Page 100 of Girl Between (Dana Gray FBI Mystery Thriller #5)
“You’ve got to be kidding me?” Richter growled when the busty blonde drag queen playing hostess led him, Dana, Lena, and LaSalle to their VIP table.
“Why are we here again?” he grumbled after the Marilyn Monroe with an Adam’s apple ruffled his hair and trailed a boa over his chest.
“We’re following leads,” Lena said, eyeing the bottomless mimosa menu.
When LaSalle discovered both Hillary Foster and Jasmine Baker had been employed at the Country Club, a swanky Bywater restaurant famous for its pool parties and drag brunch, they made a few calls and got themselves on the list for today’s show.
“We should be talking to management,” Richter argued.
“And we will,” replied Dana. “But we can learn just as much by observing.”
“Maybe more,” LaSalle said, her eyes wide as a busty Mardi Gras Queen strutted onto the main stage.
“Welcome Farrah Moans to the stage,” the MC broadcasted with too much enthusiasm.
A riot of applause broke out among the packed house. A cocktail waitress fought her way through the melee to take their order .
“Mimosas and Bloodys are bottomless,” the waitress announced, “Just like us,” she added, turning to smack her barely-covered posterior.
“One mimosa!” said Lena, raising her hand.
“We’re on duty,” LaSalle reminded her.
“I’m not,” Lena argued, handing the waitress some cash. “Keep ‘em coming.”
“The rest of us aren’t drinking,” LaSalle said, flashing her badge discreetly.
The waitress nodded and hustled away.
“Well, now she’s not gonna tell us anything,” Lena remarked.
“Since when are you a detective?” LaSalle shot back.
“I’ve seen cops. People clam up when the shield comes out.”
“It’s doubtful she’d have anything to tell us,” Richter said. “Hospitality industry has a high turnover and our vics worked here a long time ago.”
“Doesn’t hurt to ask,” Dana said.
The waitress appeared again, this time she was holding a tray stacked with mimosas. She set it on their table. “On the house, officers,” she said with a wink. “These three are zero proof,” she added. “To help you blend in.” She handed the last one to Lena. “Yours is high-octane, honey.”
LaSalle tried to argue but the waitress disappeared back into the crowd, which was now hooting and hollering for Penny Tration, a leggy drag queen dressed like the sexy version of the horror movie clown Pennywise. It was both jarring and alluring, and Dana couldn’t look away.
Lena raised her champagne flute, ready to cheer but LaSalle crossed her arms.
“Oh, come on,” Lena pressed. “She said yours is virgin.”
“Like I’ll just take her word for it and risk my badge.”
Lena rolled her eyes. “Nobody gets drunk at a bottomless mimosa bar. This is 99% orange juice, probably from concentrate,” she said, knocking her glass back, eyes suddenly wide. “I stand corrected. This shit’s the real deal. ”
LaSalle continued to refrain, but Dana and Richter each grabbed a glass. “To blending in,” Richter said, clinking his glass to theirs before draining it.
Dana was just raising hers to her lips when she locked eyes with an unexpected face.
Dr. Henri Taurant was the last person she’d expected to see casually flipping dollar bills onto the stage at a drag brunch. And from the shock on his flawlessly done up face, he was just as surprised.
Dana grabbed Lena’s knee. “I work with him.” She casually jutted her chin in Taurant’s direction.
“The guy with the big nose and gorgeous turquoise eyelashes?”
“Yep.”
Lena grinned. “You get more interesting by the day.”
“I think we should talk to him,” Dana pushed.
“About the case?” Lena asked. “Why?”
“He’s always bragging that he knows everyone and everything that goes on in this town. His nosiness might pay off.”
“Well, you better move fast,” Lena said, nodding toward Taurant.
Dana turned back in time to see her ex-coworker hightailing it from his table. She gave Richter a tactical shoulder tap and went after Taurant. She didn’t stop to see if Richter was following. She’d worked with Jake long enough to know the man who trained him would have her six.
The military lingo came to her naturally now. She used to think that was a good thing—letting Jake into her life and vernacular. She hated second-guessing that.
But the Reaper case made her second-guess everything.
Shoving her torment aside, Dana focused on her retreating coworker.
Taurant moved fast for a skinny old historian in heels, but Dana was faster.
She cut him off on the grand columned front porch.
Even with the exuberant amount of rouge on his cheeks, Taurant turned a shade paler than the yellow exterior paint of the lively restaurant.
“I can explain,” he started as Dana approached .
“Don’t bother,” she interrupted. “I don’t care that you’re into drag.”
