Chapter Text
Her hips swayed, shoulders rolled, and toes curled. Smoothly she placed one foot in front of the other, strutting up the stage with her chin held high in the air. Onlookers held their breaths, as the woman who they all knew held true to that fierce glint in her chocolate eyes and the danger pulling at the smirk across her painted lips ran her lidded eyes over the crowd.
Delilah Clementine, the most stunning woman this side of the city. Red silk hugged her curves and hung neatly at her mid-thighs. A truly awe-inspiring woman was she, as her red lips brushed the microphone her decorated nails curled around. Many women envied Miss Clementine, jealousy jabbing in their chests at her silky voice and witty words made their husbands swoon.
Unfazed by the mixture of lustful and resentful stares she stepped back on her glittery heels, signalling the sharply dressed clad of men sporting expensive looking instruments to tap their heels against the wooden stage as they strummed and blew their musical pieces.
She was in her element, the first warm hum rolling off her tongue and bouncing around the room. The mummers of the crowd had long since fell silent, even the waiters stilled in their spots to glance up at the woman on stage. Miss Clementine was a regular at the bar, though it seemed no one could ever truly get used to the hypnotising rumble of her voice.
However, there was one man, immune to Delilah’s charm. A trained expert in resisting such petty infatuations, designed to handle the most strenuous of events on the psyche. Weston Greyson, a renowned detective, believed to have never left even a single case unsolved.
Stiffly he stood by the door of the bar with his burly arms crossed over his chest. He ran his calculative gaze over the crowd, searching for anyone that may be trouble or worth looking into. Other than the particularly shady bar-owner and the woman he was here to interrogate, there wasn’t anyone worth great interest.
He stayed alert the entire performance, letting his eyes wander over to the pretty lady on stage, merely to watch with little to mild interest.
He could see why Miss Clementine was so popular, she was as charming and lovely as her reputation claimed her to be. Usually Weston wouldn’t be interested in some pretty singer’s affairs, except currently she was his strongest lead in his investigation into Marvin De Luca, the alleged don of a mob family running rampant around the city.
He wasn’t running on very much information, but there was already little known on the man himself except for rumours- all of which he couldn’t risk not looking into. This was yet another one of his likely fruitless investigations into yet another whisper of the man himself that had travelled through the streets of the city. Nonetheless, he was here for a reason, and moved with purpose.
Hooking a finger at his collar he tugged his tie looser, adjusting the sleeves of his white button-up that sat snugly rolled up his arms before smoothly approaching the dark eyed beauty exiting the stage and escaping backstage.
“Miss Clementine!” He called before she could slip through the changing room’s door, causing her to pause and turn on her heel to face the approaching detective.
Miss Clementine brushed some of the caramel waves framing her face off her shoulder and curled it around her ear, “Ah, hello sir,” a pearly smile stretched across her lips, “Can I assist you somehow?”
Weston pulled out his badge, holding it out on display, “Why yes, Miss Clementine. I’m Weston Greyson, one of the lead investigators down at the station, I’ve come here to ask you a few questions.”
Miss Clementine appeared surprised, an appropriate reaction in Weston’s own opinion. Allowing her a few seconds to register the situation, Miss Clementine nodded, eyeing the taller male in her presence.
“Of course, Mr Greyson, I’ve got nothing to hide,” she smiled, turning around to twist the golden handle of the changing room and inviting him inside, “Right this way.”
Weston stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind him and running his eyes across the room. Unlike the other changing rooms for some of the other performers, this one was purely dedicated to Miss Clementine, a giveaway that she commonly pulled in an audience just like today.
Her change room wasn’t quite as neat as he would have expected it to be but considering the stress and little time that came along with those working in the entertainment business, perhaps it was understandable. Fine dresses of sequins and silk were draped over the back of a wooden chair and hung on the armrest of the crème chaise lounge tucked away in the back corner of the room. The room was decorated in feathers and frills and velvet, crystal beads hanging from the curtains and glinting under the light illuminating the room.
Miss clementine waltzed across the room to politely take a seat at the chair by the Vanity table, hooking a leg over the other and resting her hands in her lap. “Now, if you hadn’t noticed Mr Greyson, but I am a particularly busy lady, so I’d prefer if we could do this in a timely manner.”
