Private Dick Casefile 01 - Lily White Rose Red

girls must love you. Such beautiful eyes and those long, thick lashes, simply wasted on a man. You’ve got something, haven’t you, Mr. Randall?”

    Lily White, Rose Red: Grey Randall, Private Dick Casefile #1
    5

    I couldn’t help smirking. “I don’t know about that.”
    “You’re skinnier than I thought a private dick would be.” She had a way of saying “dick” that made it sound very dirty, and I could tell she liked doing it.
    “Wiry. I’m wiry, not skinny.”
    “Of course. Wiry, but tough.” She ran a gloved fingertip over my cheekbone, the one that had healed a little funny. “Where did you get that?”
    “You didn’t come here to get my life story, did you, Miss Lily?” I caught her hand and held it away from my face.
    She just smiled and strolled to the window, looking down at the street through the blinds. I wondered if I’d remembered to dust them lately.
    “Would you like to sit down?” I went around my desk to hold a chair for her.
    Of course she homed in on the good one, the green leather chair.
    She sank down onto the seat, light as a feather, and crossed her legs.
    Stems a million miles long, and they looked good, damned good. She made sure I got a good gander by surreptitiously hiking her skirt up above her knees, which were worth the attention. Knees in general can be problematic, but if shorter skirts came in, Lily wouldn’t have to be ashamed of her knees at all. I wondered how her toes were.
    I retreated behind my desk, glad to have that shield between us, sat down, and waited.
    She said, “Nice office, Mr. Randall.”
    I had to laugh. It was pretty basic and located on the side of town that dames like her just don’t get to very often. “You didn’t come to admire the décor, either.”
    “What are your rates?”
    She had me hoping she wasn’t shopping for a kept boy. Maybe she hadn’t read the sign on my door. “Depends on what you want me to do.”

    6

    CATT FORD

    “I want you to find and catch a killer for me, Mr. Randall.” I sat up straight. Murder? Now we were talking! Miss Lily McIntyre and a murder case. I rubbed my hands together, and she seemed amused by my eagerness. “Why me? Why not the police?” Her peachy, luscious lips thinned for a moment, and that was a pity. She had nice lips, meant for smiling in that come-hither way she tried on me earlier. She couldn’t know she was wasting her ammo.
    “The police have had forty-eight hours to catch him, and they’re no nearer to finding out the truth than they were when they first found her body.”
    Her?
    “Sometimes it can take a while, Miss Lily, even for the cops.
    Believe me, they like stamping ‘case closed’. Makes them look good to the public.”
    “A while will be too long. Time is of the essence, Mr. Randall.
    And I have it on good authority that you’re the man for the job. Perhaps the only man who can solve this case.” Of course a guy likes to hear that, but I also wanted to know who gave her the word. “And who told you that?” She smiled. “Does it really matter?”
    “Maybe. We can come back to that.” I pulled out a pen and a pad of lined paper. “Who got murdered and when?”
    “You’re very businesslike. I like that.” She let the fur thing slip off her shoulders, and somehow she managed to make it look as hot as if she’d just taken it all off. It had to be a practiced technique from her dancing days, when word was if the stakes were high enough, she did more than just shake her stuff. “It was a woman, only a girl, really.
    Miss Marguerite Saint-Ville. Very talented, and only at the beginning of her career.”
    “And who was this girl to you?”
    “A protégé,” Miss McIntyre said. “And a charming young friend.”

    Lily White, Rose Red: Grey Randall, Private Dick Casefile #1
    7

    I was beginning to have an inkling that she was lying to me. They all do, the people who bring me their troubles. They want me to dig them out of a hole, but they never want to tell me the whole story. They seem to like making you work for the money. “You taught her to dance?”
    “You can tell I’m a dancer, then? You’re very observant, Mr.
    Dick. May I ask how you knew?”
    “You have a certain… grace. And it’s my job to be observant.”
    “I see,” she said. “Every year I take on a student or two.
    However, Miss Saint-Ville was different. Special.”
    “In what way?”
    “She was a lovely girl, and she should have been a star. She could dance, sing, entertain.