“I do.” He wiped a tear from his cheek. “He’ll be devastated.”
Micki wasn’t so sure about that, but then she wasn’t much of a cheerleader for human nature, although Hank had been helping her with that. How the man had done thirty years on the force and maintained his positive attitude toward humanity, she didn’t know. But it gave her something to aspire to.
“Was his partner, Rog, a transvestite, too?”
“Desi was a drag queen,” Mustang corrected. “Most folks don’t realize that the majority of transvestites and cross-dressers are actually straight, not gay.”
“You’re right, I didn’t know that. And Rog?”
“Just an accountant.”
She fought a smile at the way he said it, sort of disappointed for the other man. “We’ll need to question everyone who was working last night.”
He nodded. “The same crew is in tonight, with some slight changes in bar staff. The cast of course, is the same. No, that’s not right, is it?” He stopped, brought a trembling hand to his lips. “Desi won’t be here.”
“Did Desiree have an understudy?”
“Yes. Cherry.” His eyes welled with tears. “And you’re right, the show must go on.”
That wasn’t why she had asked the question, but she didn’t correct him. “Is there anything else you can tell us about Desiree that might help us find her killer?”
“I don’t know what. She was happy. Well-liked within the community. Financially secure.”
“Mind if we start questioning the bar staff?”
“Please, do whatever you need to.”
“Mustang! Oh my God. I just heard! It’s so awful.”
They turned. A slight man in skinny jeans, a tight angora sweater, and high heels rushed into the club.
“Cherry!” Mustang stood to meet the other man.
The understudy, Micki realized, watching the two embrace.
“I’m devastated,” Cherry said. “I can’t believe this has happened!”
“I was the one who found her.” The club owner’s voice broke on a sob. “I came in…there was blood in the back hallway… I followed the trail and—”
He bit the last back, visibly pulled himself together, then waved Micki and Carmine over. “This is Detective Angelo and Detective Dare. They promised they’re going to find the one who did this.”
Micki stood and held out her hand. “I’m Dare. I didn’t catch your name.”
He took it, his palm damp, hand trembling. “Cherry.” He looked at her, then quickly away. “Cherry Chablis.”
“Is that your legal name?”
“Stage name. My legal name’s Chuck.”
“Chuck what?”
“Chandler.”
“And you prefer we call you Cherry?”
He nodded but once again, his gaze darted sideways. Her eye twitched.
“Mustang said you’re the victim’s understudy.”
At the description, Cherry looked sick. Mustang swayed slightly and grabbed Cherry’s arm for support. Micki was surprised they both didn’t topple. Neither spoke.
Carmine stepped in. “That is correct, Ms. Chablis? You were understudy for the deceased.”
He nodded.
“I understand Desiree was brilliant in her roles.”
“I will be, too.” He looked at Mustang. “I won’t let you down, ’Stang. I promise.”
He squeezed Cherry’s hand. “I know, sweetie, but at this point, I’m not certain when we’ll start back up.”
Micki watched as several emotions moved across the understudy’s face. Regret. Longing. Fear? Desiree had been the star that Cherry had longed to be. Envy had turned Vanderlund into a murderer, had it turned Chablis into one as well?
“You said it yourself a minute ago, Mustang. The show must go on.” Micki looked directly at Cherry. “I have no doubt you’re as good as Desiree was. You deserve the opportunity to prove it.”
Chablis shifted from one foot to the other, gaze averted, obviously unbalanced by her approach. Micki went on. “Don’t you think you’re as good a performer? Maybe even better?”
“What a horrible thing to…I can’t, considering—”
“But you have longed for this chance? To prove yourself?”
Sweat beaded his upper lip. “Of course, but who wouldn’t? It doesn’t mean anything.”
Angelo jumped in. “Where were you last night, Cherry?”
He blinked, false lashes hitting his eyebrows. “Here. I’m here almost every night.”
“What time did you leave?”
“The same time as everyone else.”
“Everyone else?”
“Well…not everyone. I couldn’t have.”
“What do you mean?”
Three blinks. Eyes focused somewhere over her left shoulder. “Desi must have been…I’m assuming, she must have been…the last, you know. To leave.”
“Did I say she was murdered last night?”
“Wasn’t she?” He swiped his upper lip. “I guess I just assumed, because…I don’t know why.”
“Last night, did you leave alone?”
“I don’t remember. I…yes, I did.”
“I thought you said you left with everyone else?”