April 1, 2009

Her last cigerette left a smile on her face and a smudge of ash on the coffee-table.  Her empty wine-glass had rolled just a few inches from her finger-tips, but managed to stay on the couch. The expensive bottle of wine was only half-empty, standing neatly amid a pile of empty pill-bottles.

Her hair was immaculately curled. Gold waves left loose around shoulders, spilling across her silk robe. Her nails were painted red. A few tell-tale smudges where she had tried to clean up her mistakes broke the illusion of perfection. Of course, if that hadn’t, the cold blank stare of her eyes would have.

Suzy hadn’t turned up for work, which had set off alarms all through the club. You couldn’t do a night act without your performers. And with how the last no-show had turned out. Well, it seemed like a bad sign. Or, perhaps at this point, it would be fair to say it was a bad sign.

Two suicides from two performers in two nights. A lot of twos to be nothing but coincidence. But if it was a setup, this one was damn good. Or maybe she was just involved in the first suicide and couldn’t take the guilt. Didn’t matter too much, either way. The police were crawling over the place. They would figure something out, or they would toss it in a file in a back room and leave it there to rot. Only so much anyone can do to change that.

Unless, of course, there is some money to be made. Or just a guy who asks too many questions and hapened to like watching Suzy sing. Those were the sorts of things that could get a killer in hot water quick. Though generally not nearly so hot as the guy doing the digging.

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