The Jean Harlow Bombshell by Mollie Cox Bryan

Author:Mollie Cox Bryan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mollie Cox;Mollie Bryan;molly cox;molly cox bryan;jean harlow mystery;jean harwlow bombshell mystery;mystery;mystery fiction;mystery book;CVR09112018;CVR09242018;CVR03042019
Publisher: Llewellyn Worldwide, LTD.
Published: 2019-04-01T14:16:11+00:00

Thirty-One

Such is life. One door opens, another closes. Or so they say.

We knew what killed Justine. But we still didn’t know who.

We didn’t know who called me or why.

Nor did we learn who killed the Harlow look-alike—or if she had been injected with the same substance. Den assured me they were rushing as fast as they could. He sounded dejected, almost as if he were ready to give up.

But I wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot. Whether Den liked it or not, I was heading back to the Dream Girl agency. One of the emails sent to Justine had come from there. My gut told me that both Madonna and Marilyn were acquainted with Jean.

“Hey, Kate, are you up for a show?” I said into the phone.

“What kind of show?”

“An impersonator show. I’m guessing there may be drag queens.”

“I’m in,” she said.

The anticipation and energy in Jezebel, the Dream Girl club, was almost palpable. The host sat us at a table with a candle votive glowing in the center. From our vantage point, we could see the stage, but not completely.

“I’ll have a martini,” Kate said. “What else? This place calls for it.”

“I’ll have the same,” I said to the server, a woman dressed in a tuxedo who reminded me of the usher at Justine’s memorial service.

“Nice establishment,” Kate said, fingers tapping on the pink tablecloth.

Though it was dim, my eyes were adjusting and taking in the other audience members. An older man and woman sat catty-corner from us, holding hands. On the other side of us was a gay couple, also holding hands.

“Maybe we should hold hands,” I joked.

“What?” Kate said, then realized the surrounding couples were all doing so. “No thanks,” she said, waving me off.

But still, it was the kind of place that made me feel a bit wild. Like I could do anything here, be anybody here.

Music played softly over the speakers. Heads were bobbing in front of the stage; I wasn’t sure we’d be able to view much. But it wasn’t important. What I wanted to do was approach Madonna and Marilyn after the show. Madonna was on the bill, headlining. The rest of the cast? A surprise billing. But I was hoping to meet Marilyn from the agency again.

The server brought our martinis and placed the glasses on the table. “Enjoy the show,” she said, smiling.

The lights blinked out and we sat in the dark, all eyes on the stage. “Like a Virgin” came over the speaker and the spotlight shone on to a Madonna impersonator, who pranced around and lip-synched to the song. I was certain this was my Madonna.

I suddenly wondered whether she was transgender, too, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was finding her after the show to ask if she was the one who’d called me. If it wasn’t her, then I would need to find Marilyn—whether or not Marilyn was here tonight.

I glanced at Kate, who was enthralled by Madonna and clapping her hands in time with the beat.

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