The rain poured. Scurrying pedestrians ducked under awnings. Cars trundled up and down the wet street. Through all the gloom, the Sunset Lounge glowed in the distance, promising glitzy, steamy relief within.

Katherine was huddled in the doorway of a flower shop, quietly observing the people pulled in by the lounge's warm glow. Upper-middle class folks mostly, with tailored clothes, perfect hair, and plenty of secrets. Most of the affairs she'd uncovered were those of men with white-collar jobs; blue-collar workers were too exhausted to cheat.

Katherine peeled out of the doorway and charged through the rain toward the Sunset. It was only halfway down the street, but her hat and coat were drenched by the time she ducked under the lounge's awning. The Sunset's warm glow seeped into her bones as she fell into step behind a dashing couple, following them and the sound of sweet, soft music through a pair of polished wooden doors.

Inside the lounge, burgundy armchairs and Turkish poufs dotted the floor, with many couples sharing one seat in the saccharine haze. At the rear of the venue was a brightly-lit stage, upon which a handsome brunette singer crooned a smooth tune. Katherine's eye wandered toward the other half of the singer's act as she unbuttoned her rain-soaked coat, made a beeline for the bar, and ordered a scotch to elevate her from loiterer status. The singer's accompanist played a piano pressed against the side of the stage, beaming proudly up at the singer. The pianist's movements were passionate but controlled: he threw his whole body into the piano on the loud notes, but he caressed the quiet keys with the gentleness of a lover.

"Must be single," she murmured to herself. If that pianist were hitched, he'd have somewhere to put the passion he funneled into his performance.

Their set ended to a healthy smattering of applause and the singer disappeared offstage, but the pianist made for the bar. "The usual, Elmer."

Katherine sidled up beside him with a mischievous smile. Nothing disarmed men faster than a twinkle in a pretty woman's eye. "Original tune? I think I'd remember hearing a song that good."

The pianist turned his head toward her, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose. With his high eyebrows and round eyes, his face seemed to remain permanently surprised. "Thank you," he said politely. "The song is all Bill's work, really."

"Bill, that's…?"

"My singer." A smile flickered across his face. "He does the lyrics. I just find the right melody to put to them."

"Sounds like a match made in heaven." Katherine ran her fingertip around the edge of her untouched glass. "Been performing here long?"

His brow furrowed. "How'd you know?"

"You have a usual and you know the bartender's name. It's not exactly wizardry."

Just then, Elmer returned with a glass of wine which he placed before the pianist. He didn't touch it, though. His eyes were locked on Katherine. "Something tells me I should get on your good side." He extended his hand. "I'm Darcy Reid."

As she shook his hand, she said, "Pleasure to meet you, Mister Reid. I'm Detective Plumber."

"Detective?" Reid withdrew his hand as if she'd burned him. "Did someone send you after me?"

Why does a lounge accompanist have such a guilty conscience? She was used to men feeling robbed after they realized her flirting had an agenda, but she had never seen such wariness. "Does someone have a reason to investigate you?"

"No!" He glanced around at the other patrons, apparently startled by his own outburst. His voice was quiet when he added, "But forgive me for wishing to keep my private life private."

"I'm not here for you, Mister Reid." He relaxed. "I'm looking for Charlie Morris."

Immediately he tensed up again. His eyes narrowed. "Who's asking?"

"I'm a private detective. I've been hired to look into his disappearance."

Reid sighed heavily, regarding her with a suspicious eye. Then he glanced around the bar, downed his drink in one long swig, and stood. "Let's talk in back."

Katherine slapped a few bills on the bar top and set off with Reid across the packed floor to a shadowy doorway beside the stage. Through here, the glitz and glamour of the front of the house gave way to plain walls, bare light bulbs dangling from the ceiling, and a half-dozen plain doors. Reid walked all the way to the end, where one door was cracked open just a bit. He rapped on the door and barreled on inside to a dressing room with bare walls and two dressing tables crammed in side to side. "Bill, can you give us a minute?"

Bill the singer was seated at one of the tables. Bill had fine features, a round chin, and the appearance of two different skin tones. In his hands was a wet rag smeared with beige, which he balled up and put back on the dresser. It took effort to look effortless.

Without glancing away from his mirror, he asked, "Darcy, who's this?"

"A friend," he said evasively. Bill turned and leveled a demanding glare at Reid, but Reid didn't buckle. "She's fine. Just step out for a minute. But no smoking. Gotta keep those pipes golden."

Surly and stoic, Bill rolled his eyes and stood. "Could have used a warning."

"Sorry. It's an emergency."

Bill clicked his tongue and turned to leave, but Reid brushed past Katherine and caught him by the arm. "It's just a minute, and she's no one. Don't worry."

"Yeah, yeah." Bill pulled his arm away from Reid and left in a huff, shutting the door behind him. Katherine held back a wince. Where was their onstage chemistry? Where was the friendship that Reid so clearly prized?

