Private Dick Casefile 01 - Lily White Rose Red

with sweetness.
    Of course, she was speaking slowly for a reason; it helped her keep the tone in a higher range. She was good; if you weren’t in the know, you might have thought she was a woman for real. She had a very pretty face, and her makeup was artfully applied, making the most of lush lips and big eyes. But the tell was her brow bone was too pronounced, and her shoulders were angular, rather than soft and rounded.
    She was wearing an evening suit, with a long tight skirt that had a lot of ruffles at the bottom. The jacket had little puffed sleeves and a peplum, which helped add curves to her lean hips. It was made of satin Lily White, Rose Red: Grey Randall, Private Dick Casefile #1
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    and very shiny. Too shiny, if you ask me. And she’d made sure of overkill by also loading on a rhinestone belt.
    “I’ve heard you sing,” I murmured. “You’re good.” She lost interest in me after a once-over. “Thanks, hon. Be a dear and run along, I have to get ready for my next set.”
    “But not as good as Miss Saint-Ville.”
    That lit a fire under her. She turned and glared at me. “That one-note no-talent doxy? She had nothing on me!”
    “She had a beautiful voice.”
    “Listen, buster, all she did was sing! I’m putting on a full act!” Her voice had dropped some, but either she was in good practice or she had a naturally high voice.
    “She was some dancer too. But you couldn’t compare with her, a real woman,” I managed to slip in and stop the tirade. “So you got rid of her.”
    Miss Tina laughed, but I didn’t see a lot of humor in it. “I didn’t have to. Mr. Martin saw through her airs and graces quick enough. He was going to fire her.” She reached for a jar of some unguent on her table and twisted the lid without success. She absently handed it to me to open for her despite being ready to claw my eyes out, as if it were just natural to get some man to do it for her.
    I unscrewed the lid and gave it back to her. Her hands were slender and smooth, with nails filed to perfect ovals. “Where’d you hear that? Jazz tell you?”
    She shot me a suspicious look. “Jazz wasn’t interested in her.
    They liked talking about music. That’s it ! He never bought her line.”
    “So Mr. Martin told you that you had nothing to worry about, he was going to toss her out on her ear—”
    “Not exactly.”
    “What’s that mean?”
    “Well, it never came to anything. She was killed, not far from here. Or hadn’t you heard?” Miss Tina shrugged and went back to her 146

    CATT FORD

    reflection in the mirror, smoothing the cream on her neck in an upward motion. I could see her Adam’s apple bob as she did it.
    “You know how she died?”
    “Somebody choked her. Probably couldn’t stand listening to her sing any more,” Miss Tina said crudely. “I’d have stuck a shiv in her.”
    “Someone who wanted to shut her up?” I asked.
    She tilted her head back and looked at me from under her heavy fake lashes. “Who the hell are you anyway? Why are you so nosy?”
    “It’s my job to be nosy. I heard she teased you, made fun of you.” Miss Tina stood up and ran her hands up her body, cupping her bosom. “You think she made fun of this? I’ve got it good, I can show a man a good time both ways.”
    “Good for you, but it doesn’t answer my question.”
    “Scram, buster. I don’t have time for small fry.” She lost interest in me again.
    And I was out of interest for her. She seemed capable of wishing a murder on someone, but her idea of femininity would have limited her methods. I couldn’t see her tackling a healthy girl who could fight back and actually managing to strangle her without help. Actually, I pictured Miss Tina screaming and flapping her hands if she broke a nail. If someone had held Marguerite still, Miss Tina might have been able to fall on her with a knife, but that would have been it.
    I backtracked to Jazz Morgan’s dressing room. I was sitting there flipping the pendant in the air when he walked in after his set. The canned music had started up soon after, which was good for me if things got too loud.
    Not that I thought it would come to trading punches, or I’d have brought more muscle than my own. It’s just after slipping around after him and seeing him so sad, I had a feeling he needed to talk to someone. Might as well be me; I needed answers.
    “What are you doing here, little fish?” He dropped wearily onto a chair and shuffled some sheet music on the