Hearse of a Different Color (Hitchcock Sewell Mysteries) by Tim Cockey Page B

was describing. It was like trying to force together two magnets of opposite polarities. The two women kept leaping apart the moment they even began to get close. It just didn’t work.
    “It’s a different woman,” I said, interrupting Julia’s story. “It doesn’t add up.”
    Julia stopped talking. She ran both hands through her short hair.
    “But you don’t know that, Hitch. In fact it
does
add up. Take a look at it. Mom and the girls. The stripper, the hooker and the porn queen. There’s a pretty good argument there for nature
and
nurture.”
    “How is it that you know all of this, anyway? I mean, once Haden bagged his stupid project and moved on, you certainly had nothing more to do with him. Right?”
    “Haven’t laid eyes on him since.”
    “So how is it you know so much about the career of so-called Victoria Wagner? Has
People
magazine started putting out a low-life edition I haven’t heard about?”
    “I get around.”
    “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m convinced that we’re not talking about the same person.”
    “Does yours have a tattoo?”
    I shrugged. “Tattoo? I don’t know. I didn’t notice one.”
    “Mine does. A butterfly tattoo.”
    “Where exactly is this identifiable mark on this questionable screen queen of yours?”
    Julia’s slender index finger came forward, then swung around and settled lightly on her left breast. “Right here. A small one.”
    “I see.”
    “Small tattoo that is.”
    “That’s what I figured.”
    “I don’t suppose you’ve seen the left breast of your dead waitress’s sister?”
    “Nor the right one.”
    “Shame.”
    “But you saw both,” I said. Julia nodded her head up and down. “In one of her movies?” She shook her head side to side.
    “Your little friend has got a pretty active résumé, Mr. Sewell. Several years ago I was entertaining a group of Swedes who were in from Washington. They’d heard of The Block. I tried to tell them this wasn’t no Bourbon Street, but they insisted on going. We ended up at this place called The Kitten Club. Well, who do you think comes strutting onto the stage? I have to say, she wasn’t quite as voluptuous as I had remembered. And the blond had grown out. But I recognized her.”
    “Victoria Wagner.”
    “In the flesh. I’ve got to tell you Hitch, the woman couldn’t dance to save herself. Terry Haden might have had something going there on the tiny screen, but this girl wasn’t exactly setting the place on fire. My Swedes were not impressed. She just looked tired. Depleted would be a better word. I don’t know if it was booze or pills or what, but the light had definitely gone out. My little finger can be more seductive.” She waggled the digit in question. I didn’t doubt it.
    “Was she still with Haden?”
    “I don’t know. I didn’t see him. Unless maybe he was facedown on the bar. And I certainly didn’t talk to her. It was sad. This kid was barely legal and was already burning out.”
    “This is when you saw the butterfly?”
    “Yes. Right there on the breast. She didn’t have that back when she was modeling. I suppose she picked it up for her films. Or maybe for the act. Believe me, it was the only thing up there with any life.”
    I called for the check. I insisted on paying. “You’ve been very entertaining, Miss Finney. As always.”
    We left the warm restaurant. Our faces turned immediately to ice. Julia swore.
    “When the hell is this cold snap going to end? Has your little girlfriend found a crystal ball that works yet?”
    “Don’t kill the messenger.”
    She lifted her large purse. Her teeth were chattering. “I have to return this glass.”
    I left Julia sashaying through the door of the Admiral Fell Inn and headed straight for the funeral home. Billie met me at the front door. She was on her way out. She told me that Vickie Waggoner had called about an hour before asking about cremation.
    “Cremation?”
    “She was wondering if that wouldn’t just be the