Onstage, a performer belted out a lip-synching extravaganza. A Celine Dion twin. Holy crap.
She was standing in the spotlight with a microphone, dressed in a colorful mess of scarves, singing one of many silly tunes Dawn hadn’t ever learned the name of. The audience yelled along during the “river deep, mountain high!” chorus, reminding Dawn of why she’d never bothered.
Unruffled, Breisi made her way to a bartender as Kiko laughed and took off his shades, then started snapping his fingers to the music.
Breisi was back in a flash. “Sasha’s in the dressing room!” she said, raising her voice over the music. “Rolf said to go right back!”
Rolf. As they weaved through the water-and sweat-misted crowd, Dawn glanced at the beefy, shirtless bartender dancing his way toward a new customer. They were lax on security here, which probably meant this bar had nothing to do with vamps.
On their way, Dawn rubbed against some decent chests, so she could’ve called it a good night right there. But her better instincts were still on alert for Underground clues because that’s what was going to lead to Frank.
In the dressing room, half-garbed drag queens primped in mirrors surrounded by big, white bulbs. The air was heavy with Aqua Net and the oily scent of makeup.
Kiko asked a Diana Ross look-alike where Sasha was, and the performer batted her lengthy false eyelashes and gave the psychic a sassy smile.
“There, sugar.” She pointed a few mirrors down. “Wow, aren’t you a darling thing? A sample-sized man, just like shampoo at a hotel.”
Kiko laughed good-naturedly. Then they all made their way over to Sasha’s station, where a robed performer was sitting in a chair, slipping off a long, dark wig.
It seemed such a personal act that Dawn actually averted her gaze. In that instant, the delayed images of what Sasha kept taped to the mirror infiltrated her: photos of recent ice skaters like Michelle Kwan, Sarah Hughes, and then his two obvious namesakes—Sasha Cohen and Irina Slutskaya. The combination of the last two monikers made for a perfect drag queen.
She heard Breisi greeting the performer. Then, the next thing Dawn knew, she was peeking up again, finding that Sasha had already stuck a baseball cap over his head and was making quick work out of removing his heavy makeup with fingers full of cold cream.
“Too bad,” he said in a deep voice. “You missed my Cher act.”
Now, Dawn had awesome gaydar; a girl needed it badly in Hollywood. The thing was, Sasha wasn’t setting it off.
Breisi took position next to the vanity, posture relaxed. “As much as we would have loved to see it, Sasha, we’re here to discover if you can help us.”
A finely tuned machine, the Limpet questioning method kicked into gear. Kiko stood on the other side of Sasha, getting ready to execute his touch-reading. Dawn hung back while Breisi consumed the subject’s attention this time around.
“Help with what?” Sasha raised his darkly penciled brows and paused while taking off his lipstick.
“Lee Tomlinson.” Kiko said it with command, seeing as he played “bad cop” to Breisi’s “good cop.”
Dawn, naturally, was the “ugly cop,” so she saved her energy in case it was needed.
The performer ran a gaze down Kiko’s body, then back up. It was a curious assessment, the recognition one social outsider might have for another.
He turned back to the mirror and finished cosmetic-removal duties. Impressive muscles lurked under his robe, and now that Dawn could see him better, she realized that his features were masculine and feminine at the same time. An ambiguously pretty boy who could end up starring in spy movies if he wanted to.
“Lee is as good as dead to me,” Sasha said.
“What do you mean, he is as ‘good as dead’?” Breisi asked.
“I mean he murdered a woman, they’ve got enough evidence to prove that. We were close for a while, but I don’t cozy up to killers so, basically, I haven’t talked to him since we broke up. That was before Klara Monaghan’s last days.”
Hearing him say Klara’s name when everyone else in town seemed to have forgotten it, Dawn caught his gaze in the mirror. He grinned slightly, as if giving himself credit.
He knew the name, but the death didn’t move him. Either this guy had no feelings or he knew how to hide them well.
Welcome to my club, Dawn thought.
“We heard you and Lee were an item,” Kiko said bluntly.
Sasha turned an amused gaze on the psychic. “Yes, we were. Does it matter?”
“We’re attempting to get to know him through his close relationships.” Breisi fished out her PI license and flashed it. “And in just five minutes, you’ve been more forthcoming with us than his family and anyone else within a one-hundred-mile radius put together.”
“Why’re you investigating him?”