Weston halted his inspection and nodded stiffly before moving to approach her himself, pulling out a small leather journal and pencil from his pocket. “Well then, I will not waste your time.” Folding the journal in his hands and opening it to a blank page made of coarse white material, he readied his pencil in the other hand. Clearing his throat, he begun, “Where were you on the 17th of April at approximately 7 o’clock that night?”
Miss Clementine quirked an eyebrow, before humming to herself, “Oh dear, that was quite a while ago. Surely you do not expect me to remember what I was doing all that time ago?”
“It was about a month ago, the night of the Jazz performance by Duke Ellington at the Harrington estate.”
“Oh I see, yes I remember that night,” she grinned, “A wonderful performance, truly.” She paused, realising she was getting distracted, “But I suppose a review of the event Is not what you came here for. Yes, I was there that night, why do you ask?”
Weston glanced up at her from the notes he was scribbling down in his journal, “Did you happen to attend with anyone else? Did somebody come to pick you up?”
Miss Clementine gave Weston a curious look, “I attended with some friends, but had my chauffeur come to pick me up.”
“Just your chauffeur? Nobody else was in the vehicle?”
“No, it was just me.”
Weston hummed, continuing to scrawl across the page. “That’s interesting, we have witnesses claiming they saw you get in the car with another man.”
Miss Clementine paused as Weston watched her through narrowed eyes.
“Say, Miss Clementine,” Weston’s eyes flickered down to the pretty diamond sitting boldly on her finger, “I’ve noticed you wear a wedding ring, yet you don’t use your husband’s name?”
Miss Clementine shifted in her seat, “I prefer to use my maiden name on stage, it attracts a bigger audience, more men hoping to get lucky- you understand?” She answered calmly.
Weston paused, before nodding. It did make sense, a dirty but smart move on her own part. “I see, though that doesn’t explain who you got in the vehicle with.”
She tensed, uncomfortably diverting her eyes from his own. It was at this moment Weston knew she had something to hide. Weston had reason to believe that the man Miss Clementine got into the car with was Marvin De Luca. The detective squinted his eyes at her, dropping his arms to cross them over his chest.
Perhaps Miss Clementine was a mistress of some sort, Weston assumed.
“I, if I tell you, you must swear not to tell anyone else Mr. Greyson.”
“I can’t ensure that,” he answered firmly.
Miss Clementine searched his eyes before a quiet sigh slipped past her lips. Closing her eyes, as if recalling a moment, she didn’t wish to remember, she grasped the material of her dress in her lap. “That was an old friend of mine. He offered me a ride home, however, he… tried to come on to me.” Weston paused, eyes widening slightly.
“I, I got away, thankfully,” she breathed, before a single hand slowly crept away from her lap and slid up her torso, gently tugging down the frilly sleeve of her dress, revealing tender skin kissed with hues of faint blues and purples. “It is not… something that I wish to discuss,” her eyes searched the floor, as if afraid to glance up, her chocolate brown iris’s stinging with tears.
Weston sucked in a breath, the arms sitting at his chest relaxing, “You can report the incident down at the station, if you would like?”
Miss Clementine shook her head, her eyes rising from the ground to look up at Weston softly. “No… it’s alright now, it has been dealt with.”
Weston was curious as to what she was implying by that but decided not to pry. It was obvious from Miss Clementine’s raw and honest confession that this was another dead lead. The car incident was all he had on her, and with that now explained, he’d have to go looking elsewhere.
Looking down at the soft faced little lady before him, Weston felt a sting of sympathy shoot through him. “If you insist Miss Clementine, you be sure to return home safely to your husband.”
She bobbed her head in confirmation, before reaching over for a handkerchief to dab at her eyes before it could taint her makeup. “Of course, thank you for understanding, Mr Greyson.”
Weston nodded. “I should be heading off now, you have yourself a goodnight maim,” he spoke gently, thinking back at the swirls of unnatural colour crawling up her arm and staining her shoulder. Turning around he made sure to slip out the dressing room quietly and shut the door behind him after informing her to make sure she locked the door afterwards. Standing out front until he heard the familiar click of a lock, he tucked away his pencil and journal in the pocket of his suit pants.
With a tight jaw Weston made a swift exit out of the bar, frustration building in his chest. Exactly what kind of man took it upon himself to hurt a woman? A shameless, boyish one at that. One deserving of no respect. No man should lay a finger upon a woman and strike fear into her heart- it was utterly disgraceful.
With disgust sitting bitterly on his tongue and curled across his lips he escaped into the cool air of the night, with the lovely lady that was Miss Clementine on his mind.