The Halston Hit by Angela M. Sanders

Author:Angela M. Sanders
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Angela M. Sanders

15

Joanna looked down the line of performers, rising one by one after final assessments in the mirror.

“Roger.” Marquise capped her lipstick and tucked it in her cleavage, but her mind was clearly somewhere else. She frowned. Then her features relaxed. She shook her head. “No.”

“No, what?”

“Take this.” Ignoring her question, Marquise handed Joanna a key. “It’s to Roger’s room.”

The heavy brass key had “do not duplicate” stamped on it. “Is this a master key?”

Marquise rose and adjusted her elaborate rhinestone collier. “Yes. Be careful with it.”

“Two minutes to show,” came over the intercom.

The rest of the drag queens were upstairs now, greeting guests. Unlike the pageant, this was a regular show, and the queens had performed their songs for months. Other than wardrobe changes, there was little reason to rush or be nervous.

“I have to go up,” Marquise said. Unlike the other girls, she wore flat shoes. Still, she moved slowly. “Roger’s room is in the back.”

Joanna glanced toward the basement’s inky depths. “The police searched it, didn’t they?”

“Yes. But they’re not you.”

The overture, a medley of show tunes, started upstairs. The basement was quiet but for the floorboards creaking and the faraway music and clatter of plates in the kitchen.

The lights Marquise had turned on to unveil the Bob Mackie gown allowed Joanna to navigate the basement. She passed where VC was found, the dressing table heaped with cellophane-wrapped flowers and her own branches of star magnolia, now shedding petals. A few roses were stuck in an empty jug of chablis. Long racks of Marquise’s gowns, all froth and sparkle, filled the mid-distance.

A room had been sheetrocked into the corner with an old six-panel door and brass doorknob that had lost its luster years ago. This had to be Roger’s room. Joanna wondered how long the room had been there. Was it a storage closet during Prohibition? Stories of the Shanghai Tunnels went through her mind.

She tried the doorknob first. Locked, of course. She fitted the key into the new bolt fixed above the handle, and it turned easily. Inside, to the door’s left, was a light switch.

Roger’s room was small and dark, but more like a cozy nest than a cell. A twin-sized bed backed into one corner with a round side table next to it. Against the opposite wall was a desk with a lamp. Almost all of the rest of the room was filled with bookshelves crammed with books. The books would have been great insulation against the noise upstairs, but judging from the stack near the bed, many with bookmarks partway through, Roger didn’t keep them as insulation. He was a reader.

Crisp hadn’t mentioned that they found anything in particular in Roger’s room. No computer. If Roger had had one, the police took it, along with any sort of diary he might have kept, although he hadn’t struck her as the writing type. Of course, she wouldn’t have guessed he loved books as he did.

What was she looking for? Did she really think she could find something the police hadn’t? Her gaze skimmed the room.

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