Authors: Ginger Simpson
She turned and spied the monitors mounted over the door.
One focused on the audience area, one on the bar, the other scanned the hallway.
“Oh, that’s how you knew I was at your door before I even knocked.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I’m not psychic.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk. “And, I got no problem with you nosing around. I hate that someone killed one of my favorite dancers and I hope you catch the creep.”
Michelle cringed at his reference to psychic, but gave a silent sigh of relief that he hadn’t echoed everyone’s sentiment about Cara being a ‘nice gal.’
Mr. C’s expression of sympathy was as empty as Michelle’s water bottle. The dead dancer had only been a dollar sign to him, not a person. Shell didn’t much like the man, but he
had been
willing to see her, and as obnoxious as she found him, he didn’t immediately warrant the suspect list. Damn!
Michelle stood, tucked her notepad away, and slung her purse over her shoulder.
She extended her palm. “Thank you, Mr. Costanzo, for your help. I appreciate your willingness to let me speak with your employees, and also that you took time to meet with me.” After he shook her offered hand, she wished for anti-bacterial soap. She made a mental note to buy a small bottle to carry with her if she planned to frequent places like this. Silence lingered.
Crap!
Now was the time she would present him with a business card and ask him to call if he had any further information to share, but unfortunately she didn’t have any that identified her faux personality. She had to think fast.
“Since I don’t have my business cards printed yet, I’ll be checking back with you in a week or so.
If you remember or hear anything, please jot it down.” She turned to leave.
“Oh, Ms Keys…” he summoned her attention.
“The dancer’s dressing room is behind the stage. I’ll ring my bouncer and let him know I’ve okayed your visit.”
She smiled.
“I appreciate that. I sure wouldn’t want him and all that muscle on my bad side.”
She left, closing the door behind her and resisting the urge to pause and listen outside a few of the others as she headed toward the dressing room doors.
Certainly, Mr. Costanzo watched her every move on his cameras, and she didn’t want to tip her hand in any way.
A PI wouldn’t be interested in anything other than a particular case, but wouldn’t she love being able to turn some proof over to vice and have this place shut down?
She halted her thoughts and did an about-face. She might not approve of the vocation the dancers elected, but hadn’t the owner himself told her that Cara planned to use her earnings to further her education? And what about Siamese who bared it all to support her family? Where would they be without a means to make a living? Humility covered her like a shroud. She quickened her step and moved from the musty corridor back into the smoke-hazed room. The bass thumping that had shuddered the hallway walls became deafening.
She noticed the “okay” signal flashed to her by the bouncer and climbed the three steps at the rear of the stage, averting her gaze from the seductive moves of the duo dancing and ignoring the catcalls from spectators.
Flicking aside the red satin curtain, she stepped into a dimly-lit room filled with props and the usual backstage paraphernalia one would expect in a live production. Of course, the rack of multi-colored feather boas, and another holding various whips, chains and leather straps didn’t quite fit the bill. A crooked star hung on a closed door and from behind it came muffled voices. She gazed around and seeing no other doors, stepped over the endless electrical cords snaking across the floor and knocked.
“Who are you?”
An overly made up, though still attractive face, peered around the slightly ajar door.
“Alicia…Keys.”
She waited for a flicker of recognition at the name, but breathed a sigh at seeing none.
“What do you want?”
The girl opened the door wider. Her rouged cheeks lifted in a welcoming smile. She wore a sequined brassiere and a pair of hipster-type shorts emblazoned with sparkles. Beneath a raised dark brow matching her short bobbed hair, her azure eyes stood out like the blue waters of Hawaii.
The other women in the room paid Michelle no mind and continued applying their make-up at a jar and bottle-covered counter lit by a steady line of round lights over huge mirrors.
“Mr. Costanzo has given me permission to ask some questions about Kitten, so you don’t need to worry about breaking any rules. He does seem like a stickler for them.”
The girl’s eyes misted.
“Poor Kitten. Siamese just told us about her being dead and all. I can’t believe it.”
The mention of Cara’s stage name caught the attention of the others.
They turned, eyes lowered and muttered their sympathies. One girl crossed herself as befitting the Catholic religion.
Michelle gestured to an empty chair.
“Would you all mind if I sat and asked you a few questions? I’m trying to help solve this case as quickly as possible for her family’s sake.”
“No, not at all.
Please. Oh, and I’m Persia…as in Persian. Get it?” She giggled while she dusted powder off the wooden-backed seat.
“How clever.”
Michelle again resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course no one would want to reveal their true name.
“It’s nice to meet you, Persia.
And who are your friends?” Tingling with curiosity about the monikers given the others, Michelle sat and retrieved her notepad.
Persia moved from woman to woman, resting her hands on each one’s shoulders as she called out their name. “This is Calico, this is Cheetah, this is Tiger, and last but not least, is Manx.”
“My pleasure, ladies.”
She turned her gaze to Persia. “Are there others?”
She nodded.
“You’ve already met Siamese…but, let’s see…“ She tipped her head up as if searching her memory. “Burmese, Panther, Tabby, and…who am I forgetting?” She looked to her friends for help.
“Abyssinian,” offered Calico.
“Remember, Carlos gave her the name because she looks Egyptian?”
“Lord, how in the world do you remember who’s who?” Michelle raised a brow.
“Oh, it’s easy when you get used it.” Persia smiled. “Actually, I like my stage name so much I use it in my daily life. It’s sexier than Bernadette. That sounds more like a nun…no offense Cheetah.” She looked to the woman who had made the sign of the cross earlier.
