabbed
Steve's arm, her face rigid with shock.
"Lieutenant Sloan, Doctor Sloan. Doctor Wilson's been
attacked."
The trio looked at each other and on one accord ran out to the
parking lot.
Amanda pushed past the crowd of doctors and social workers. A
strong hand circled her arm, holding her back. Expecting Mark,
she turned bewildered.
A tall, well dressed man with long salt and pepper hair stood
behind her. He bent towards her, his face creased with concern.
"You don't want to see this Doctor Bentley. It's pretty
gruesome."
"You're Mitchell Ryan--of the Family Choice Channel?"
Amanda guessed. "I'm the medical examiner, Mr. Ryan. I have
to see what's going on."
"You aren't disturbed by sights like this?"
"Well, yes, but it's my job. If you would excuse me."
Ryan nodded politely and released her arm. Amanda joined Steve
and Mark.
"Bled to death," she determined. She accepted gloves
and her ME jacket from the police team. " It looks like he
tried to save himself. But there's no bruising or other apparent
signs of a struggle. I'll know more when we get him to the lab.
What do you think? Robbery?"
"Knowing Wilson, it was probably an irate husband,"
Laura Pennymaine quipped. Her husband Alan, snorted in agreement.
"Well, right now everyone is a suspect." Steve cut in.
"Including your father?" One of the doctors spoke up.
"He seemed quite displeased with the way ole Jonathan there
was oiling all over Amanda."
Steve lips turned up at one side.
"Including my father."
Ignoring Steve's taunt, Mark perused the area searching for
clues. A shiny object caught his attention.
"Steve," Mark beckoned. Steve walked over to the area.
He wrinkled his nose.
"He stopped to have a cigarette?"
"Wilson didn't smoke. I recall he said he did when he was a
teen and it took years to break the habit."
Steve motioned to a technician. The pretty young woman collected
the smashed cigarette and the lighter and dropped them in to an
evidence bag.
Amanda stood up, gave the technicians some instructions, then
went to retrieve her music box. Steve took it from her hand.
"Unless you know where this came from this is possible
evidence."
"That's nonsense," Amanda protested. She extended her
hand to take back the delicate object. Steve easily held it out
of reach.
"Amanda, before he left, Jonathan Wilson danced with you.
From what I hear, it was pretty obvious that he wanted more from
you than a quick two step."
"I assure you, I was two minutes from cold-cocking him
before Mark cut in. I didn't like him, but I'm sorry he's dead.
But what does my music box have to do with this?"
"Perhaps the person who gave it to you did not appreciate
his touching you either."
-2-
Amanda lifted her arms high over head and released a singing sigh
of exhaustion. Rolling up one over the other she stripped off her
dark lavender vinyl gloves. The door opened. Expecting Steve or
Mark, Amanda said:
"Nothing spectacular here, guys." She turned and
paused.. Mitchell Ryan stood in the doorway. Nervously squeezing
his hands he peered past Amanda to the body on the slab, then
quickly looked away. "They said I could come in. I didn't
know this is where you -uh- worked."
"Can I help you Mr. Ryan?"
"Um. Could we step outside?"
Amanda smiled apologetically, nodded. Ryan held the door open for
her.
"This seems such grim work for a lovely woman, " he
said, his confidence restored. "You have to tell me sometime
why you choose forensics and why you choose to sponsor a charity
for Foster children. Which is why I came to speak with you. The
other organizers were wondering if the benefit was still on--I
mean considering the murder and everything."
"It does cut into our rehearsal time and we may have to
change our location," Amanda admitted. "I supposed we
can vote on it?"
"Well, I hope I don't sound cold, but my vote is to continue
with our plans," Ryan said hopefully.
"Mine too. Doctor Wilson was not-well Doctor Wilson strongly
believed in supporting this function. It rather surprised
me."
"Yeah, he didn't seem like the type to be interested in
anyone else's future. It's too bad we lost his patronage. This
whole incident is rather sad, really." He laughed, his
melodic voice vaguely yet pleasantly familiar. He was very
attractive in a mature way; long, somewhat unkempt hair, sharp
blue eyes, and an open smile that lightened his severe yet
aristocratic features. "I'm sorry. I'm a television
producer, not a doctor or police officer. This whole night has me
a bit rattled. Frankly after being questioned by that Detective
Sloan, I was praying I have no unpaid parking tickets."
