“And the other guests?”
“They spread throughout the room at the remaining tables.The bartender served period-appropriate cocktails.There were even actors hired to mill about as extras, creating the atmosphere of a busy nightclub.”
“Then what happened?”Riley prompted.
“I asked Veronica if she would sing ‘Midnight Reverie,’ her mother’s signature song from the film.She was hesitant—she’d always been careful to establish her own musical identity, separate from her mother’s.But then she agreed.She went up to the stage, the quartet began playing, and she sang.She was magnificent.For a moment, it was almost like having Roberta back.”
“And after the performance?”
“She returned to our table.We toasted with our drinks—I had a gin rickey, she had a Manhattan.She took a sip, and then...”Gillian’s composure finally cracked, her voice breaking.“Then she started to struggle for breath.Her glass fell.She collapsed.It all happened so fast.”
Ann Marie stepped closer to Gillian, offering silent support as the woman fought to regain control.
Riley surveyed the scene again, trying to piece together the logistics of the poisoning.“The Manhattan—it was delivered while Veronica was performing?”
Gillian nodded.“The waiter brought fresh drinks to our table just before she finished her song.”
“The same waiter who had served you earlier?”
“I...I think so.It was dark, atmospheric.I wasn’t paying close attention to the staff.”
“You said the whole scene was meant to be a surprise.How many people were in on it?”
Gillian nodded.“Oh, it’s hard to say.We had construction and tech workers here all the time we were setting this up, so they knew.And of course, the extras and the jazz quartet.God knows how many people they might have told.But most of the movie audience did seem surprised.”
Riley turned to Hayes.“I’d like to see this place as it was that night.Can we recreate the exact lighting and atmosphere?”
Hayes glanced at Gillian, who nodded.“Of course.”She moved to a control panel near the entrance, checking the switches.“The technical crew set everything up with programmable presets.This should restore it exactly as it was.”
She pressed a button, and the harsh work lights dimmed.Soft amber lighting faded up, casting the set in a warm glow.Blue gel lights illuminated the bar from beneath, creating an ethereal effect that transported the space back to 1953.A subtle hiss preceded the appearance of theatrical haze, drifting lazily through the air in perfect simulation of cigarette smoke.
The transformation was startling.What had seemed merely an elaborate set moments before now became a living, breathing space that blurred the line between reality and fiction.
“My God,” Ann Marie whispered beside her.“It’s exactly like the film.”
Riley paused at the table Gillian had indicated, running her fingers lightly over its surface.Two indentations in the tablecloth marked where glasses had stood.In her mind, she could almost see Veronica returning from her performance, flushed with success, lifting her drink in celebration, only to find death waiting in the glass.
Here in this magical space, Riley recognized a familiar sensation.Her unusual talent nudged at her, as if she needed to pay attention.Would it work?Could she get a sense of this killer’s mind right now?Riley closed her eyes and reached out …
CHAPTER FOUR
As Riley stood in the re-created nightclub with her eyes closed, she let her consciousness drift, seeking that elusive connection—the invisible thread that might link her to a killer’s thoughts.It wasn’t a psychic ability, not exactly.She viewed it as an intuitive process that had been honed over years of immersing herself in the darkest corners of human psychology.But in truth, it was more than just an accumulation of information that any good agent might gather.She had an exceptional talent for mentally slipping into shadows where monsters dwelled.
This physical setting was artificial, but evocative.The theatrical haze that had filled the room tickled her nostrils, carrying with it the faint chemical scent that was nothing like real cigarette smoke, yet evocative enough to help transport her back in time.There was also a hint of sandalwood in the air—perhaps to make the smoke less noxious.
The ambient sounds receded—Hayes’ steady breathing, Ann Marie’s quiet footsteps as she explored the perimeter of the set, Gillian’s occasional sniffles.Riley focused instead on absorbing the scene, letting it imprint itself on her consciousness.The table where Veronica had sat.The stage where she’d performed.The path between them.
In a few seconds, the Midnight Lounge and the sequence of events came to life in her mind.Riley could see Veronica singing on stage, captivating her audience.The waiter delivering fresh drinks to the table while all eyes were on the performer.Gillian, seated with her back to the bar, her attention fixed on her friend’s performance.Veronica returning to her seat, flushed with the success of her performance, lifting the Manhattan to her lips.
A particular realization crystallized.From Gillian’s position, she would have had limited peripheral vision of anyone approaching their table from behind.The atmospheric lighting—purposefully dim to create the 1950s nightclub ambiance—would have further obscured any suspicious activity.The theatrical haze that now drifted around Riley’s face would have provided additional cover, distorting depth perception.
The killer might have engineered the perfect opportunity.Or had they simply recognized and exploited it?
Riley allowed her thoughts to drift deeper, seeking the emotional signature of the crime.What kind of person would choose such a method?What were they trying to communicate?
A paradox emerged in her intuition.On one hand, the murder felt deeply personal—the choice of victim, the specific method mirroring a film scene, the symbolic destruction of Veronica through the same means that had made her mother famous.This wasn’t random.Veronica Slate had been chosen specifically, her death choreographed with intimate knowledge of her life and legacy.
Yet at the same time, the theatrical nature of the crime suggested something broader, more performative.The killer had arranged an audience, ensured witnesses, crafted a moment that would be recorded, remembered, discussed.They wanted attention, recognition for their work.
