Free Film Strip by Nancy Bartholomew Page A

again.
    â€œAll right, you gave the gun to Little Ricky, and it disappeared sometime after the shooting. I’m accepting your premise. How much time elapsed between your encounter with Venus and her getting shot for real?”
    Marla squinted, allegedly a sign that she was deep in thought. “I’m guessing two hours or so. We were all done for the night. The bar’d been closed for an hour or more and all the customers were supposed to be gone. That’s why it was so weird that one of them was backstage and holding the door for me when I left.
    I wanted to slap her. “There was a customer backstage when you left? Marla, why didn’t you tell me that? That’s important! You know Vincent’s rule. Customers never come backstage!”
    Marla stamped her foot impatiently and glared at me. “Sierra, I can’t remember every little detail of life! When Venus got killed, it kind of drove the policies and procedure manual right out of my head. You just sort of forget that stuff in a time of crisis.”
    â€œWhich customer was it, Marla?”
    She gave me a frustrated look. “I don’t know his name. He wasn’t a regular.”
    â€œThen didn’t it occur to you to call Bruno and have his ass bounced to the curb? He wasn’t supposed to be there. What did he look like?”
    â€œOh, you know him,” she said. “New guy. Sharp dresser. Italian-looking. Kind of looks like he’s always in a bad mood. I figured he was waiting on somebody. I didn’t figure he’d be back there if someone hadn’t said it was okay.”
    I just stared at her. That’s Marla for you, never thinking, always assuming, bury-your-head-in-the-sand Marla.
    â€œRight, Marla. Maybe he was waiting on Venus so he could shoot her!”
    Marla gasped.
    â€œThat’s right, kid. You just keep coming up with those little tidbits. Don’t trouble yourself to think back over the night or try too hard to help yourself. Hell, who knows, at this rate you might be next.”
    Her eyes widened.
    â€œOh, yeah, Marla. See, it’s like this.” I took a step closer to her and she started to back up. “Whoever killed Venus will kill again. After you kill your first victim, the second one comes easier. The third and fourth, well, it’s old hat. So the killer, if it isn’t you, is sitting around wondering who saw him. He’s wondering if there are any witnesses he needs to dispense with.”
    Marla looked really frightened now.
    â€œSo, if you’re holding back any little details, anything at all that I could use to help out here, you should tell me.”
    I turned around and started walking toward the door.
    â€œWait,” she called.
    I turned back around, my hand on the doorknob.
    â€œThere is one more thing,” she said, her voice breathy with fear.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThat Italian guy was a really bad tipper.”
    I looked back, wishing I could vaporize her. I pulled the door open, stepped out of it, and slammed it shut behind me. Marla wasn’t going to be any help at all. If anyone was going to save the Tiffany from an IRS lien, it would have to be me. At least I had somewhere to go. I was going to track down a well-dressed Italian who hadn’t finessed the fine art of tipping but may have perfected the craft of murder.

Twelve
    Raydean and Fluffy were waiting for me when I returned home. They sat across the road from my trailer, at the top of Raydean’s steps, side by side, and they didn’t look happy.
    I pulled the Camaro onto my parking pad and got out, thinking it might be better to ignore them than to try and cater to their obviously rotten moods. But it was Fluffy’s sigh that stopped me short. I heard it clear across the two yards. It was the sigh of someone who has given up hope.
    â€œYou two look like you’ve been to a bad funeral,” I said. I was hoping that if I sounded cheery, they’d