Why Fireflies Flash
Chapter Fifteen
"The Need To Prove"
The White Stallion Burlesque Club
The Madam paced back and forth in front of the only empty vanity that night.
"Relax, Madam," one of the other girls, Mandaline, called to her. "Anabeth said she'd be here. She's the one girl that keeps her promises here."
"Anabeth's skipped out on us all week," the Madam said pointedly. "I don't entirely trust the girl."
"She's one of the best girls we've ever had, Kiki," Toni calls to her from the balcony above. "Give her a break. She said it was a family emergency."
The Madam gave the mulatto girl a cursory look. "Give her a break? How much family can one American have in London?"
"None, actually," a sharp voice says. "Not anymore. Thanks for your concern. I've been busy this week. With family problems, yes, but not in London. I've been out of town most of the week." The lie slipped from her crimson lips naturally. "You can call my brother if you'd like. I mean he's not exactly happy about ending his honeymoon a week early but, you know, he won't mind defending his baby sister's honor."
Kiki's jaw set as she shot Anabeth a meaningful glare, which was rebutted with one of a dare. Anabeth took her seat at her mirror and pulled the bag of cosmetics from her purse. The bag was immediately dumped out on the table. Kiki walked away with a bit less pep than earlier. "Thirty minutes to showtime," she growls.
Anabeth begins to slather foundation on her face sighing at the temperature of it. "I can't stand her and she knows it. She's needs a viable excuse to cut me. And one family emergency isn't it."
Roxanna, a tall lithe natural strawberry blonde, came and leaned on Anabeth's table already in full costume. "You know, you could be a little less rude and maybe she won't strangle you."
"Oh? And risk losing my bad ass reputation? I don't think so. It's too much fun." She paints her eyelids a smokey gray before gluing bejeweled eyelashes on. "I just have the Cher number tonight right?"
"Yeah, Madam Kiki was worried you wouldn't show. And you haven't practiced so..."
"I always practice, not that-"
"Yeah, yeah. Not that you need to."
"Damn skippy."
Madam Kiki called fifteen 'til. And the girls rushed around to put their outfits on. With a final stroke of red to her lips, Anabeth powdered her face with settling powder before rushing off to find the skimpy little black thing she had to squeeze into.
Anabeth had just gotten off stage when things began going down hill.
"Have you seen Sherry?" Kiki asked her.
Anabeth shook her head. "Not since we went out for a smoke right before I went on. She stayed out there."
"She wasn't out back," Roxanna says slipping the back fire door shut.
Anabeth shrugged. "Did she go for a walk you think?"
Roxanna shook her head. "I didn't see her."
"We need to find her," Kiki ordered. "Check the bathroom."
Roxanna crossed her arms. "I already did. She's not here. She might have left."
"She might have gone for a walk. Clear her head," Quinn states. "She's been having troubles with her boyfriend, you know. I'll go slip into something warmer and see if she's gotten too far." She turns away quickly and rushed to her table to slip into the trench coat waiting on the back of her chair. Her black stilettos click on the refurbished flooring of back stage. She hastens to the door pulling her cell phone from her pocket. Sherry's number is hidden within the S's of her contacts. The bar is clicked and soon a dial tone is emanating into her ear.
The night is exceptionally chilly on her fishnet clad legs. She shivers a bit as Lady Antebellum's "American Honey" began playing shortly down the alley. Quinn pulls her phone from her ear.
"Sherry?" she calls out. "Sherry, is that you?" Her pace quickens to a near run as she nears the other side of the dumpster. "Sherry, what are you- Ohmygod."
Sherry was a short blonde who favored the color yellow, which made sense considering the normally cheery mood she owned. Currently, though, she wore a short black silk robe, the very same she'd been wearing twenty minutes prior, ripped open to reveal a hot pink corset stained crimson. The woman's glassy blue eyes stared up at the starless sky.
Quinn reached down to pick up her phone had clattered to the ground upon finding her co-worker dead. She glances at the screen to see it back on her contact list. For a second her thumb hovered over the name above Sherry's. And while she deserved a thorough investigation as he could provide, after scoping through the Doctor's blog, she knew he'd be bored. Instead she flicked the list back up and clicked on Madam Kiki's name.
"Hey, you might want to come out here."
"Are you Miss Ryder?"
Anabeth glances up at the man in front of her, the man in charge no doubt, and gives a small nod. "Yes, that's me."
The man gives a small smile and holds out a small envelope. Cautiously she takes the envelope and stares at the graceful swooping of her name on the front. The calligraphy a slight ornamental variation of an English Script. She flipped it over to find a red wax seal with the Quinn family crest pressed into it.
"You've got to be kidding me," she breathes as she opens the letter. The stationery was thick, bohemian... and her own she realizes as she takes in the clock in the bottom right hand corner over which a black feather was taped. The handwriting, less flamboyant as on the envelope but just the same nonetheless, covered the entire page.
"Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore."
It seems our friend shared a mutual liking of Edgar Allen Poe. A distinguished author, do you not agree? It was on this night that you told me fourteen years ago, though it was ten at the time, that you lost your voice in the form of a broken heart but found it in the flourish of a paintbrush. It's a pity really. I would've loved to hear you sing, Sherry as well.
You must believe me when I say; I did not want to kill her. Such a waste of beauty to lie motionless beneath the earth forevermore. It was the only way I could think of to grab your attention. I certainly hope it worked. You should never turn your back.
A little bird, a raven in fact, once told me you hate long ops. Well, here's your chance to liven it up. I challenge the brilliant mind of the youngest Quinn to a game of wits and deduction. I have someone near to you, a young woman whom you spoke with just earlier this evening. Know that I will kill again and on that new corpse, I will leave you clues to Emily's whereabouts. Ahh, yes, young Miss Emily Becker-Hills. I hope you know it was simply too easy to figure her name. You're getting lax as of late dear Christabella.
Follow the clues, and do everything I say, and Emily will be returned to you, unscathed. If you do not, well, you can say goodbye to yet another asset. Are you up to the task, Miss Quinn? Or will this story end as all Poe's do? With madness, sin and horror?
Anabeth lifts her eyes from the unsigned letter to the man in front of her, Detective Inspector Lestrade, if she remembered correctly. "Does Holmes trust you?"
He gives her a confused look. "Holmes? As in Sherlock Holmes?"
"No, Mike Holmes." She shakes her head in disdain. "Of course Sherlock Holmes."
Lestrade shrugs. "About as far as he can throw me."
"Fine, good. I don't want anyone else to work on this case. Including your team. I want their involvement a minimum."
"Oi! Who says you can do that?" Lestrade asks miffed.
"The simple fact that this case is officially over your head." Quinn gives him an earnest smile before pulling out her phone and sending off a quick text. "I suggest you tell your little puppets to wrap it up now. And it's not me who says I can. It's the man you're about to get a call from now."
It's not a minute later that Lestrade's phone rings. Suspicious, he answers it and hardly gets a word in before the voice on the other end begins ranting. Lestrade's able to get in a few, "Yes, Sir's" and "No, sir's" and even a "Right away, sir" before the line goes dead and he's glaring at the dancer.
"I don't know how you did it, I have a feeling I don't want to know." Lestrade held out a hand to Anabeth who shook it. "Nice meeting you."
"You as well."
Lestrade calls for his people to leave and within five minutes the alleyway is empty.