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someone special. A cop.”
    Lucier glanced at Diana. “What makes you think that?”
    “A gray Crown Vic picked him up after his gig some nights. We get a lot of cops in here. Could’ve been a friend.”
    “The night he was murdered?”
    Emile scanned the club. “Don’t recall exactly. Might’ve been. I go out for a smoke most nights. Saw Keys get in the car on Royal. Dark night. Dark windows.”
    Miss Kitty came over and pulled the empty chair nearer Emile. She waved at the waitress and circled the table with her burgundy-painted fingertip, indicating another round of drinks. “Now don’t say a word, Lieutenant. Nothing wrong with a friend buying you and your lady a drink.”
    “As long as you remember it buys you nothing in return.”
    “I know that. Word is you’re the straightest cop on the force, and I mean that both ways.”
    “Yeah, dammit,” Emile said. “Always thought we’d make a great threesome.” Turning to Diana he said, “Unless you want to join in.”
    Diana didn’t know if he was serious or not, so she smiled and said, “Thanks, but one guy is all I can handle. Three is way too many.”
    “Who’s the third, honey?” Miss Kitty asked.
    Blood rushed to Diana’s face until she burned major heat. “I mean, I ―”
    “Probably best not to say anything else, sweetheart,” Lucier said. “You’ve already dug yourself in deep enough.”
    Diana put on her best apologetic face. “Sorry, Miss Kitty. No offense.”
    “None taken, I don’t think.” Kitty grinned.
    “Emile was telling us about the car that picked up Keys the night he was murdered.” Lucier said.
    Emile shook his head. “Now don’t go putting words in my mouth. I didn’t say it was that night. I just said it was a cop.”
    “Who?” Lucier demanded.
    “Emile didn’t see anyone, did you, honey?”
    “I did. It was Denny Chenault. I know for a fact.”
    Lucier sat up straighter. “Chenault?”
    “Yeah, he’s been in here dozens of times. Loved to listen to Keys play.”
    “But that’s all,” Miss Kitty said. “I never saw them interact much. Never liked that guy. Cocky SOB. Keys had better taste.”
    “Were Chenault and Moran lovers?”
    “That stud?” Kitty said.
    Emile leaned in. “Like Kitty said, he never showed an interest in Keys, only his music. Chenault only hit on the female waitresses. We have a couple of straight ones working for us. He knew the others weren’t really women; he just joshed with them. A couple of times he came in with a woman, the real thing.”
    “Watch it, Emile,” Miss Kitty warned.
    “You know what I mean, honey.”
    Miss Kitty smoothed her hair. “Appearances don’t mean much around here, Lieutenant. Who knows what people do behind closed doors.”
    “I agree,” Lucier said. “Or Chenault and Moran could have been into something other than carnal pleasure.”
    “There’s always that,” Miss Kitty said. “Whatever floats your boat.”
    The second round of drinks came, along with a large appetizer of Cajun shrimp, plates, and mini forks.
    “Oh, yum.” Diana picked up a fork and speared a shrimp. “Delicious. This may become my favorite place.”
    “Maybe you could do a reading every now and then, honey,” Miss Kitty said.
    Diana almost choked on her shrimp. “Um, I doubt that. I’m retired.”
    “So are a lot of the musicians who come here to play.”
    “Musicians never retire,” Emile said.
    Miss Kitty pinky-fingered the corners of her mouth. “Psychics don’t either, or else you wouldn’t keep helping the police.”
    Diana plucked another shrimp. “I never intended to consult with the police. One thing led to another.”
    Emile put some more shrimp on Diana’s plate. “Fact is, cops come here for the music and the food. They don’t bother anyone, don’t mind the ambiance, if you get what I mean. Your Detective Beecher comes in with his wife. Now if that straight arrow enjoys our little club, can’t see why anyone would be bothered. Even your