Commins' Case: Bloody Burlesque ✅

Chapter 12

Marcus drops Gabriel back at the club before bringing Marie and I back to the office building. I bring Marie up to speed on the curse as I walk up the stairs. In front of my office door, she says, "So the death curse is lifted?"

"Yes."

"But whoever cursed me can just do it again?"

"It will take some time," I explain. "Curses like that aren't as easy as saying a few Latin words; they need the correct preparation and ingredients. Sometimes they even need the right lunar phase. We've bought ourselves some breathing room, so now it's just a matter of figuring out who has motive to kill you.

"Of course, now for the easy part." Marie rolls her eyes.

I go to put the key in the lock and pause; the door is cracked open. I smell cigarette smoke and hear the soft hiss of silky clothing from inside. Marie's eyes go wide.

-

Clients don't generally break in. Perhaps the mob found me, or it's just Mrs. Marsden coming back for her rent. However, I suspect something far more sinister. I put my hand in my pocket for my revolver just in case.

Marie grips my left bicep, her nails digging into my skin.

I give her a reassuring smile and a wink before throwing the door open wide.

It's neither an evil sorcerer nor a mobster, but Blanche. She sits on the corner of my desk, wearing a dress that shows off her legs. One high-heeled shoe dangles from her toes. She's leafing through my novel with a cigarette in one hand. She looks up as I enter. One carefully sculpted eyebrow goes up, and her red lips part. "Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you happy to see me, Claude?"

"Both." I motion for Marie to enter. She sees Blanche, and they rush to embrace each other as if it's been months instead of days.

Seeing the two together highlights their differences; they seem more like mother and daughter than two friends. Marie may have the body and face of a twenty-year-old, but Blanche has an appealing, almost maternal warmth layered over her own innate, sumptuous beauty.

-

"How did you get in?" I ask.

Your landlady let me in," she tells me. "I told her I was a prospective client, and she seemed to think you needed the work."

"I see." I drop the revolver onto the desktop, collapse into my chair and bring a bottle of Merlot from a drawer. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Blanche hunts down three clean glasses, and I pour. She hands one of the glasses to Marie and says, "Drink that down."

A frown turns Marie's face sour. She takes the drink in both hands and asks, "What's happened?"

-

Blanche motions Marie to drink and does the same. The two women sit down, and Blanche lays a hand on Marie's knee. "Antoinette is dead."

Marie chokes back a sob.

Blanche leans across and wipes a tear from her cheek. "I'm sorry."

"Antoinette was the trapeze girl?" I ask.

Blanche nods.

"God," says Marie. She swallows the rest of her drink. "She was only eighteen. Who would want Antoinette dead?"

Blanche shakes her head. "I don't know, but the police are at her house right now, investigating."

-

"How did she die?" I ask.

My comment warrants another sob from Marie.

Blanche shoots me a look in reprimand. She has an arm around Marie, who is gently weeping and sipping wine. "I don't know," Blanche says. "We only just found out."

I take a sip of Merlot and shake my head. "I told you to stay with them."

"I tried," Blanche says in her defence, and I can see the hurt in her eyes. "Antoinette wouldn't listen. She went home early this morning. And where have you been all day?"

"At the circus," I tell her. "Where did she live?"

Blanche gives me an address.

-

"I still have a few friends in the department," I say, which is mostly false, but I forge ahead regardless. I ensure my revolver is loaded and pocket it. "I'm going to take a look. There's not much you two can do to help, so I want you to stay here and keep the door locked."

"Claude," Blanche stops me at the door. She comes over and fixes the lapel of my coat. She opens her mouth, closes it and finally says, "You look like hell."

"Thank you," I respond, as though she just told me how handsome and debonair I look. "You're not too bad yourself." I turn and walk out into the hallway.

Blanche follows and runs to catch up with me. Before I know it, her hand is on my chest, and our eyes lock. "Maybe when this is all over..."

She doesn't finish the thought.

"Yeah," I say, leaping into the silence. "Maybe."

"Be careful, detective." She lifts one corner of her mouth. "Wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you."

"Ditto," I tell her. I give her a wink and leave.

"Come back soon," she calls.

"You can count on it."

-

I head downtown to take a look at Antoinette's residence. She lived in a basement apartment on Kings Avenue, near the heart of the Fofurk action, but far enough outside of it to afford the rent. Police carriages crowd the cracked macadam street, their flashing lights painting the old brick building in alternating blue and red. A dog is barking, steady as a metronome. A loosely-knit crowd mills about on the footpath, watching the police work. Who knows what they're looking for? Maybe they are hoping for a shootout or perhaps a glimpse at a dead body.

I walk in through the front doors, trying to seem like a resident on his way home.

The lobby has a fake chandelier and faux marble. The elevator doors are large chrome affairs, used to make the place look more upscale than it truly is. It almost works, too. More people, mostly policemen, crowd the lobby. I take the stairs down to the basement.

-

The builders didn't bother with any affectation down here. The floors are concrete, and stark overheads turn everything a lifeless yellow hue. It reeks of cigarette smoke and cat bile.

There's no need to look at the door numbers' Antoinette's door is taped off with a patrolman standing guard. He's young and has his thumbs hooked into his leather belt. He must be new, which may work to my advantage.

Recalling what it was like to be the lead constable on the scene, I stop in front of the young patrolman and thrust my chin at the open door. "Have forensics taken the body away yet?"

His thumbs unhook from his belt. He gives me a once over, trying to make up his mind as to who I am. Whilst he tries to decide, I jump onto the silence.

"Forensics? Dead body?" I say the way you might talk to a particularly slow schoolboy and raise my eyebrows. "Have they cleared the crime scene yet?"

-

"Uh..." he starts to look over his shoulder before returning his attention to me. "No, not yet," after a second, he adds, "sir."

I nod and sigh as though this is the difficult part. "Have you been inside?" I ask.

"Just to peek," he admits.

"Is it bad?"

He nods his head vigorously. "Pretty messy."

"Murder is a messy thing," I tell him. "Is this your first one?"

He nods again. "Yes, sir."

"It doesn't get any easier." I give him a pat on the shoulder and duck under the tape. I make it two steps inside before hearing, "Commins, why am I not surprised to see you?"