Dark in Death (In Death 46)

“Our staff, over the years—twenty-two years—performing all over the world. Off-planet as well. Here, Chanel.”

She tapped a photo of the doomed actress, spotlighted, arms outstretched, face lifted.

“What’s happened to her? She’s been hurt?”

“I’m sorry to inform you Chanel Rylan was killed tonight.”

“But no.” Going as pale as her hair, Annalisa braced a hand on the desk, slowly lowered into a folding chair. “No, she’s … An accident?”

“No, not an accident.”

“I … A moment, please.” She clasped her hands in her lap, shut her eyes. “I’m rude,” she managed. “Please sit down. Please sit.”

“Could I get you some water, Ms. Bacardo?”

“Annalisa,” she murmured, eyes still closed. “I’m Annalisa. There is wine over there. I would very much thank you for bringing me a glass of wine.”

She sat in silence until Peabody touched her hand, put a glass of wine in it.

“Thank you.” She sipped, sipped again. “They’re my children, my family. Some will only perform here, in this happy place. Some will go on to more, to much more. They’re my family. Please tell me what happened to her.”

“She was killed tonight at the Vid Galaxy, Times Square.”

“You have the murderer?”

“Not at this time.”

“You must.” Those tiger eyes went bright and hard. “You must find and punish who did this. She was sweet and smart and talented. She brought joy. Those who would kill one who brings joy have no place in the world. What can I do to help you put him away from the world?”

“Do you know anyone who’d want to hurt her?”

“I promise you I don’t.”

“Someone she was involved with, romantically, sexually?”

“She had many romances. She brought joy there, too. Lightly,” Annalisa added. “Her work was first. No one serious, no one angry.”

“Competitors, in her work.”

“Ah, there is drama and strife and camaraderie and even a little madness in such work. But I know of no one. She was talented and worked hard, but not destined to be a star.

That takes more. She was happy to have what she had, to do work that satisfied and fed her, to make a living doing what brought her joy and gave it. Some are more ruthless, yes? Some don’t have a care for bruising feelings or crushing opportunities. She didn’t have that quality. I think this must have been a madman, and someone who didn’t know her.”

“Maybe you noticed someone who paid too much attention to her, who came in, watched her.”

“The tourists come and go, though some come back when they visit New York again. We have regulars, and family groups who often come to celebrate a birthday or anniversary. I noticed nothing like this. If one of the others had, I would have been told. Family,” she reminded Eve. “And family looks out for each other. I want to help, but there’s no one I know who would have hurt her.”

“That helps.”

“How?”

“It tells me you feel it’s very unlikely someone who works here or comes in on a regular basis would have done this.”

“I believe it absolutely.”

“Who on your staff was she most friendly with?”

“Ah, we all work together, perform together. We are a company, too. But I would say Micha—on the bar. They sometimes … dated. Lightly, for both. And Teresa, one of our sous chefs. They were friendly, and also dated lightly. And Eliza, a waitress. Sometimes they were up for the same part, and would support each other. Often they would run lines together.