Welcome to my stop on the Death of a Chorus Girl Blog Tour! Read more about the book below, and be sure to follow along with the tour and enter the Amazon Gift Card Giveaway!
When Detective Richard Giordano walks onto the Broadway stage, he expects to find a young, dead chorus girl. Having the show’s choreographer so intricately tied to the victim, and now his case, is something else altogether. What quickly becomes even more troublesome is balancing his attraction with his gut instincts.
The choreographer, Empathy Delacroix, is no stranger to death. Emotional scenes from the past suck her in and force her to play critical roles in the events. They often culminate in her experiencing the victim’s demise. It’s a secret she can’t confide in the police, even if she knows how the chorus girl’s life really ended.
Time ticks by and New York’s vilest players come out of the shadows, not only threatening to detour the case but also Detective Giordano’s and Empathy’s entire lives. The bonds of death and love push them closer together and into the path of a killer, leaving both unsure of what their future holds.
The hand shaped burn on my bare shoulder tells me who is behind me. A smile lifts my cheeks as I turn to face Richard. But the man standing behind me isn’t whom I expect. This is not the man who swept me away into a passionate dream. He looks the same, but this man is cold, hard, and distant.
This stranger takes my hand roughly and silently leads me to the dance floor. Stiff arms fold around me as we begin an awkward dance. I look into eyes that are void of all emotion. “Is there something wrong, Richard?” Is it possible someone caught him coming out of the room?
“You tell me, Ms. Delacroix,” his flat voice answers. Oh, now that cannot be good. I am desperate to figure out what has happened between our interlude and now that so changed his demeanor but find myself at a loss for what to say. “What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?”
I melt back into his arms, relieved. There is nothing to be concerned about. He reverted to a professional exchange because we are in public. The tension resulted from his internal fight against his longings. Alright, remember there can’t appear to be anything between us. But I can’t help but smile as I gaze into his eyes. “What did you have in mind?” I saucily inquire.
“Can you come down to the precinct?” the emotionless voice demands more than asks. “We need you to talk to our psychologist about what you may have seen the afternoon of Annie’s death.” A pit falls into my stomach. There has always been a playful timbre to our interactions, which puts me at ease, but now something is amiss.
“Um, sure. If you think that will help,” I reply apprehensively. I take a deep breath and shift to move closer to whisper in his ear. In response, his hand squeezes mine and the strength in his arms maintains the distance between us. Panic grows inside me and tears sting my eyes. “Why?” If it turns out to be the as bad as you think, you can’t let him see how upset you are.
The old Richard shimmers in front of me for the span of one heartbeat. His body softens and his eyes warm. He is still there. What happened? Then in the blink of an eye, he is gone and this robot wearing his flesh is back. I don’t stop him from bringing his lips to my ear. His voice is tight when he begins.
“Because, Ms. Delacroix,” the way he says my name is a knife through my chest, “you seem to know more than you should about what happened to Annie.” I close my eyes to keep the tears from falling. This doesn’t surprise me; I had just expected it sooner. “And given the performance I just overheard, I’m not so sure you’ve been upfront about it all.”
Surely, this is some cruel joke I will make him pay for later. The wheels in my mind run rabid. Did he get what he wanted from me in the dressing room? Is it possible he played me?
“You can’t be serious,” I gasp but when I pull away, the truth is in his eyes. What he felt for me less than thirty minutes ago is gone. I’m angry that I fell victim to whatever game he is playing; angry that I am now a toy he has grown bored with. I pack away every ounce of whatever it is I am starting to feel for him. I’ve been a fool, but I won’t be any longer. “Alright, Detective Giordano, if that’s what you truly think.” I pause hoping my Richard will break through and end all this nonsense. He doesn’t. “You have my number. Text me the time. I’ll be there, but afterward you’ll only be allowed to contact me through my attorney.”
About PM Briede:
I am a lover of all things artistic. I grew up surrounded by the performing arts both as a spectator and performer. That love of creation and design is the fuel for my writing now. Being able to create and entertain is a dream come true.
The imagination is a powerful thing, able to take you places you never dreamed. I write realistic fantasy. The idea of the possible having impossible explanations fascinates me. That idea is the driving force behind the Charlotte Grace series.