Of course, she wasn’t sorry at all. An angry flush flooded Yvette’s face. As she opened her mouth, as if to retort, Spencer poked his head into the room.

“This a good time?”

Stacy waved him in. They had discussed this beforehand. She would question the stripper about Marcus, then Spencer would step in and question her about her roommate. Patti would watch from the viewing room down the hall.

“I’m Detective Malone,” he said to Yvette, taking a seat across from her. “How are you today?”

“Confused,” she answered, angry sarcasm gone, replaced by a little-girl-lost, damsel-in-distress quiver that set Stacy’s teeth on edge. “I have no idea why I’m here.”

“Didn’t Detective Killian tell you about Marcus Gabrielle’s murder?”

“Yes. But like I told her, I had nothing to do with that. How could I have? I was dancing last night.”

Yvette’s whole demeanor had changed. Her face had become soft and trusting, her eyes luminescent pools of innocence. She actually batted her eyelashes at him.

Stacy wanted to puke, not so much irritated by Yvette’s attempt to influence Spencer with her feminine wiles as by Spencer’s obvious reaction to them. This young woman knew how to use the gifts God had given her.

Men could be so stupid.

“He was your boyfriend, was he not?”

“A good customer. He liked me, tipped me very well.”

“You saw him outside the Hustle?”

“Occasionally. He paid me to help him with his real estate business. I opened up properties, things like that.”

Things like that, indeed. Stacy stood. “It looks like you have things under control, Detective Malone. I’m going to grab a cup of coffee.”

Stacy exited the interview room and went to join Patti. The older woman sat alone in the viewing room.

“She’s good,” Patti said, not taking her eyes from the monitor.

“Tell me about it.”

Patti chuckled. “He’s only human. And a male one at that.”

Before Stacy could respond, Spencer began. “I understand from Detective Killian that you may have some information for us about a murder.”

“I already told you, I was dancing last night. The first I heard about Marcus-”

“Not Marcus. Your former roommate, Kitten Sweet.”

“What about her?”

Stacy had to hand it to her, she was a damn convincing liar.

“You have reason to believe Kitten Sweet is the Jane Doe found in City Park.”

“I thought she might be.” Yvette shrugged. “She disappeared around the same time. It could have happened.”

Spencer frowned slightly. “You told Detective Killian that Kitten had been receiving love letters-”

“No,” she interrupted, her voice suddenly sharp. “I told a cocktail waitress named Brandi.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “That she had a stalker. That she had received threatening letters from someone who called himself the Artist.”

“I made that up.” She tossed her hair. “She didn’t believe me, so I embellished. It made a good story.”

Stacy glanced at Patti. The other woman was frowning.

“So you’re saying Kitten Sweet wasn’t being stalked? She didn’t have a anonymous admirer who called himself the Artist?”

“That is what I’m saying.” She leaned forward in a way that emphasized her cleavage. “I shouldn’t have fibbed. I wanted her to believe me. I wanted to have something exciting and important to say.”

She dropped her gaze, then returned it to his, the expression in her eyes pleading. “It’s a character flaw, one I’m not proud of.”

For the second time, Stacy wanted to gag. To his credit, Spencer seemed unmoved by her wrenching confession.

“Have you ever seen this man before?” he asked.

He slid a photograph-of Franklin, Stacy knew-across the table.

The woman glanced at it, then quickly away. “No.”

“Are you certain?”

“Positive.”

Patti glanced at Stacy. “She’s lying.”

Stacy nodded. The reply had rung false in its quickness, the way she had shifted her gaze away while answering.

But why lie about this? Out of fear? Spite? Or simply the desire to get the hell out, as quickly as possible?

“You lied before,” Spencer said, “ maybe you’re lying now?”

“I embellished,” she corrected. “And not to the cops-at least I didn’t think she was a cop.”

“You always tell the police the truth?”

“Yes.”

She said it with such earnestness, Stacy laughed out loud, then stood. Obviously it was time for the “bad cop” to take another whack at her.

“Go get her,” Patti muttered as she exited the room.

A moment later, she rejoined Malone and Yvette.

He glanced at her. “How was your coffee, Detective?”

“A little weak.”

“Weak? I find that hard to believe.”

“True. It’s usually overcooked.”

Neither of them were talking about coffee. Malone grinned and pushed away from the table. “If you remember something else or want to reevaluate anything you said to me, give me a call.”

He held out his card, which she took with a smile. “If you need me, Detective, you know where to find me.”

When the door clicked shut behind him, Yvette looked at Stacy. “He’s cute.”

“If you go for that type.” Stacy opened her folder, flipped through. “The people you met at the proper-”

“He have a girlfriend?”

Stacy narrowed her eyes. “Yes, I think he does.”

“Is it serious?”

“Very.”

“She have a ring?”

The question hit Stacy hard. She supposed a ring was the difference between “available” and “not.”

Just what were she and Spencer?

“You have his number,” she said. “Call and ask him.”

“I just might do that.”

Have a ball. “These people you met at the properties, they ever introduce themselves?”

“Never. We didn’t speak.”

“Did they ever leave with something they hadn’t arrived with?”

“And vice versa.”

“Like what?”

She shrugged. “Dunno. Didn’t ask.”

“I think we’re going to have to hold you.”

“For what? You have nothing.”

“You’re the closest thing we have to ‘something.’ Give me somewhere else to look, I’ll see what I can do.”

“I liked you better as Brandi.”

“I’ll bet you did.” Stacy smiled slightly and stood. “I’ll see that you get your phone call.”

“He had a partner,” she said quickly. “Seems to me, if Marcus was using his commercial listings as drop-offs or pickup points, his partner would be in on it.”

“Drop-offs or pickup points,” Stacy repeated. “Did I say that’s what was going on?”

Yvette glared at her. “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

“Name?”

“Ramone.”

“Ramone what?”

“No clue. Marcus never said, I didn’t ask.”

“Tell me about him.”

“I don’t know much. I met him once.”

“Where?”

“The Hustle.”

“You dance for him?”

She shook her head. “He didn’t like the scene. Seemed anxious to get out. I figured he was gay.”

Stacy frowned. “If a man doesn’t get off on your brand of entertainment, he’s gay?”

A small smile curved Yvette’s mouth. “Pretty much.”

Irritated, both with Yvette and herself, she refocused on Gabrielle’s partner. “Ramone ever take you to one of the properties? Or arrange to meet you? Anything like that?”

“No. Like I said, I met him once. Marcus called him his ‘partner.’ That’s all I know.” Her stomach growled loudly. “Can I go now? Your gofer boys dragged me down here before breakfast.”

Stacy nodded and stood. “We’ll be in touch. I’ll get somebody to drive you home.”

“Don’t bother. I need the fresh air.”

Stacy set one of her business cards on the table. “If you think of anything, give me a call.”

“Like that’s going to happen.”

Yvette left the card on the table, stood and walked away.

Stacy watched her go, then joined Spencer in the viewing room. Patti had gone, but Captain Cooper and Baxter had taken her place.

“I’ve filled them in,” Spencer said. “Captain O’Shay’s handing it back to you guys. This is clearly DIU’s territory.”