“You don’t?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.
“Of course not. I just want to ask you a few questions.”
He straightened his blue wig. “About what?”
“There were two girls who used to waitress here,” Dana held up her phone and showed him the photos she’d pulled from the archives of their social profiles. “Did you know them?”
Taurant’s haughty attitude returned. “Why would I tell you if I did?”
Richter appeared next to Dana. “Because she asked nicely.”
“I did ask nicely,” Dana reiterated. “But we could do this at the police precinct if you’d be more comfortable.”
Taurant paled further. “That won’t be necessary,” he said, looking around. “But let’s go somewhere a little quieter.”
They followed Taurant through to the pool deck in the back of the Country Club. The pool was full thanks to the sweltering temperature, but the deck was relatively vacant. No one paid them any attention as they grabbed a table under a green and white striped umbrella.
“I knew them,” he started. “I told you, I know everything that goes on in my city.”
“Do you know what happened to them?” Dana asked.
“No, but if you’re asking I’m guessing it was nothing good,” Taurant answered.
“Accurate assessment,” Dana said, showing him the ME’s photos.
Taurant covered his mouth in horror.
“Guess he doesn’t know everything,” Richter added.
“What happened?” asked Taurant.
“That’s what I was hoping you could tell us,” said Dana.
He shook his head. “I wish I knew. They were sweet girls. Waitressed here, the festivals, some private events.”
“What kind of private events?” Richter asked.
Taurant shrugged. “The usual. Catering jobs in the Quarter, that kind of thing. ”
“Were they close?” asked Dana.
He shrugged again. “Not particularly. They were coworkers. Liked to party. I’d see them out here and there at some of the service bars.
” When Dana raised her eyebrows in question he elaborated.
“Lafitte’s, Erin Rose, Rendezvous, ya know …
late night places. Local bar and restaurant staff haunt them to blow off steam after the tourists go home. ”
Dana had more questions. “Were either of them dating anyone?”
Taurant thought for a moment. “I don’t know about Hillary, but Jasmine was seeing a guy. Think he was EMS or something. I only remember because his little sidekick always wore his VIGOR shirt. Probably because first responders never pay for drinks in this city,” he added.
Dana looked at Richter, her heart racing. “The guys … do you remember their names?”
“No, sorry. I don’t. It was a long time ago. But if you showed me a photo, I could pick them out. Jasmine’s guy was a tall Latino kid. The other guy was shorter, quiet.”
“Mid-twenties, Caucasian?” Dana asked
“Yeah.”
“What’s VIGOR?” Richter asked.
Taurant proudly rattled off the acronym’s definition. “Volunteer in Government of Responsibility.It was an EMS volunteer program. Started after Katrina. Still active as far as I know. Allows volunteers to work alongside New Orleans EMS. Always busiest this time of year with all the festivals.”
Goosebumps raced up Dana’s spine like they always did when she was getting close to the truth. “Thanks,” she said to Taurant. “Keep your phone on you. I expect you to answer if we need an ID.”
“Wait!” he said as Dana began to stand. Pulling her back he spoke in hushed tones. “New Orleans celebrates all walks of life, not everywhere else in the world is as accepting. I’d appreciate if you didn’t speak about this in our professional circles,” he said, gesturing to the sequin dress he wore.
A spark of empathy softened Dana as Taurant’s false lashes fluttered nervously. “I doubt anyone cares that you’re into drag, Taurant, but they won’t hear it from me.”
“I appreciate it,” he said.
Dana’s mind was buzzing as she and Richter fought their way back through the crowd to their seats. They’d just sat down when the MC announced the next act.
Nurse Anna Rection, bounded onto the stage to show off her moves. She flounced the curls of her bright red wig and pointed at Richter.
“Shit on a Sunday,” he muttered as the voluptuous queen made a beeline toward him, with a sexy strut.
She sashayed over and gave him a sultry lap dance he’d never forget.
After, she returned to the stage to continue her striptease.
When she unzipped her little white nurse’s gown, she shocked the audience by revealing not the expected curvy implants, but a gaunt, gray chest straight out of a horror movie.
The painted flesh was covered in latex sutures that formed the shape of a Y.
Dana missed the punch line of whatever Walking Dead joke the queen had made because her mind was busy knitting together the fraying pieces of a thought. The Y incision had her flashing back to the ME photographs of the 68 victims. Not all of them had the telltale scar.
She turned to Lena. “When don’t you do an autopsy?”
“When we know cause of death.”
“Precisely!” Dana grabbed her hand. “We need to go.”