Out of Body by Stella Cameron Page A

from Gray to the crazy lady fate had visited on him. They both watched him expectantly.
    He returned to Blades’s cryptic note:
    Extensive damage could be consistent with alligator attack postmortem. Looking for further substantiation.
    Provisional cause of death:
    Crude removal of larynx.
    Extensive blood loss .
    Shock .
    “Oh, my God,” he said, and was tempted to reach for the Bong vodka again. The beast who murdered her had cut out her voice.

6
    F inding out the name of the club where Amber had sung with her partner, Sidney, had been harder than Marley expected. The club wasn’t well-known and only after making call after call had she caught up with the duo. Marley didn’t expect to find out much, but she had to start somewhere and Scully’s Club seemed her only choice.
    “You want me to wait?” the cab driver said.
    Marley looked through the car window, making up her mind. “No, thanks,” she said finally and got out, paying him off quickly. It was really late and she might have been better waiting until the morning, but for Liza and Amber, every minute could count.
    The entrance to Scully’s at the Hotel Camille was set back from the sidewalk just off the foot of Canal Street. Marley heard live music through the closed doors.
    Not far from the river and barely on the edge of the Quarter, this had to be a minor foot-in-the-door place for fledgling musicians.
    Her stomach squeezed, and letting the cab go didn’t seem such a good idea anymore, but she pushed on a polished brass handle and went in.
    Inside the club, laughter and conversation came in bursts. Scents of beer, booze and perfume made her nose itch. The light was low, but not so low she couldn’t see clearly enough.
    The bar dominated the middle of a big room decked out in green-and-white stripes, heavy chintz fabrics, crops of British hunting scenes on every wall and an overstuffed Victorian atmosphere. Men turned to look at her but Marley had expected that, coming here alone at almost midnight. But she was only blocks away from home and she’d get another cab when she left.
    Accompanied by a pianist, a woman played a guitar and sang the blues. Nice voice. Not remarkable, but nice and mellow. She looked and sounded melancholy. The pianist was worth listening to on his own.
    Marley went to the bar and climbed on a stool. She would rather have hidden herself in one of the curtained alcoves at the far end of the room, but that would not be the way to do what she’d come for: to find out what she could about Amber Lee.
    Scully’s had been Amber’s last gig before she disappeared. The place wasn’t famous and neither were Amber and Sidney, but Marley had tracked them all down.
    “This’ll help you make up your mind,” the bartender said with an Irish brogue. He opened a list of drinks in front of her. “Unless you already know, colleen.”
    She smiled at him and decided he was about her age, but his worldly brown eyes had probably seen much more…of this world.
    Marley looked at the list. “Only martinis?” She laughed. “Every kind of martini.”
    The bartender put his elbows on the counter and crossed his forearms. “And every kind of gin. But if you don’t drink gin, try me with whatever takes your fancy.”
    “I’m having one of these,” she said. “Kiwi and sour apple martini. That sounds good.” She wanted to fit in, preferably to just about disappear.
    Sitting sideways on her stool, Marley watched the singer. Someone behind her tapped her shoulder and Marley glanced around.
    A blond man, maybe in his forties, smiled at her from the next stool. “Is it okay if I hit on you?” he said, and giggled at his own brilliance.
    Marley smiled politely and turned back to the singer.
    Another tap on the shoulder.
    This time she ignored him.
    The bartender slid a large martini glass filled to the brim with a pale green drink toward her. In amber-shaded light the contents of the glass reminded her of other things, like a tunnel she’d