“So? That supposed to mean something?”

Crystal sounded tough but Adam decided it was just an act.

“You’re her friend, aren’t you?” Whitney asked.

The woman’s lips curved into a smart-ass smirk. “No.”

“This is important,” Adam told her. “May we come in and speak with you for a moment?” He thought she was about to refuse, so he pushed on the door and stepped into the brightly lit dressing room.

The room wasn’t much bigger than a phone booth. In the center was a dressing table with a mirror illuminated by dozens of small bulbs. Makeup was scattered across the small table and Crystal’s street clothes were slung over the back of a small folding chair in front of the mirror.

Crystal put a finger up to her lips to silence them. She grabbed a pack of cigarettes then headed out the door. Adam and Whitney followed the stripper as she rushed down the hall. He expected her to stop outside the stage door, but she streaked to the back wall behind three blue Dumpsters.

“You’re a cop,” Crystal declared emphatically.

“Not for over two years,” Adam responded. “This is a personal matter. I won’t bring in the police unless I have no other choice.”

Crystal cupped her hand to shield the match while she lit her cigarette. “I can always spot a cop.”

“He’s a friend who’s helping me,” Whitney said. “Something’s happened to my cousin. Miranda’s vanished.”

“Really? Do tell.”

Adam asked, “When was the last time you saw Miranda?”

Crystal sucked in a puff of smoke, then slowly blew it out in a thin ribbon that drifted away in the soft breeze. It was dark behind the Dumpsters, the only illumination coming from the security lights at the back of the building. The stripper was overly made up, with stage makeup, and in the dim light she appeared clownish.

“I haven’t seen Miranda in-” she hitched one shoulder “-at least a year and a half.”

“Do you know if she had other friends or a boyfriend?” asked Whitney.

“What’s it to you?”

Adam almost interrupted but decided to let Whitney handle this. People responded to her more easily than they did to him. “Last night someone threw a pipe bomb into Miranda’s house. She isn’t living there any longer. I’m staying there with the dogs. Luckily, I was out-”

“I saw it on TV. Were the dogs killed?”

“No,” Whitney assured her. “They were with us or they would have been burned alive.”

Crystal considered this information and a cold smile played across her pink-pink lips. “Miranda started dogsitting because of me. I earned money for college by walking dogs. It’s cash, it’s easy, it leaves no paper trail for the IRS.”

“When did you two turn to stripping?” Adam asked.

“Back when we were in college, a girl in my econ class told me about Saffron Blue.” She waved her arm in an arc and the tip of the cigarette in her hand glowed brighter. “The rest-as they say-is history.”

“You told Miranda about it?” Whitney asked.

Crystal inhaled another stream of smoke. “We came out here together for the first interview. Neither of us knew what to expect.”

The feistiness seemed to have gone out of her, replaced by a tone that was almost melancholy. Adam wondered about her life. What would keep someone stripping in front of lecherous men night after night? The money, sure, but this woman had a lot going for her. She must have other options.

“They looked us over and gave us an opportunity to ‘try out.’ Little did we know that ‘trying out’ was the same as dancing. You get tips and you fork over a ‘tryout’ fee to the house each night.”

“Why did Miranda quit?” Whitney asked.

“Damned if I know.” Crystal threw down her cigarette and ground it out with the heel of her hightop sneaker. “We used to be best buds-then…she went jiggy on me.”

Jiggy was a doper’s term, but he doubted Whitney knew it. He asked, “Was Miranda using?”

“No, but she was edgy, like she was on ice.”

Ice. Methamphetamine. Use of the drug had exploded during the last few years. “How did you know for sure Miranda wasn’t using?”

“I was around her too much. I would have known.” She shrugged dismissively as if to say: Who cares? “She up and quit. I haven’t seen her since. It’s been sixteen, eighteen months. Something like that.”

“What about boyfriends?” asked Whitney.

“When we were first at college, she went out with a guy. Lasted a year, then he transferred to some school in Texas. She dated but nothing serious. Then we started stripping.” Crystal squared her shoulders and looked directly at Adam. “Would you want your girl working here?”

An image of Whitney strutting across the stage flitted through his mind. Before he could stop himself, he said, “Hell, no.”

“Men are like that,” she told Whitney. “Work here, make money and get out-if you want to have a boyfriend and a real life.”

Crystal wasn’t nearly as tough as she’d initially tried to make them think. She’d been friends with Miranda, and Whitney’s cousin had hurt her feelings. If they handled her right, the stripper would tell them what she knew.

“Please, help us,” pleaded Whitney in a soft voice. “Someone tried to kill Miranda and nearly killed innocent people and animals. Have you any idea if Miranda was in any sort of trouble or anything?”

Crystal shook her head. “No, but like I said, I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

Adam asked, “Could she have met someone here that might have gotten her into trouble? Who were her friends here?”

“This isn’t the kind of place you come to make friends. We knew each other before working here or we might not have done more than say hello.”

“What about the men who come here?”

“Jared follows standard strip club rules. Men can’t touch you. There’s no going into back rooms or anything like what you see on TV.”

“Can’t they buy you a drink?”

“Sure. But no one wants to take the time. You earn more in tips by stripping than by sitting around with one guy.”

Adam tried another tack. “Were you surprised when Miranda quit?”

“Everyone was, especially Jared. You see, Miranda was good on the computer and she put Saffron Blue online. She was more than just another exotic dancer.” Crystal lowered her voice and leaned toward them as if someone might be eavesdropping from inside the Dumpster. “She worked the back room. Megatips. Trust me. Megatips.”

“I take it Jared runs a high stakes poker game back there.”

Crystal jumped around hip-hop style as if the ground was in flames. “You didn’t hear it from me.”

“Why?” Whitney wanted to know. “There are a lot of casinos around here.”

“True, but high rollers who know each other like to play together,” Adam responded. “They don’t want to be forced to mix with strangers. Between hands they talk business, as if they were on the golf course.”

“You got it. Games go on weeknights,” Crystal added. “Nothing on the weekend. The guys who play here are out socializing on Saturday and Sunday.”

“Did Miranda mention meeting any of those men?” Whitney asked before he could.

Crystal hesitated, shook her head, then admitted, “I’m not supposed to know anything about it. You have no idea how bonkers Jared is about security. Why do you think I brought you back here?”

Adam had been wondering. Most smokers would have stood just outside the stage door.

“The dressing rooms are bugged. There are security cameras everywhere. They can’t see us back here. We’re out of range of the cameras at the back exit.”

Adam wondered why Crystal had taken the trouble to find out the security cameras’ range but didn’t ask. He figured he might be pushing their luck.

“We won’t mention a thing about this to Cabral,” Adam assured her. “Do you know the names of any of the men who gambled here when Miranda was still working?”

Crystal rattled off a list of names, and it included many of the heavyweight leaders in town. A thought struck him. “Did Broderick Babcock gamble here?”