Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 73846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“All the performers, the maintenance staff, the bouncers. Bartenders sometimes come in to drop off drinks for the queens.”
“Any fans?”
Jen shook her head. “Not unless a queen brings them back here for a private meet-and-greet, which we don’t encourage, just FYI.” She crossed her arms and gave me the look of a mom tired of stopping her kids from chasing each other around the house. Elijah never said anything about bringing someone backstage, but maybe another queen had done it without suspecting their hookup was a crazy stalker.
I opened the drawers to the tiny table sitting in front of the wide mirror, a few of the big bulbs surrounding it flickering every now and then. There wasn’t anything except makeup wipes, some old Starburst wrappers and…
A used red lipstick. Uncapping it and lifting the lipstick revealed it to be the same exact shade as the words on the mirror. The name of the color, Bold Blood, was written in a gothic font down the matte-black cylinder.
“I’m going to need photos of every performer you’ve hired over the past year. See if anyone’s been using this Bold Blood color.” I took out a ziplock bag from my pocket and dropped the lipstick inside.
Jen’s eyes opened wide. “You think it’s one of the queens who did it?”
“All possibilities are on the table. Maybe it’s been another queen all this time, or maybe they’re friends with the stalker without even knowing it.” I examined the message on the mirror a little closer, wondering if there were any identifying markers in the way it was written. The handwriting definitely matched the notes Elijah had given me in Stonewall, but I didn’t have much else without a suspect to compare them with.
Someone knocked on the open door, pulling our attention to a stern-faced police officer. “Forensics needs to ask you a question, ma’am,” he said, giving me a pointed side-eye. The cops should have been friendlier with us Stonewall guys, considering that our detectives were the reason that the corrupt Blue Creek sheriff was uncovered and ousted. The relationship had gotten friendlier when the new sheriff came in, but most of them were still prickly about sharing space with us.
Jen left with the officer, and I took my time combing through every inch of the dressing room. Ultimately, the lipstick seemed to have been the biggest clue left behind, with nothing else inside the room except life-sized dust bunnies and a couple more makeup items that didn’t seem to have anything to do with the message or the stalker. This wasn’t a case-cracking day, but at least there was some forward momentum. I now had the exact lipstick used on the mirror, which meant there was a possibility of tracking down where and when it was bought, or at least who used it on themselves.
It was progress, more than any made on Elijah’s case since this fucked-up saga started.
I spent the rest of the morning searching every inch of the bar, making sure not to interfere with the flurry of investigators working on the Pegasus murder. Nothing else raised any flags for me, and with surveillance cameras being cut the night of the incidents, there wasn’t much more for me to search. My next step would be getting some interviews, and I already had one high-value chat scheduled for the end of the week: Walter Hooper.
He surprised me when he agreed to a meeting, considering that he was at the top of the suspect list, but he sounded more than happy to sit down with me. Almost eager.
Outside the bar, I expected a calmer scene but was surprised to see a row of cameras and news reporters standing across the street, the bar framed behind them like some kind of Disney World backdrop. Only a handful of them were local stations, most of the rest displaying their national networks on the mics and parked vans. I thought I spotted a silver-haired reporter who I’d occasionally watch whenever something big was happening in the world.
Fuck. Now that “big” thing was happening here in Blue Creek.
Shaking off the surreal feeling, I walked around to the parking lot, leaving the din of the buzzing vulture-like reporters behind me. My schedule for the rest of the day was clear after one of my interviews canceled this morning.
Maybe Elijah would appreciate an update?
My stomach growled, and I considered inviting Elijah out to an early dinner. We could discuss his case over a juicy Juno Pine’s double-stacked cheeseburger. Then maybe we could relax a bit, talk about other things that didn’t have to do with crazy stalkers and macabre lipsticks. It wouldn’t be a date, obviously, just a client meetup that maybe turned into a flirty dinner.
Friendly. I meant friendly dinner.
In my car, I pulled out my phone and stared at the blank screen, wondering if this was really the right idea. Elijah was a client. He was going through some heavy shit and could have been the type who needed time alone to process it. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea to ask if he wanted to meet. I could update him over a quick email—it wasn’t like I’d made some big break or anything.