Chapter 6

The operatic voicecoming from the gramophone filled Serafina Somerset's palatial penthouse apartment. It was the day after the arrests, and the woman singing on the recording hit a note so powerful that the ice in my glass of gin began quivering. Stella covered her ears and winced in pain, while Serafina swanned across her parlor room in a silk gown, a cigarette alight at the end of a ridiculously long black cigarette holder.

"Isn't Signora Valentina's voice simply exquisite? This is the point in the opera where the lovelorn heroine clutches the dagger in her hand and plunges it into her heart."

"I wish I had a dagger to plunge into my face right about now," Stella groaned. "Is she singin' opera or givin' birth?"

I didn't open my trap on the subject, but I had to agree with Stella. I'd heard prettier noises from alley cats having anal sex. But we weren't here to critique opera. We were here for answers.

"I'm sure opera fans will love it when they see her perform," I said to Miss Somerset. "But if you don't mind, we didn't come to listen to Signora Valentina sing."

As though somehow offended by my remark, the gramophone record hit a scratch in the vinyl and repeated the same groove several times before Miss Somerset lifted the arm of the needle and turned the player off.

"I suppose you'll have your chance to see her perform in person soon enough. Howard Hart's Zephyr airship from Berlin arrives the day after tomorrow, and to mark the occasion Signora Valentina has agreed to sing at her welcoming reception at the Rainbow Palace atop Wilde City Tower."

"I know, I can't wait!" blurted out Stella excitedly. "Free booze!"

I turned to Stella, confused and feeling distinctly out of the loop. "There's a reception at the Rainbow Palace?"

"Sure there is," Stella replied. "Old man Hart and your boyfriend Harry are putting on a fancy-pants soiree to celebrate Signora Squealin' Pig's arrival. The Logan twins invited me. What… you don't know about it? Harry didn't invite you?"

"No," I answered vaguely. "I haven't seen him since…"

The truth was, I hadn't seen him since we parted ways after Howard had spotted us making love on the terrace of Harry's penthouse. My head was suddenly filled with questions, doubts, paranoia. Why had Harry not telephoned in the last day or so to tell me about the reception? How did Stella get an invitation and not me? Was this Harry's way of saying he didn't want me there? That he was embarrassed to have me at the same social event as his father?

As my voice trailed off into silence, Stella gave a wide-eyed grimace as though she'd just stepped in dog shit and trudged it across the carpet. "Oh, I see. This is a little awkward, huh?" She turned quickly to Miss Somerset in an effort to change the subject. "Hey lady, let's hear more from the dame with the dagger stickin' outta her heart. Probably less painful than talkin' about the Rainbow reception right now."

Serafina Somerset sighed with annoyance and impatience. "Oh, enough distractions. You two came here to question me about the night Miss Duprey was murdered. Let's just get it over with, shall we?"

"Of course," I said, pulling myself out of my sudden and stupid state of insecurity and getting back to the job at hand. I took out a notebook and licked the end of a pencil. "In your opinion, is there anyone in the cast and crew who you think might have killed Miss Duprey?"

Miss Somerset laughed unrestrainedly. "Take your pick! It could have been any one of them. Anyone but me, of course! Stanley Small was the last one to see her alive, not to mention the fact that the police found his glasses inside the trunk along with the dead body. Errol Hemingway has had eyes on that silly little understudy, Miss Overton, promising to make her a star the moment he got his filthy paws up her skirt; God knows, the two of them could have committed murder together. Barnabas Blake has been jealous of all his performers since this entire production went into rehearsal, insisting his name should appear at the top of the playbill. While Raja Khan has secretly arranged an insurance policy that, if you ask me, makes him the number one suspect in Miss Duprey's murder. As for me, I'm the only one among them who doesn't have a single motive. So the mystery within the mystery is… what the hell are you doing here questioning me when you should be out there tracking down the real killer? I've got a show to finance so I would greatly appreciate it if you'd stop wasting my time and let me get on with my job."

Stella whispered to me from behind her hand. "She's soooo guilty."