Now, just steps ahead, the flashing neon lights of Lacy’s Gentlemen’s Club beckoned. Mia halted in front of XXX Videos to inspect the item she’d found in Celeste’s pocket. The matchbook’s corners were frayed, and the ink between the silhouetted legs smeared as though someone had rubbed a thumb in a very strategic spot.
She imagined the silhouette gyrating, the matchbook coming to life in her hand. Face burning, she quickly dumped the thing in her purse and looked up to find a man with decaying teeth leering at her. “Way to class up the neighborhood, babe.”
He was a stranger, big and tall, with acne scars and a creepy stare—a man any woman might reasonably fear.
He took a step toward her, setting her heart racing in her chest.
Her first instinct was to turn and run, but instead she held her ground, grasping the fabric of Celeste’s dress between her fingers, savoring its rich feel, trying to channel the woman who’d worn it before her.
“Wanna have some fun?” The man was still staring, his hand on his crotch now.
“Not interested,” she said firmly. “And I’ve got pepper spray in my purse.”
The way he jumped back, and then all but ran into the video store was more than a little satisfying. Part of her had worried this might not have been the brightest idea—going to a seedy area, asking around about a missing woman in a strip joint—but facing down this man boosted her confidence that, after weighing all her options, she’d landed on the right course of action. She’d considered going straight to Detective Samuels with the information about the matchbook—but there was no real reason to think there was a connection between it and Celeste’s disappearance. The police didn’t have time to knock on every door and follow every lead. That was why they’d asked for volunteers to help canvas the neighborhood. She could’ve told Angelica and Alma what she’d found, but if Mia had been hanging around a strip joint, she definitely wouldn’t want Aunt Misty to find out. Or she could’ve simply tossed the matchbook and let Celeste keep her secret—but someone at this club might have seen something.
And if there was any chance of that at all, she owed it to Celeste to follow up.
Besides, there was nothing to be scared of.
It wasn’t yet dark, and Lacy’s was a legitimate place of business. Like any other bar, they had to have a license and were subject to inspections and strict operating rules. Establishments like these were tightly regulated—when you really stopped to think about it, strip clubs were probably among the safest haunts in the city.
Unless the movies had it right: dirty cops on the take, looking the other way, permitting all sorts of debauchery. And she had found Lacy’s matches in the clothing of a missing person.
She tightened one hand into a fist.
Celeste was gone, and that was on her—at least in part.
If only she’d called out to her: Wait, you dropped your keys! Celeste might be home with her family tonight or reading Jane Eyre for book club.
But there was no turning back the clock. So from here on out Mia was going to have to do everything she could to help find Celeste. Joining the search was hardly a sacrifice—it would bring her closer to the Coopers.
She pulled her shoulders high.
No reason to linger on the sidewalk. It was pretty sketchy out here, and inside Lacy’s, at least there’d be witnesses to any mayhem that might befall her.
Onward.
She marched ahead until she reached Lacy’s Gentlemen’s Club, determined to track down any witness who might’ve seen Celeste.
The front door was glass with a blackout curtain. A Help Wanted sign hung atop a silver cardboard cutout of a nude female.
Forcing her breathing to slow, Mia heaved open the door and crossed into a world unlike any she’d ever been a part of. The smell of air freshener hit her first, then, beneath, she detected high-octane sweat. Her gaze flew to the stage where spotlights encircled naked breasts, tattooed legs, and writhing bottoms. Glitter fell like colored snow onto a black runway.
Heart thumping in time to the music, she inched forward, halting in front of a densely muscled man, dressed in black, who stood with legs spaced wide behind a velvet rope hooked between two posts.
She stepped back, trying not to stare at the man’s ears, adorned with giant gauges that stretched the lobes. His skin was thick and reddened. His stubble-covered jowls, like his ears, hung slightly lower than what she considered standard. From the depths of his sockets, yellow eyes flickered like spelunker lights.
“Welcome to Lacy’s. Twenty-dollar cover. Two-drink minimum.” The doorman made his gravelly voice heard above the din of drunken conversation and Lady Gaga.
She hadn’t considered a cover charge. “You take credit cards?”
“Yeah.”
While she fished in her purse, he unhooked the rope and shifted his weight, setting off a small earthquake that rattled her feet and reverberated up her legs. By now, she had her wallet, but his impatience made her fingers clumsy. “Sorry, just a second.”
His gaze traveled appraisingly from her shoes up her torso and finally lighted on her face. “If you’re here for the job, you don’t have to pay.”
“You mean…” her gaze locked onto a woman slithering around a pole.
“The waitress job.”
“Oh.” She flushed, suddenly embarrassed at where her mind had gone. “No…”
He wiggled the fingers of his outstretched hand, and she took a deep breath.
Why not save the twenty dollars?
It wasn’t as if
