Polished Off by Lila Dare Page B

to calling him Marsh—short for Marshal Dillon—when we met during his investigation of Constance DuBois’s death. His name was John, but it seemed like a liberty to use his first name. I wasn’t sure why . . . I called everyone else I knew under fifty by their first names. And he couldn’t have been more than forty or forty-one.
    “Maybe because you’re involved in every murder I’ve ever investigated in St. Elizabeth?”
    I tossed aside the magazine and stood to shake the hand he held out. It was hard and callused and I remembered he had a horse and that he’d invited me to see it. An invitation he’d never followed up on. Not that I minded. Much.
    “One,” I said defensively. “This makes two. And I’m not ‘involved.’ I just happened to find the body. Well, after I picked the lock with a hanger.” I resumed my seat.
    “Exactly.” He didn’t quite smile, but a crease—not really a dimple—appeared in his cheek.
    Damn. The almost-dimple made my pulse race in a way that was unnerving.
    “I hope you’re not going to tell me that the victim got a bad perm or a fright-night dye job at your salon this time.”
    I glared at him. He was referring to Constance DuBois, who was murdered only hours after threatening to close down Violetta’s because her highlights turned orange. Through no fault of my mom’s, I might add.
    “Audrey wasn’t a client,” I said. I explained about Audrey hiring me and Stella.
    He took out a notebook and a “let’s get down to business” look appeared on his face. “Tell me about finding Ms. Faye.”
    I told him about coming back to look for Stella, about finding the door locked and using the hanger to open it.
    “Who is Stella?” he asked. “And why were you concerned to the point where you picked the lock?” He flipped a page of his notebook.
    I reminded him he’d met Stella at Mom’s salon. The why I was worried part was harder. “I don’t know,” I said. “She’d been acting depressed and she seemed upset to see her husband here. When she didn’t come back after intermission, well, we—Mom and Althea and I—were worried about her. I’d heard her and Darryl in there”—I nodded my head at the wall separating our rooms—“during the break and I thought she might be upset.”
    He shot me a sharp look. “You’re sure you heard her and her husband?”
    “Yes, I—” I stopped to think. I hadn’t really been able to distinguish words or voices. I’d just assumed it was Stella. I told Agent Dillon as much.
    “So it could have been Ms. Faye in there with . . . who? A man? A woman?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “What about when you came back here after the show? Did you see anyone?”
    I closed my eyes, mentally retracing my steps. “Marv and a couple of his workers were on the stage—I heard them. There was no one—wait!” My eyes flew open. “Someone was at the other end of the hall when I came up the steps. He—or she—turned the corner just as I got to the hall.”
    “Description?”
    “All I saw was a cape and a hat,” I admitted. “I thought it was an actor here for the Phantom rehearsal.”
    “Midget sized? Shaquille O’Neal sized? Did he move like an octogenarian, an athlete, a kid? C’mon, Grace. You’re a natural observer. Give me more.”
    His brusque tone undermined the compliment. I closed my eyes to visualize the figure at the end of the hall. “He was taller than me by at least a couple inches and moved like a young person, that is, he seemed vigorous.” Opening my eyes, I screwed up my face in apology. “That’s the best I can do.”
    “Man, woman? Black, white?”
    I shook my head.
    “When did you last see Audrey Faye alive?”
    “Just a few minutes before the talent show started. I asked her to help me find a scarf.”
    “Did she have any enemies?”
    I shrugged. “I didn’t know her well at all. I never met her before she showed up at Violetta’s today.” I told him about Simone DuBois recommending us and he