you last night.”
Trevor forced his mind away from speculation about whether her lips tasted as lush and sweet as they looked. “Why don’t I tell you what we’ve learned first, and then we’ll see if you can shed any light?” He took her silence as agreement. “Ian spoke to Vernon Firth this morning.”
No discernible reaction to that piece of news.
“Interestingly, Mr. Firth recognized the victim. He characterized Carlton Long as an extremely loyal customer. In fact, according to him, Mr. Long frequented Deuces for a very specific reason. Can you guess why?”
Guileless blue eyes met his. “I’m sorry, I don’t have a clue.”
“Really? That’s strange, because Mr. Firth indicated that you were the reason Mr. Long came to Deuces on a regular basis.”
“Me?”
Her surprise struck him as completely genuine. She either didn’t see his answer coming or she was a very good actress.
“Yes. That’s what he said.”
“I think maybe Vern’s mistaken, or drew some kind of wrong impression.”
“We’re not ones to take people’s impressions at face value either, so we looked into it. Mr. Long’s credit card receipts confirm Mr. Firth’s belief.” He opened the evidence folder and pulled one out. “Over a three-month period, Mr. Long purchased several private dances. Mr. Firth walked us through the service codes Deuces uses and we noted that the vast majority of those purchases involved dancer 1469.” Tapping the line item on the receipt copy, he flicked his eyes to hers. “That’s you.”
She squinted at the receipt. “Yes.”
“So, Carlton Long has been one of your regular clients for at least three months, and yet, last night you told me you didn’t recognize his name. I find that curious.”
Stacy took a long drink, while her eyes strayed down and to the right—a classic indication of someone formulating a story. “I’m not good with names. If I’d seen his face, without the…trauma, I might have recognized him. The name by itself?” She executed a jerky shrug. “It just didn’t click.”
“I hear what you’re saying. Business is business.” He tucked the receipt back in the folder, and then scratched his chin. “The thing is, Stacy, I’m not quite buying it, because I noticed something about you last night.”
She took another sip of water, sloshing a little due to her shaking hand.
“When you work,” he continued, “you’re very aware of your audience. You take in details and retain them.”
There went those eyes again—down and right.
“That’s, um, kind of an illusion, Detective. Customers want to feel special, like they’re getting personal attention. I hate to burst your bubble, but for the dancers, the clients’ names and faces all blend together.”
Trevor rubbed his jaw and made a show of considering her explanation. “Maybe for some dancers they do, but I sense not for you. You’re an active observer, strategic even.”
She used the nail of her ring finger to worry the cuticle of her thumb and shook her head. “No, not really. Like I said—”
“Last night, during your stage dance, you sized up everyone in the front row before choosing your dance partner. You correctly assessed your mark as a little drunk and available for some audience participation, but not so drunk as to risk getting out of hand. To make those kinds of decisions, you have to be observant and smart.”
Full, unadorned lips parted, as if to offer an automatic denial, and then closed. She took a breath and relaxed her shoulders. “The man happened to be sitting in the right place at the right time. Nothing more. I’m a dancer, not a trained observer.”
“I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. Of course, you’ve made some bad calls too, like your choice last week.”
“My choice last week?”
Again, he noted her genuine confusion. “Yes. Last Saturday you selected Mr. Long as your dance partner, but instead of playing nice, he got overexcited and
Trevor forced his mind away from speculation about whether her lips tasted as lush and sweet as they looked. “Why don’t I tell you what we’ve learned first, and then we’ll see if you can shed any light?” He took her silence as agreement. “Ian spoke to Vernon Firth this morning.”
No discernible reaction to that piece of news.
“Interestingly, Mr. Firth recognized the victim. He characterized Carlton Long as an extremely loyal customer. In fact, according to him, Mr. Long frequented Deuces for a very specific reason. Can you guess why?”
Guileless blue eyes met his. “I’m sorry, I don’t have a clue.”
“Really? That’s strange, because Mr. Firth indicated that you were the reason Mr. Long came to Deuces on a regular basis.”
“Me?”
Her surprise struck him as completely genuine. She either didn’t see his answer coming or she was a very good actress.
“Yes. That’s what he said.”
“I think maybe Vern’s mistaken, or drew some kind of wrong impression.”
“We’re not ones to take people’s impressions at face value either, so we looked into it. Mr. Long’s credit card receipts confirm Mr. Firth’s belief.” He opened the evidence folder and pulled one out. “Over a three-month period, Mr. Long purchased several private dances. Mr. Firth walked us through the service codes Deuces uses and we noted that the vast majority of those purchases involved dancer 1469.” Tapping the line item on the receipt copy, he flicked his eyes to hers. “That’s you.”
She squinted at the receipt. “Yes.”
“So, Carlton Long has been one of your regular clients for at least three months, and yet, last night you told me you didn’t recognize his name. I find that curious.”
Stacy took a long drink, while her eyes strayed down and to the right—a classic indication of someone formulating a story. “I’m not good with names. If I’d seen his face, without the…trauma, I might have recognized him. The name by itself?” She executed a jerky shrug. “It just didn’t click.”
“I hear what you’re saying. Business is business.” He tucked the receipt back in the folder, and then scratched his chin. “The thing is, Stacy, I’m not quite buying it, because I noticed something about you last night.”
She took another sip of water, sloshing a little due to her shaking hand.
“When you work,” he continued, “you’re very aware of your audience. You take in details and retain them.”
There went those eyes again—down and right.
“That’s, um, kind of an illusion, Detective. Customers want to feel special, like they’re getting personal attention. I hate to burst your bubble, but for the dancers, the clients’ names and faces all blend together.”
Trevor rubbed his jaw and made a show of considering her explanation. “Maybe for some dancers they do, but I sense not for you. You’re an active observer, strategic even.”
She used the nail of her ring finger to worry the cuticle of her thumb and shook her head. “No, not really. Like I said—”
“Last night, during your stage dance, you sized up everyone in the front row before choosing your dance partner. You correctly assessed your mark as a little drunk and available for some audience participation, but not so drunk as to risk getting out of hand. To make those kinds of decisions, you have to be observant and smart.”
Full, unadorned lips parted, as if to offer an automatic denial, and then closed. She took a breath and relaxed her shoulders. “The man happened to be sitting in the right place at the right time. Nothing more. I’m a dancer, not a trained observer.”
“I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. Of course, you’ve made some bad calls too, like your choice last week.”
“My choice last week?”
Again, he noted her genuine confusion. “Yes. Last Saturday you selected Mr. Long as your dance partner, but instead of playing nice, he got overexcited and
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