"Sorry," said Reid with a heavy sigh. "He can be a diva, but I think he's earned the right to it." He gestured absently to the seat Bill just vacated, but she remained on her feet as he sat at the other dressing table. "Anyway. Business."

"Business." Katherine pulled out her notebook again. Reid grimaced when he saw it. "What can you tell me?"

Reid bit his lip and glanced at the dressing table Bill had just vacated. "Who hired you to find Charlie? Was it Jack Kelly?"

Reid knows Jack? "How do you know that name?"

"The name is all I know," he said with an apologetic shrug. "Charlie started working here around the time Bill and I got our regular gig. He talks about his brother plenty, but he doesn't mention anyone else in the way of family."

Katherine sighed. Jack had said his brother was all he had. That meant the reverse was true, too. "You didn't bring me back here to ruminate on loneliness, Mister Reid."

He fixed his suspicious gaze back on her. "How much do you have to tell your clients about what you learn?"

She balked. Was now the time to talk about her policies? "I keep my clients informed of my case progress, but I don't see what bearing that has on my inquiries."

Actually, she could. But Darcy couldn't be the guilty party; asking about what Jack would know was just plain stupid.

Then again, what else was he hiding? Reid knew something that he didn't want Jack to know. That was worth pursuing.

"Are you sure you only know Kelly in passing? Withholding information from a detective is a dangerous thing."

Reid's eyes hardened. "Are you threatening me?"

"Of course not, Mister Reid. I'm just warning you that I'll be forced to consider you a suspect, should you give me reason to. And lying to me is a damn good reason."

"I wasn't lying!"

Her voice was quietly sharp, like the sound of a dagger muffled by clothing. "Then what is it that you don't want me to know?"

Sweat broke out on his brow and he shot to his feet, hands balling into fists at his sides. "We have our lives and our living to make! I'd prefer Bill and I don't get mixed up in this unpleasantness."

If he was worried about getting dragged into something unpleasant, that meant whatever he knew was good. Maybe that was a heartless way to think about it, but what choice did she have? What choice did Charlie have?

"You can remain anonymous," she promised, channeling all her will power into softening her voice. "You can be one of a nameless handful of witnesses—but only if you give me everything you know."

Reid's jaw clenched as he thought, and he turned her proposition over for such a long time that Katherine was sure he was enjoying keeping her in suspense. But at long last, he nodded, and Katherine released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "I don't want to see the names Darcy Reid or Bill Hearst anywhere except the entertainment pages."

"You have my word." She felt a rush of pride at her victory and no small amount of gratitude as they shook hands. To smooth things over between them, she said, "Bill's lucky to have you. Not all of us have such dedicated friends."

Reid turned away, but not quickly enough for Katherine to miss the smirk he bit back. They're not just friends. That explains it. "Better get your pen ready."

Katherine wrote like a madwoman, only half-processing what Reid said as she focused on copying down every exact word. "We had a gig here the night Charlie was taken. Bill went on home ahead. Charlie and I were chatting, and I went to take a wizz. When I got back, he was getting dragged out the door and into a car. I followed as much as I could, but I didn't see where they went. I, uh, I recognized the face, though."

Katherine paused and looked up at the pianist, her jaw slack. He knew who did it all this time and saw fit just to dangle scraps before her?

"I didn't know who you were working for," he said defensively, shrinking away from the look in her eye. "I didn't know if I could trust you."

She beat down her anger and consoled herself with the fact that he had deigned to reveal this at all. Now was not the time to critique her witness. "Right, Mister Reid. Now, who did you see?"

The conflict was evident on his face. She saw the worry that she might go back on her word and blast his and Bill's names everywhere, but she saw that her own outburst had guilted him enough to move him to action. "Spot Conlon. He's out in Brooklyn."

"Who is Spot Conlon?" she asked immediately. "How do you know him?"

"We've played in his neck of the woods. I don't know how to find him, but I know his face." A shiver ran down his spine. "He liked our music. He came backstage and, well—" He swallowed. "Saw a little more than he bargained for. One of the girls there said we were lucky if that was the last time we ever crossed paths."

Darcy's whole body was shaking, and his face shone with sweat as he brushed past her for the door. "All I know is I saw him, but he didn't see me the night of. I don't have anymore to tell you."

He opened the door. "Goodbye, detective."

Katherine quickly said her thank-you and then beat her retreat. She breezed past Bill sulking in the hallway and back to the main lounge, and then outside to the rain.

Spot Conlon. She had a name, and that name had a reputation. It wasn't much to go on, but even this sliver was a blessing: Spot Conlon's leverage on Reid had kept him from going to the police with what he knew. She was lucky to get that name at all.

And she was lucky she was still an unknown quantity to this Conlon fellow. He didn't see the approaching storm.

All that remained was to find him.