Page 59 of Passions in Death
Now she wagged that finger back and forth. “The police say routine, but don’t always mean it. So you talk to her, you go talk to ChiChi. There’s evil in the world. It preys on the innocent and takes innocent lives. You know this already.”
“I do.”
“Then talk to ChiChi, but go find the evil. I have to walk my dog, then go to work.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
She stepped aside so the woman could lead her dog to the sidewalk.
And continued on.
She considered the encounter fascinating, and telling. The stripper shared a wall with her grandmother, and right next to the family restaurant. And that family had known, and apparently liked, Erin Albright.
Would she have called on one of them for backup? Possible, she decided, and that opened up yet another avenue to explore.
When she reached Delights, it didn’t surprise her to see Roarke standing outside, under the sign of a well-endowed woman in a G-string and pasties, head tossed back as if in orgasm as she rode a pole.
“And there she is,” he said. “I was just about to tag you to see if I’d guessed correctly or had a bit of a walk coming.”
“You guessed correctly. Lopez is at work. I talked to her grandmother, who lives in the townhouse next door. Do you know Abuela’s, a Mexican place?”
“I do, yes. A very well-run restaurant. Her grandmother’s then?”
“The family’s anyway. The grandmother says ChiChi’s talents lie in another direction. She knew the victim.”
She scanned the exterior as she spoke. “More upscale than I expected. Not yours, is it?”
“Sadly no.”
“You’re faster. Check who owns the restaurant building, this one, and those townhouses.”
He took out his PPC, and had the answer in seconds. “Aren’t you the clever one. Lopez Family LLC owns those properties, and a few more besides—a few residential more.”
“With all that, I guess ChiChi just likes getting naked. Let’s go in.”
Music thrummed. The lights held dim except on the circular stage, where a woman strolled and strutted in a three-piece suit and mile-high heels. She wore a fedora cocked on her head.
Eve recognized the woman she’d come to speak with.
Plush red seats circled the stage, and for this early in the evening, Eve found them surprisingly full.
More seats and booths lined the walls, and the bar in the rear did a brisk business. Servers in G-strings and pasties carried trays.
Some of them had bills tucked into the G-string.
A man in a corner booth enjoyed a lap dance, but his gaze stayed on the woman onstage rather than the one who serviced him.
She didn’t seem to mind.
And Eve supposed ChiChi Lopez was something to see.
She’d stripped off her tie, shimmied/wiggled out of the suit jacket before doing a stylish turn on the pole. The vest came next, and more pole work.
Eve had to admit the woman was flexible, and had a style. Even while she stayed fully dressed, patrons tossed bills on the stage.
When the music hit a clash of brass, she tore open the breakaway dress shirt, revealing impressive breasts accented by tiny, sparkling pasties.
More money flew when she tossed a leg up the pole, executing a standing split. By the time she yanked off the breakaway pants, the crowd buzzed and cheered.
