thinking.
A figure came through the access to the dressing rooms and I froze.
"Ah, there you are," Dinah said as if I were late.
I wasn't. Five minutes early, in fact.
Despite the reproval in her voice, I felt my nerves ratchet down a notch. Even angry, there was nothing frightening about this gorgeous cougar... unless you were young and male. My breath sputtered out. "Hi."
"Let's go to my office." She led the way into the employees only section and down the hall past the dressing rooms. The police tape was gone from the room where I'd found Lars' body. I heard activity inside.
"Who's that?" I asked, my nerves showing.
Dinah glanced over her shoulder. "Cleaning crew. They specialize in crime scene mop ups."
I hesitated, aching to stop them. To force them out of the dressing room so I could search for the clue or clues that would prove Apollo's innocence. Yeah, like I would spot that definitive something the SPD's investigative team missed.
Dinah looked at me impatiently. "Reopening tomorrow night. Rehearsals tonight."
I got that she was telling me she had little time, which explained why we were meeting here instead of off premises. As though this weren't clear enough, she added, "Frankie is out — doing whatever he's doing with his mornings and afternoons."
It was a jab, pure and simple, about my lack of progress on her case. I dreaded the next few minutes. I had to find a way to win her over again. To help Apollo I needed access to the nightclub, to the performers, and she was my in.
The office, still looking as if her brother Jade had just walked out the door, smelled of Dinah's exotic scent and fresh brewed coffee. She offered me a cup. I declined. More acid in my gut? Bad idea.
I took the chair opposite her desk as lights came on in the gallery and bar below. She explained, "My own cleaning crew. I want the place to sparkle tomorrow night."
I nodded, trying to measure her mood. Less angry. More resolved. But about what? I cleared my throat, but she beat me to the punch. "I hired you because I wanted someone discreet and... unofficial. I heard good things about you, but—"
"If you want your money back..." I reached for my checkbook, surprised to realize that no matter how much I needed access to the nightclub, I wasn't going to kiss her ass. Or beg. "But—" she said more firmly, picking right back up where I'd interrupted. "I asked only questions about you pertinent to my own needs."
I glanced up sharply. Where was this going? I frowned, waiting, as she switched on the desk lamp casting a clearer light over her face. Previously, I'd seen her in dark settings her features somewhat obscured by sunglasses and huge hats. She wore little to no makeup today, her black hair wildly unkempt. The strain around her cat eyes, around her full mouth, was pronounced.
I didn't want her appearance, her personal stress to affect me, but the urge to tell her to stuff it shriveled and something soft took its place. "It's been a tough week."
"You're right. It has. Not only for me, I think. I just found out that you were once married to Lars," she said with genuine sympathy. "I've been told you didn't part as friends and, God knows, I had little use for that bastard myself, but still, I'm sure his... loss... has impacted you."
"He was going to help me edit my manuscript," I blurted as though that alone was the impact of his loss or had any relevance to this conversation, but my mind was stumbling over the surprising compassion, even as I realized her sudden kindheartedness likely related to her ongoing grief over the death of her beloved brother. But it was the mention of how she hated Lars that set my pulse racing. Why? How much? Murder much? I could hardly ask.
Or find a suitable response. "Thank you" seemed highly inappropriate. I opted for professionalism. "All the same, I would understand if you want to fire me."
"I want results," she said, her attention locking on a desk calendar. "Do you think you'd feel up to
A figure came through the access to the dressing rooms and I froze.
"Ah, there you are," Dinah said as if I were late.
I wasn't. Five minutes early, in fact.
Despite the reproval in her voice, I felt my nerves ratchet down a notch. Even angry, there was nothing frightening about this gorgeous cougar... unless you were young and male. My breath sputtered out. "Hi."
"Let's go to my office." She led the way into the employees only section and down the hall past the dressing rooms. The police tape was gone from the room where I'd found Lars' body. I heard activity inside.
"Who's that?" I asked, my nerves showing.
Dinah glanced over her shoulder. "Cleaning crew. They specialize in crime scene mop ups."
I hesitated, aching to stop them. To force them out of the dressing room so I could search for the clue or clues that would prove Apollo's innocence. Yeah, like I would spot that definitive something the SPD's investigative team missed.
Dinah looked at me impatiently. "Reopening tomorrow night. Rehearsals tonight."
I got that she was telling me she had little time, which explained why we were meeting here instead of off premises. As though this weren't clear enough, she added, "Frankie is out — doing whatever he's doing with his mornings and afternoons."
It was a jab, pure and simple, about my lack of progress on her case. I dreaded the next few minutes. I had to find a way to win her over again. To help Apollo I needed access to the nightclub, to the performers, and she was my in.
The office, still looking as if her brother Jade had just walked out the door, smelled of Dinah's exotic scent and fresh brewed coffee. She offered me a cup. I declined. More acid in my gut? Bad idea.
I took the chair opposite her desk as lights came on in the gallery and bar below. She explained, "My own cleaning crew. I want the place to sparkle tomorrow night."
I nodded, trying to measure her mood. Less angry. More resolved. But about what? I cleared my throat, but she beat me to the punch. "I hired you because I wanted someone discreet and... unofficial. I heard good things about you, but—"
"If you want your money back..." I reached for my checkbook, surprised to realize that no matter how much I needed access to the nightclub, I wasn't going to kiss her ass. Or beg. "But—" she said more firmly, picking right back up where I'd interrupted. "I asked only questions about you pertinent to my own needs."
I glanced up sharply. Where was this going? I frowned, waiting, as she switched on the desk lamp casting a clearer light over her face. Previously, I'd seen her in dark settings her features somewhat obscured by sunglasses and huge hats. She wore little to no makeup today, her black hair wildly unkempt. The strain around her cat eyes, around her full mouth, was pronounced.
I didn't want her appearance, her personal stress to affect me, but the urge to tell her to stuff it shriveled and something soft took its place. "It's been a tough week."
"You're right. It has. Not only for me, I think. I just found out that you were once married to Lars," she said with genuine sympathy. "I've been told you didn't part as friends and, God knows, I had little use for that bastard myself, but still, I'm sure his... loss... has impacted you."
"He was going to help me edit my manuscript," I blurted as though that alone was the impact of his loss or had any relevance to this conversation, but my mind was stumbling over the surprising compassion, even as I realized her sudden kindheartedness likely related to her ongoing grief over the death of her beloved brother. But it was the mention of how she hated Lars that set my pulse racing. Why? How much? Murder much? I could hardly ask.
Or find a suitable response. "Thank you" seemed highly inappropriate. I opted for professionalism. "All the same, I would understand if you want to fire me."
"I want results," she said, her attention locking on a desk calendar. "Do you think you'd feel up to
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