“None taken.”
Holding her mouth open and slightly to the side, Cheetah applied another layer of mascara.
Michelle practiced the same ritual, strange as it looked.
Why, she wondered?
Despite all the interesting things going on in the room, she jerked her attention back to the reason she was there. “Well, I know you have schedules to keep so I’ll keep my questions quick. Feel free to chime in if you have something to share.”
Michelle readied her pen. “Do any of you know of a particular customer or…even someone you hadn’t seen here before who visited Kitten…perhaps gave her grief?”
Silence allowed the overwhelming bass from the music in the other room to invade the space.
The women either shrugged or shook their heads.
“How about a significant other.
Did Kitten have one that any of you met or heard about?”
Again, nothing but silence until Persia removed her long red nail from between her teeth.
She fidgeted, twirling a strand of hair. “Kitten wasn’t like the rest of us….”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh.” Persia’s brow furrowed. “Maybe I shouldn’t share something so personal.”
“It’s okay.
I’m bound to find out sooner or later. I promise no one outside this room will know where my information comes from. How was Kitten different?”
“She didn’t like men much.”
“Are you saying she was a lesbian?”
No one responded.
“Okay, then let me rephrase my question. Did she have any female visitors or fans who seemed annoyed or angry with her for being a dancer?”
Manx stood and shed her blouse, baring her breasts as if no one else was in the room.
She reached for a black bustier, put it on and began fastening the pearl-like buttons. “Women don’t usually come in here unless they’re with a date. We’ve had a few bachelorette parties, but they usually either get drunk and entertain themselves or grow bored and leave. I’d just as soon they all keep out. Horrible tippers.”
“So,” Michelle tried again.
“None of you noticed a single female who paid special attention on Kitten?”
“Why are you so focused on women?”
Cheetah turned from her reflection and looked directly at Michelle. “I’d bet tonight’s wages a man killed Kitten. Even if she was a lesbian, she danced and that was it. She didn’t get involved in…”
Cheeta stopped short when the others stiffened and looked at her with cautioning gazes.
“She didn’t get involved in what?” Michelle pressed.
“She…she didn’t flirt or let anyone grope her. They could tuck money in her costume, but that was it.
She was all business. She came, she danced, she left. Kitten didn’t say much to anyone. In fact, she acted like she was better than the rest of us.”
Heads nodded in agreement, all excerpt Persia’s. “I don’t think she felt that way.
I just figured she was shy and didn’t really get to know us.” She looked at the big round clock above the clothes racks. “I wish we could come up with something useful, but it’s evident none of us knew her well enough to help you. Besides, it’s almost time to go on stage.”
Not one to miss a blunt hint, Michelle stood and stuck her notepad back in her shoulder bag. She smoothed her skirt.
“You have been very cooperative, and I thank you for that. I’d also appreciate if you ask the gals coming off duty if they have anything to share. I’ll be checking in again next week, so if you remember or hear something, I’d appreciate you letting me know.”
Persia opened the door and escorted Shell into the backstage area. “I’ll ask the other girls, but I don’t expect they’ll be more helpful than we’ve been.”
She looked over one shoulder and then the other, her blue eyes scanning the darkest spaces. “We have to be very careful what we say and do around here, if you get my drift.” Her voice was almost a whisper.
“I know…the walls have ears…or cameras.” Michelle kept her voice low. “ I saw the monitors in your boss’ office.”
She rested her hand on Persia’s shoulder. “I don’t want you to get into any trouble, so please promise you’ll be careful.”
Driving back to the station, Michelle was niggled by the feeling that the gals at Kitty Katz knew more than they were letting on, especially Persia. Whether or not what they were withholding had anything to do with the murder of Cara Austin remained to be seen, but there was something more than exotic dancing going on in that place. Once she solved her current case, she planned to find out exactly what it was.
Frustrated, she slapped the steering wheel. As far as her investigation, nothing pointed to the killer’s trail. Someone had to know more about Cara Austin’s personal life. Who had a reason to kill her, or whom did she drive to murder?
Hard to imagine that a shy girl who minded her own business and planned to go to college could get strangled for no reason. Did she really go to college?
Michelle accelerated, itching to get together with her partner and see what he found out from Cara’s parents.
* * *
Having her desk nose-to-nose with Tony’s made it easy to communicate, but hard to resist watching him when he was deeply engrossed in something, like now…while he went over his notes with her. She loved the way his brow furrowed when he concentrated hard, and adored his habitual tugging on his ear when his mind wandered. Good thing he wasn’t a poker player…or at least she’d never heard him talk about the game, because ‘tells’ as obvious as his would certainly be a dead giveaway to his playing strategy.
“So, neither of us really got much to go on.”
Tony pushed his notepad aside and thrummed his fingers. “This is so frustrating.”
“It’s the nature of the job, Tony, you should know that by now.”
She leaned back in her chair and prepared a mental recap. “Let’s see…we do know she was an exotic dancer, and maybe a lesbian….” She paused and shook her head. “Those two things don’t gel for me. Why would someone who prefers women want to dance in front of horny guys?”
“To make money, obviously. Remember, you said her boss mentioned college. Either her parents didn’t know or they just didn’t feel it was worthy of mentioning. I’ll have another run at them and see if I can find out more about her supposed education.”
“Good idea, but before you go, does the name Carlo Costanzo sound familiar to you?”
“Sure, he’s been suspected of being associated with the mob, but no one has been able to finger him for anything. He’s well connected and always has an alibi for anything that happens around him. Why?”