Read Online Death of a Chorus Girl (The Delacroix Series Book 1) by P. M. Briede - Free Book Online Page A

you this.  No one is ever completely inconspicuous.  If Annie were seeing an investor for any length of time prior to her death, one of the gossip mongrels would have captured a picture of it, even if they didn’t know what they had.  Don’t just search the headlines.  Review every picture, I would say from the last six months.  It was about that long ago, I think, when she began prattling on about this guy.  She’ll probably be in a background or two.  You’ll find him if you look close enough.”
    Why hadn’t our own techs figured that out?  We’d done just what she said not to do.  We searched the headlines and print for Annie’s name, but she was a chorus girl; a no name.  She wouldn’t be in any of those spots.  Plus, this will give us the evidence we need to confront the guy, or guys, without implicating Em.  “What else can I offer you, Richard?”
    Have dinner with me?   “Ah, yeah, let’s see.  Steve mentioned that there were many loose screws in some of your stage equipment.”
    “Yes,” she responds with a nod.  “I didn’t get all the details but there was more than just the lighting rig at risk of failing.  Everything is fixed now.  The theater reevaluated the inspection schedule and is completing them twice as often now.”
    “How often were they inspected before?” I prod.  “Do you know if they keep a record?”
    “I think once a week,” she answers with a shrug.  Steve forgot to ask that question.  Found himself his own techie skirt to be interested in, I’m sure.  “Each theater house is required to go through city safety inspections.  I can’t believe the city wouldn’t want to see a record of inspections and accidents.  Start with the executive director.”  She gets up and walks to her desk.  As she leans over to retrieve something, I make the most of the opportunity to admire her shapely legs.  “Richard?”
    I blink and find that she is no longer at her desk.  She has materialized beside me like an apparition.  Except this time, she isn’t sitting in the corner of the loveseat.  She is pressed against my side with her arm extended.  I take the card and thank her, trying to remember what we were talking about before I was swept away by my inappropriate daydreams.  Now I remember: the safety inspection logs.
    “Anything else?” Em queries with a penetrating gaze.
    Kiss me?   A moment passes and I think I might have actually said the words out loud.  Her eyes drop to my lips as her tongue runs over her bottom one.  She seems to be holding her breath.
    Then clouds suddenly appear in her eyes; I don’t know how else to explain it.  Her gaze drifts to the section of the loveseat behind her, as they turn inward.
    “Em?” I whisper.  This is just like what I witnessed in the interrogation room at the precinct.  She throws her head back and a smile creeps onto her otherwise eerily dead face.  “Em?” I repeat a bit louder.  There is a blink in her eyes as the fog slowly recedes, allowing them to shine brightly again.  She looks around in what appears to be horror, her eyes darting between herself, the loveseat, and me.  A mortified, scarlet blush consumes her face.  “What was that about?” I ask since this is the second time I’ve seen this occur.
    “What was what about?” her breathy voice hedges.
    “Where do you go?”
    “I’ve been right here with you.”
    Okay, now I’m irritated.  Where did the unyielding openness and honesty go?  What is she trying to hide?  I’ve found that in times like these, silence is best to pressure people into talking.  Nobody likes uncomfortable silences and I intend to make this very uncomfortable.
    Em actually holds out for quite some time.  “Fine, Richard.”  Finally!   “It’s embarrassing to admit but I was just wondering what Annie’s death was like for her.”
    There is no way that is true.  If it is, it is the most disturbing excuse I have ever been given.  I swallow the