Amanda giggled.
"Steve can be intimidating."
"Among other things," Steve Sloan approached the
couple. Mark walked close behind, followed by Jesse. Steve still
held the music box.
"We had it dusted for prints, bugs, and bombs. It's clean.
Cheryl's running a trace on it's origins so you can have it back
for now."
"Oh thank you, Steve. Isn't this beautiful, Mr. Ryan?"
"It's exquisite," Ryan confirmed. He held out his hand.
"Where did you get it?"
"Steve thinks the murderer might have given it to me."
Ryan pursed his lips.
"He's have to be a professional hit man to afford a gift
like this." Ryan handed the piece back to Amanda. He smiled
at Steve and Mark. "I collect Dresden China. Nothing as
feminine or delicate as this, but this is a fine piece. What does
it play?"
Amanda lifted the bell and tune rang out. Ryan's forehead creased
thoughtfully.
"That's odd."
"What?" Mark asked, watching Ryan closely.
"These antiques boxes usually play classics, Chopin or
Brahms. The music cylinder has been replaced"
"What makes you think this is an antique?" Steve wanted
to know.
"Ever the detective, heh, Lieutenant Sloan? " Steve was
noncommittal. Ryan shrugged. "The date is on the bottom. I'm
pretty certain it's authentic."
Amanda turned the bell upside down.
"Oh my. 1902? Where's that box? I have to wrap this
up." She ran back into her office. Mark and Jesse
accompanied her.
Ryan chuckled.
"Well, I hope you find the killer and soon Detective
Sloan." Steve bowed his head in a cautious good-bye.
Steve followed Amanda back to her lab.
"What did Mitchell Ryan want?" He asked.
"He wanted to be sure the benefit was still on. He's one of
the sponsors."
"Do you know him well?" Mark asked.
"No. I only met him a couple times while planning this
benefit. He's seems very charming."
"He seemed very solicitous of you, Amanda." Mark
fingered the music box as she placed into the a container. Amanda
glanced up. "I noticed him speaking to you at the crime
scene."
"Yeah, that was odd. He didn't want me to be upset."
"He certainly is very accommodating, I mean offering all
that information about the music box, " Jesse ventured.
"I'll check him out." Steve scribbled in his notebook.
"Amanda, where are the boys?"
"At my parents. It's too late to pick them up. Why do you
ask?"
"I want you to stay at the beach house tonight. Something
about your gift makes my flesh crawl."
"Steve, you've recieved anonymous gifts from secret admirers
before" Amanda accused.
"Yeah," Jesse sniffed. "They usually go
boom."
"You're horrible. This person isn't dangerous, although
these gifts have me stumped. First it was the white and tangerine
roses, my favorite, then a bottle of Chanel Number 22. That's the
perfume I wore in college. A bit young for me now, but I still
love it. And the music box with my baby name." She smiled.
"It's probably Daddy. My birthday is coiming up."
"You got more than one anonymous gift?" Mark asked.
He signaled Steve, then picked up Amanda's sweater. He held it
for her as she slipped her arms into the sleeves.
"You drive to the house with Dad." Steve ordered.
Amanda opened her mouth to protest then closed it, meeting the
steely look in Steve's eyes. "Jesse and I will go to your
house and pack a bag for you and the boys and inspect your little
horde of gifts."
*********************************************************
Mitchell Ryan watched as Steve Sloan escorted Doctor Sloan and
Mandy Belle to their car. While he appreciated that the Sloans
kept good watch over his little sister, Ryan resented their
hovering. And that cop--in spite of his beach boy appearance,
Steve Sloan was not the typical Malibu policeman. He had a cold
hard edge, probably fined tuned during his stint in Vietnam.
He picked up his phone.
"Did you arrange the accounts as I ordered," he asked
the person on the other end of the line. "Excellent."
He hung up the phone.
In his velvet gravel voice he sang:
"I'll do anything for you, dear, anything---"
End of part one.
Go
To Part Two
Return To Main Page
